Behind her, Isildeth followed at a polite distance, posture just a touch more rigid than usual. Part shadow, part chaperone, all judgment.
“I think you might have gone too far, milady.”
“The veil is tradition,” she replied calmly, watching the sunlight slant golden through the narrow windows. “But tradition says nothing about color. They wanted a performance. I gave them one.”
“Red, Your Highness?”
“A color for love, memory, blood, Edrathen. Let them wonder which.”
Chapter 9
The castle buzzed with the kind of pointless busyness that only nobles could inspire; the wedding was two weeks away, and apparently, the candelabras needed fluffing.
Her thoughts, unhelpfully disobedient, drifted to Alaric. Currently housed in the best chambers of the west wing. Her own windows faced east. She told herself it was symbolic. Sunrise and sunset. Restraint and recklessness. Duty and... whatever it was he brought.
Swagger, mostly. That, and a smile too quick to be trusted.
By the time she reached the staircase, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread was rising through the air. The dining hall awaited, set with polished trays of honeyed figs, steaming bread, and rich, spiced meats laid out like a bribe. A royal welcome for a man who, thus far, had made every nerve in her spine stand at attention.
Her father sat at the head of the table; his gaze flicked up at her entrance but gave nothing away. Seated at his right hand was Thalen with barely contained excitement written all over his face despite his best attempt at a serious, kingly expression.
Evelyne took her place to the king’s left, beside Ysara, draped in pale blue silk and wearing the same gently overwhelmed look she always did at formal meals.
Beside her brother, Alaric rose as she entered. Mercifully, fully dressed in something resembling court-appropriate attire. Navy tunic, crisp white shirt, high collar fastened. No chest hair. A win for diplomacy if ever there was one. Thalen beamed at him like they were already brothers-in-arms.
“Princess Evelyne,” he greeted smoothly, waiting for her to take her seat before lowering himself back into his own.
She returned a delicate nod and took a slow sip of her wine, and folded each of the day’s revelations into a small locked box somewhere deep within her mind. Her body would mistake it for peace. That would have to be enough.
Her father’s voice broke the quiet. “Your lessons went well, my daughter?”
Evelyne set her goblet down. “Yes, Father, as always.”
“Lessons?” Alaric exclaimed, turning to face her fully. “Such as?”
“Diplomatic tactics, foreign negotiations, and a continued study of trade agreements between our nations.”
His smile widened. “So, I am the subject of your careful observations? I had no idea I warranted such academic scrutiny.”
“Hardly, Your Highness. I’ve been studying Varantia.”
A chuckle rumbled from Alaric’s throat. “I confess I’d mistaken the two. How humbling to be so thoroughly corrected.”
Evelyne’s lips barely curved at the corners. “Apparently.”
Before Alaric could respond with another well-polished quip, Thalen piped up from his seat. “I studied Varantia too! I read that your navy has over sixty vessels, and that you have olive trees that grow even in nivalen.”
Alaric turned to him with a grin. “That’s true, though the olive trees tend to be more stubborn than miraculous. And yes, we do have a navy. Would you like to see the schematics for one of the ships?”
Thalen's eyes widened. “Really? Can I?”
“Of course,” Alaric declared with a solemnity that mirrored Thalen’s own princely posture. “Every future king should know the strength of his allies. I’ll bring the ship schematics to the library after your lessons. Perhaps your tutor can join us.”
Evelyne paused, spoon poised above her soup.
Her father remained quiet, watching the exchange without comment.
She blinked, slow and suspicious. But as Thalen leaned in to whisper something to Alaric, and Alaric listened with the full focus of a statesman receiving grave intelligence, Evelyne felt her stomach tighten. She glanced at Ysara, who observed them with a faint smile.
