“Please.”
I rose, brushing soil from my skirts, and fell into step beside him. The palace loomed beyond the garden, all pale stone and gold-veined marble, beautiful and cold. As we walked, I traced my fingers over the ivy trailing the walls.
Davien bowed again at the carved double doors and scurried off, leaving me alone beneath the high arch.
Two guards swung open the throne room doors with a creak that echoed too loudly. I stepped inside.
The hall was not vast, but it was tall, with columns rising like pillars of judgment around me. Sunlight streamed through stained glass in gentle shades of rose and sea foam, casting a wash of color across marble and gilded archways, softening the edges of the hall, but never quite dispelling its chill.
My mother, Queen Elenya Elira, stood in her usual place, one gloved hand resting atop her carved ivory staff. Her pale hair, the color of spun moonlight, was drawn back from her face and meticulously coiled into an intricate knot at the crown of her head, with not a strand out of place. Her expression was carved from ice, like the face of a statue in a perpetual winter. Her silks were the color of frost-kissed lavender, and she wore them like armor.
Beside her, my father, King Thalen Elira, occupied the silverwood throne. He was older now, his beard entirely white, his posture stiff from old battle wounds, but his eyes were warm when they found me. Tired, perhaps. But not cruel. Not like her.
“Wynessa,” he whispered, gesturing me forward. “Come.”
I trod softly on the stone floor, the sound of my slippers echoing fainter than my perception of myself. When I reachedthe podium, I curtsy with lowered eyes. My mother did not bid me to rise.
“Wynessa,” she said, crisp as frost. “Why are you covered in soil again?”
I stood quickly and tucked my herb-stained hands behind my back. “There was an injured bird. I was helping.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, still just as cold. “And that deserved your attention, did it?”
Her eyes were like twin magnets, pulling me down, and I could feel my body shrinking beneath the crushing weight of her judgment. “I thought so,” I said, timidly. The moment the words left my lips, I instantly regretted it.
Her eyes only seemed to grow colder at my response, making a chill run down my spine.
“We’ve come to a decision,” my mother announced, raising her head to the court, her voice smooth as if it were polished bone. “The matter of Caerthaine must be resolved. They have drawn a treaty. You will marry Prince Kaelen before the next moon wanes.”
Each word fell like a stone into a bottomless well, sinking into me with cold, unforgiving finality.
“But—” My voice cracked, thin against the vaulted ceiling. “I haven’t even met him.”
“There is no need. He is young, wealthy, and politically valuable. That is all that matters.” She stepped closer; rosewater and iron filled my lungs. “This marriage will keep Elyrien safe from Vireth’s ambitions. That is your role, Wynessa.” Her words pressed the air tighter around me, until even the stones seemed to lean in, reminding me that my desires were shadows against duty.
“My lady,” I tried carefully, “surely there are other ways to secure an alliance.”
Her eyes narrowed like frost closing in. “There are not.”
My father shifted in his seat, discomfort clear in the angle of his shoulders. “We have delayed this as long as we can, little star,” he said, using the name he once gave me when I was small and clumsy in the orchard. “We are not simply choosing a husband. We are choosing survival. Elyrien feeds half the kingdoms in this quadrant of Aetherra, but we are farmers and villagers, not soldiers. If Vireth marched tomorrow, our armies would not hold. And Caerthaine has already tied itself to Vireth. Together, their strength would crush us.”
He exhaled slowly. “Caerthaine’s fields are salt and stone. They cannot feed their people. They need Elyrien’s grain as much as we need their ships. This union ensures we both endure.”
Mother’s gaze sharpened, a blade hidden in silk. “It is not a question of if you will sign the treaty, Wynessa. You will. That is what is expected of you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat aching. “So, it is my choice only in ink.”
Her lips curved, thin and unyielding. “Your father and I were an arranged match, and we are fine. You will learn to be fine too.”
The silence that followed felt like a door closing, leaving no air behind it.
The urge to scream clawed at my throat, to run until my lungs burned, tear off the restricting slippers glued to me and escape over the garden wall barefoot, without looking back.
“You’ve always been delicate,” she said coldly, and somehow, it was the cruelest thing she could’ve picked. “Softness is not a virtue for a crown.”
My father cleared his throat, his voice roughened with regret. “You’ll leave tomorrow at first light. You’ll travel by horse to Caerthaine. Captain Gideon and Erindor of the guard will accompany you. They’re the best swordsmen I can spare.” Hisgaze flicked briefly to my mother, then returned to me. “I would have sent your ladies, but the queen believed…distractions would only make things harder.” He lowered his head like a submissive puppy, avoiding my gaze.
My shoulders slumped, and a heavy sigh escaped me, a defeated whisper into the suddenly cavernous silence. What more was there to say?
