She and Jakobav said it at the same time, both half-rising from their chairs.
Her father turned his gaze on Jakobav. Cold. Measuring. “Of course I know him. Do you even know how old he is, boy?”
Jakobav’s jaw clenched, the ink along his forearm stark against the strain as his hand balled into a fist against the table. For a moment, he said nothing, collecting himself before his expression smoothed into something controlled. But Ella knew better.
His voice, when it came, was steady and ironclad. “I know exactly how old he is.”
The two men locked eyes, steel meeting steel, and the tension stretched so taut across the table she worried it might snap.
Ella broke it, her voice measured. “We’re really doing this at dinner?”
Her father’s gaze softened, the fight in his shoulders loosening as he exhaled. “Of course not, sweetheart. Forgive me. Your return has stirred emotions I thought I’d long buried. We will welcome your guest. He may stay as long as you wish. And with the Veil being tested as it is, perhaps it is time to consider all potential allies.”
The hall exhaled with him, the tension spilling out in a collective rush. Murmurs rolled through the chamber like distant thunder.
“Dravaryn’s heir at her side.”
“Many years gone, and she returns with him?”
“Is this her coronation or her wedding?”
“He looks more like a warlord than a guest.”
“Gods, he’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful? He’s a weapon. Look at those arms.”
Ella forced herself to keep calm, her gaze fixing on her plate, though heat prickled at her cheeks. The Court of Rumors had earned its name long before tonight, but never had it grated at her like this. She searched for a distraction, anything to break the tide.
Jakobav straightened his shoulders, slow and confident, with a half-smile on his face. She was certain he’d heard every word. He let them look, let them call him beautiful, let them call him a weapon, and his smile told them he was both, and more besides.
The tales spread faster than servants could refill goblets, speculation knotting through the air with greedy hands. Was this a celebration, an alliance, or a scandal turned marriage negotiation? Courtiers leaned closer to one another, eyes gleaming as though every rumor was a coin to be traded. Ella straightened her spine and tried to let none of it touch her.
Across the table, her father’s gaze found hers once more. The steel in his eyes had dulled to sorrow, and his expression made her stomach turn.
“How has Orchid fared since I left?” Ella asked quietly. She already feared the answer.
“For a long while, things remained steady, the Threadshifting kept our forces busy but not overwhelmed,” Eryndor said, his voice quieting the table around him. “But recently…that has changed. The breaches are worsening. Threadshifting accelerating. Magic unraveling just when we need it most.”
He drew a slow breath, lines deepening at the corners of his eyes.
“An entire village was lost two weeks ago. A creature slipped the Veil before anyone could reach them. My council fears Orchid won’t last much longer without reinforcements.”
His hand trembled faintly as he lifted his goblet, the wine trembling with it. “At the very least, I will see my daughter wear the crown of Orchid, no matter how brief that reign may be.”
A jolt of panic cut through her—but she forced it down, clinging to the one sliver of hope she had left. The prophecy had spoken of a red sun. And the red sun was still a week away.
Surely that meant she still had time.
Time to understand the relic—Jakobav.
Time to figure out how he might be the key.
Time to stop the Veil from shattering.
She repeated it like a prayer she didn’t quite believe:I still have time.
She tried to cling to faith and fates and prophecy, even as her father sat across from her already resigned, accepting the acceleration of gloom and the inevitability of doom.
