Rhaedor walked to the center of the raised dais, his silver crown catching the light. The murmurs quieted at once. His gaze swept the room.
“We gather tonight not only in celebration, but in recognition,” he intoned, his voice steady. “My daughter, Princess Evelyne of Edrathen, stands tonight beside Prince Alaric of Varantia. This is more than an engagement. It is a union of realms. Of futures. Of strength.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“So let us celebrate—because this is a momentous occasion. And the beginning of something history will remember.”
Polite applause followed—refined, measured, exactly as court etiquette demanded. Evelyne dipped her head; Alaric offered one of his more diplomatic half-smiles. Together, they descended into the sea of nobles. One by one various voices offered practiced congratulations, and names she had memorized since childhood reintroduced themselves with fawning warmth.
“Your Highness, it is an honor to witness such an alliance,” a middle-aged nobleman from Seralyne’s Landing greeted them, bowing before addressing Alaric directly. “I trust you will bring great prosperity between our lands.”
Alaric inclined his head. “That is my greatest intention, Lord Mera,” he replied smoothly. “I look forward to learning much from my future queen and her people.”
She noticed how the ladies of the court reacted to him—the slight flush in their cheeks, the lowered gazes, the stolen glances as they curtsied.
Especially Lady Malren.
She leaned in just slightly when she addressed him. “Prince Alaric, it is truly a delight to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about your land’s hospitality. I do hope we will see much of you in court before you take our princess away.”
Evelyne’s eyelid twitched. Look at her—two days ago, she was implying he wasn’t pure-blooded and spouting half the nonsense her husband feeds her, and now she’s batting her lashes like a debutante. Unbelievable. Her gaze drifted around the circle, finding the other women from the Veiling. Except Ariste. Odd.
“Lady Malren, I can see why your court is known for its grace,” Alaric murmured. “I assure you; I will be in Edrathen’s halls as often as duty allows. And as for taking the princess away…” He turned his head slightly, glancing toward Evelyne with warmth in his gaze. “I believe it is I who must earn my place beside her.”
Lady Malren, much to Evelyne’s amusement, blinked in mild surprise before recovering with a bright laugh. “Men from the south truly are different,” she remarked. “Such words would never pass so smoothly from the tongues of our northern lords.”
“One cannot resist, in company of his beautiful, future wife,” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Now, if you excuse us…”
Evelyne felt the warmth of his palm at the small of her back. It wasn’t a touch, not quite, but close enough that it guided her forward all the same.
She caught Lady Malren’s speechless expression over her shoulder and felt a wild flicker of satisfaction.
They moved further through the court, exchanging pleasantries, ensuring that all saw them as the united front theywere expected to be. And through it all, Alaric played his role perfectly.
This was exactly what she had wanted, wasn’t it? A prince who respected her country, who understood her customs, who acted with the utmost decorum. And yet, something about it unsettled her. She recognized it for what it was, carefully measured and deliberate, a performance meant to please. It was too polished, too practiced.
Too much like her.
“You seem troubled,” Alaric’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Or are you simply focusing on the next round of questions?”
Evelyne glanced at him. “Hardly. I was merely assessing how well you’re adapting.”
He arched his brow. “And? Do I pass your examination?”
She studied him for a beat, tilting her chin just slightly. “So far.”
Alaric smirked. “Then I shall endeavor to continue meeting your high expectations.”
“My expectations,” she replied, “are not particularly high.”
“Is that so?”
She smiled at the passing Lord. “Personal culture, Prince. It's not an aspiration. It's the bare minimum. I simply wasn’t sure if you’d managed to locate it.”
That earned her a quiet laugh.
“Oh, it's there,” he murmured. “But you’re generous to admit it. I suppose I should feel honored that you’ve placed me slightly above a table knife.”
Her lips twitched at the corner. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The knife at least doesn't talk back.”
