And now he stands before me, every inch the man I imagined he might become. He is strong but unassuming, not arrogant. When he bows, his movements are deliberate and respectful, but his eyes remain locked on mine, steady and searching.Does he see me? Truly see me? Or does he see only the polished veneer of the princess I’ve become?
“Your Majesty,” Lord Striden’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, measured and formal as he greets my father, avoiding my eyes.
“Princess,” he adds, almost begrudgingly, the utterance clipped.
Ordinarily, this disregard would ignite my temper, but today is not a day for conflict. After all, how would it look if I disposed of myfuture father-in-law before the engagement party? The thought almost pulls a smirk to my lips, but I bury it, remaining poised and stoic.
Jason steps forward, commanding the room as the attention shifts from his father back to him. The faint creak of his polished boots against the stone floor echoes softly in the grand hall.
My father rises from his throne, his gaze never leaving mine. The air seems to swirl around him as he steps down from the elevated platform with ease, the quiet anticipation in the room thickening with every movement, bending our audience to his will.
He extends his hand toward me, an invitation I cannot refuse. I place my hand in his, and he guides me gently to my feet. There’s an odd tenderness in the way his cold fingers close around mine, a reminder that, despite everything, I am his most cherished possession.
I stand before him, enveloped in my deep violet gown, the fabric flowing and rippling like a river’s current. Its rich, opulent material catches the light in every fold, as though each seam were a wave on a dark sea. The color seems to shift with the light, from almost black to a striking purple that commands attention when touched by the glow of torches and candles.
The gown’s neckline is cut low—elegant yet bold—revealing just enough to entice without yielding all. The satin sweeps off my shoulders in a clean, structured line, exposing the collarbones without shame. Below, the fabric flows smoothly over my hips, the long skirt pooling at my feet in a ripple of midnight black. On either side, the dress is slashed high, the daring cuts revealing glimpses of skin framed by the precise tailoring of the fabric.
At the heart of the gown, nestled just below the neckline, a black diamond rests, suspended by a delicate silver chain. The stone gleams with a cold, shadowed light, its facets catching the dim glow like fragments of midnight. Contrasting with the rich purple of the gown, it seems to breathe darkness, like the last piece of night before the stars are born.
The gown is a masterpiece of design—elegant, commanding, andtimeless, as though it belongs to a realm beyond the ordinary. Every detail exemplifies grace, but also holds an undeniable power. The dress doesn’t simply adorn me; it wraps me in a statement of who I am—a woman whose presence fills the room before her steps even land.
I descend the steps, my eyes locked onto Jason, and I feel his gaze burn into me. His eyes trace the curve of my body, lingering on my hips, the intensity of his stare igniting my every nerve. His focus never drifts, his eyes dark with a hunger that sends a tremor through me. I have his full, unmistakable attention, and I can feel him drawing me in.
“Princess,” Jason says, low and steady, not breaking eye contact.
My breath catches. Words fail me as his golden-brown eyes seem to unravel something deep within me, something I thought I had long buried.
“Jason,” I whisper, unable to hide the softness in my voice as it escapes before I can control it.
For a fleeting moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. He is no longer the boy who left, and his familiar, unwavering gaze keeps me grounded, bridging the years that have passed since we last stood this close.
But the spell is broken as I catch movement in the corner of my eye.
From behind Jason steps a young woman, her cream-colored gown understated and elegant. The fabric clings softly to her form, its simplicity accentuating her delicate beauty. Her light brown, doe-like eyes are framed by long lashes, and her golden hair caresses her collarbone in soft waves that seem carefully arranged. Her hands clasp her gown tightly at her sides, betraying the nerves she’s otherwise trying to conceal.
But it’s not her beauty that catches my attention. It’s the way her gaze fixes solely on Jason, as though the rest of the room doesn’t exist.
Interesting.
I glance at Jason, noting the stark contrast: while her wide-eyed stare clings to him, he doesn’t spare her a single glance. His eyesremain locked on mine, steady and unyielding, as though silently daring me to look away first.
“My servant, Celaena,” Lady Elenor says, her voice soft and unassuming as she gestures toward the young woman. “She’ll be assisting me during our stay.”
Celaena dips into a curtsy, the corners of her mouth lifting into a faint, almost shy smile as she lowers her head—not toward me, but toward Jason.
“Princess,” she says softly, her voice lilting and delicate, though her focus remains solely on him.
I tilt my head slightly, curiosity stirring within me. I remain measured and polite, acknowledging her presence with a nod. But my focus remains on Jason. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t shifted his gaze once. His posture is composed, yet there’s something behind his eyes—a quiet strength, a patience, a resolve that I can’t quite place.
Celaena lingers a breath longer, holding her curtsy perhaps too long, casting a glance at Jason. But he doesn’t look at her, not once.
I glance toward my father, noting a hint of amusement in his face. He doesn’t miss anything. The gravity of the moment, the tension in the room, my carefully contained reactions—it pleases him. He’s always thrived on control, on orchestrating events like this as though life were a game of chess and every piece moved only by his hand.
My father claps his hands together, clearly delighted, the sound echoing through the hall like the strike of a gavel.
“How charming that the two of you, childhood companions, are now to be wed,” he says, placing a firm hand on Jason’s shoulder.
Jason straightens under my father’s touch, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin with the careful pride of someone standing before a king. “It is an honor, Your Grace, to marry your only daughter,” he declares steadily, a trace of conviction woven through each word.
