I had one goal. Prepare for the Valabellum. Get the shield. Get Jules. And so while I was twirled in circles, while Kane’s fingers dug into my hip, or when the scent of Rhyan, of musk and pine and something that felt like home, flew past me, I didn’t react. I went over maps in my mind. I mentally reviewed schedules. I did the very thing Rhyan taught me to do when I first started training. I imagined the end. I saw the outcome I wanted.
And I rehearsed it again and again.
Ereshya’s shard in my hands.
Jules in my arms.
The two of us with Rhyan, and Meera, escaping Numeria. Escaping Glemaria. Free.
And before I knew it, the engagement events for the weekend had ended. A snake slid into my bed, a scroll in its mouth.
“Miss me already?” I snarled, swiping the scroll from its jaws.
My lady,
I stared dully at Imperator Hart’s now familiar writing.
You’ve done well. If you can do it again this week, I may allow you to see your sister outside of your busy schedule. As a further precaution, Rhyan will be bound at all future events. His power is only needed for training during the week after all.
Prove your loyalty, and I may give him more freedom.
H.H.I.H.
P.S. Make sure your gowns are properly fitted moving forward. You don’t want to cause men to have an imagination now, do you?
I threw the scroll into the fire, seething. Everything I’d done, everything I’d bargained for Rhyan. All for him to be fucking bound again.
I realized quickly as the days and then weeks passed inside Seathorne’s gates, there was nothing else I could do but follow Imperator Hart’s orders.
So, I did. I trained, I ran, I didn’t show my power. I kept my eyes away from Rhyan’s, avoided his touch when he reached a concerned hand for my shoulder after having heard about my latest “discussion” with his father. I pulled my hand from his in the rare moments we had privacy because I was told to, and watched his face fall as we grew further and further apart. I missed him every night, and during the day, even though I always saw him. It was a unique form of torture, being so close like this.
I took small comforts alone in Rhyan’s room. Looking at his old things, reading through his old scrolls to help me fall asleep while smelling the lingering scent of him in his blankets. Until the snakes reported that, too. Rhyan’s scent had been meant to torture me. The moment it wasn’t, it was gone. While I was in training, I came home to new linens, the scent of pine and musk completely replaced with lemon.
Every day I did as I was commanded. I was a loyal Glemarian subject to the Imperator, a puppet on his strings following through on his every written and verbal request to smile and dance and look besotted and turn my attention from those I loved.
And every night, I focused on our prep in the library. In the mornings, I stood guard at the crack of dawn inside ourtraining room, while Rhyan practiced traveling with Dario in his arms, making sure he was strong enough for whatever came at him in the capital. Rhyan practiced jumping back and forth between our room and Dario’s, until he was a sweating mess, sinking onto the mat. But he was getting stronger, lasting through more jumps each time.
When the next set of engagement events arrived, I was dressed again in fancy Glemarian-style gowns and paraded through the different towns and into the private homes of select nobility. By then, my third weekend of events, I was used to being forced to dance with Kane, being forced to feel his hands on my waist, on my back and my shoulders, his rough cheek hair against my lips. At least, that was all I’d had to feel.
And when the weekend came to an end, I was left with another note.
I am not yet convinced of your affections for your betrothed.
Try again.
Convince me.
I crumpled the note, too tired to even take it to the fireplace.
The weather warmed in Glemaria the following week—our final week before the Valabellum. Kenna came by my room more often during those mornings, but I didn’t dare speak to her out of turn—I didn’t ask about Rhyan. I didn’t ask about Meera. I talked to her about dresses, and rings, and wearing a lighter coat without fur that weekend, since we were on the verge of spring.
We’d been flown past the border to Hartavia, to a manor owned by one of Rhyan’s relatives on his mother’s side. His aunt, Lady Sheera was his mother’s sister, and her husband, Rhyan’s uncle through marriage was Lord Marcus of Ka Telor, a prominent Ka in the North.
At the start of the ball, we went through the traditional protocol of being announced one by one and presented tothe nobles. As guests and members of the Ka ruled by the northern Imperator, we entered the ball last. But I was on edge, focused on finding one man in particular. The Senator from Hartavia. Rhyan’s childhood abuser.
The first dance of the night was a group number, a traditional Hartavian dance that involved holding hands in large circles, commonly known as the “Dance of the Laurels.” I’d ended up in a circle of all women, holding hands with Kenna, as I anxiously looked over my shoulder for Rhyan. But he was sandwiched between Aiden and Dario. As the circle broke apart, the musical notes playing faster, I linked arms with Kenna. The next part of the dance had us skipping in a circle, twirling around each other. But with Kenna so far along in her pregnancy, we performed more of a walk.
I leaned in toward her, noting the Imperator distractedly dancing with Lady Sheera. Kenna looked radiant, her brown hair shining and thick down her back. She’d traded her traditional green gowns for a flowy yellow dress that looked far more comfortable for her condition.
