But the moment I approached the great hall, the weight of it all loosened, swept aside by the noise and amplified energy now occupying Tir Darreth’s great hall. Warriors packed the long tables, the air thick with the scent of roast chicken and spiced vegetables, their laughter and boasts bouncing off the stone walls. Owain’s guard had started challenging Emrys’s men to mock duels.
When I stepped through the doors, I felt every eye flick toward me. Their stares weren’t unfriendly; many smiled. Yet today, several senior guards silently communicated a warning of caution my way.
Concealing my apprehension behind a gentle smile, I walked across the hall toward my usual seat on the raised dais. Only one of the two throne-like seats held this kingdom’s prince.
Seated in Nisien’s place, Owain displayed the effortless poise of one comfortable with his authority, even if he clearly didn’t like sitting inNisien’s place. He looked every inch the royal emissary, dressed in a deep green tunic worked with gold threading. A heavy gold torc adorned his throat.
Noticing my glance at his seat as I climbed the low steps, he offered a sheepish, apologetic shrug. “I was told that sitting with my men was unacceptable,” Owain said under his breath, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Beside him, Emrys said, without looking up, “A visiting prince must be seated according to his station.”
Owain only spread his hands as if to say,What choice did I have?
But Emrys’s body was as rigid as I’d ever seen it. His jaw was tense, and he was cutting the chicken on his plate like stabbing it was the only thing stopping him from stabbing someone else.
It pained me that he couldn’t escape the curse’s claws for longer than an hour or two.
I had hoped that their sparring would somehow mend the deep rift between them, in that peculiar way physical exertion sometimes did for men. And it seemed it had, because I didn’t sense a lingering hostility from Owain toward Emrys, or even fear. Though, understandably, an undercurrent of tension thrummed beneath Owain’s skin, as if he was ready to react to Emrys at a moment’s notice.
I shook my head, taking my seat in the crossfire of tension between them. There was too much power, stuffed into too little space, and I was the soft thing caught squarely in the center. Emrys’s condition was so bad that my slightest movement in his direction caused him to shrink back as if I would burn him if I got too close.
Still, I had to work. I allowed a few bites to pass in silence, chewing slowly as I gathered my thoughts. Elevated above the rows of warriors and retainers, we had space and privacy enough for quiet conversation.
I turned to Owain.
“Earlier, you mentioned military matters,” I prompted. “A prince personally taking care of this speaks of a dire situation to me. Is it so, Your Highness?”
Owain dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin before answering. “Yes. Things are not well with us. Our mutual neighbor,” he glanced meaningfully toward the north, “has turned their attentions to our lands again. Raids. Skirmishes. Enough to keep our border lords on edge. We,I, thought it wise we coordinate.”
“Wise,” Emrys muttered. Given his current mood, I thought he was more likely to be mocking than agreeing.
“As far as we know, the border raids are carried out by civilians, but they’ve gotten worse,” Owain continued as if he hadn’t noticed the insult. “Berian had entertained the idea of a marriage alliance with their princess before he married our queen. He’s never had a taste for war.” He speared a bite of chicken. “Unlike me.”
Emrys lifted his gaze. “I thought the Gelidian princess was against taking a husband.”
“She is,” Owain replied, chuckling softly. “And I doubt she would’ve agreed to a mage, but Berian is…Berian.”
“Especially not a mage as weak as your brother.” Emrys leaned back slightly, a wicked smile curving his mouth. “You got all the magic in the family. He got all the good looks.”
The unexpected sharpness of the comment made me blink in surprise. I turned to Emrys, frowning, ready to smooth things over. “That’s hardly a fair thing to say.” I forced a smile at Owain to smooth the moment over.
Emrys’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it turned colder. “Well,” he scoffed, eyes pointed in my direction, “that sounds more like diplomacy than good judgement on the lady’s behalf.”
It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. Flat. Dismissive, each syllable a sting of pain and just impersonal enough to hurt more. Like I was no one of consequence at all.
I looked away, face heating. The smile I’d offered Owain faded.
I wasn’t made of stone. But apparently, I needed to be around him.
Maybe I’d misread everything. The softened glances, the brush of his hand on mine in the library, even the way his voice gentled when he said my name—maybe none of it had meant anything at all. Maybe everything I’d thought existed between us had been a fantasy I’d spun for myself.
I kept my hands neatly folded on the table, my face carefully composed, though inside, a slow, quiet ache bloomed in my chest that felt like a bruise spreading beneath my ribs.
So silly, so ridiculous.
It was the curse speaking. Nisien had said he couldn’t always control his tongue. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, because I’d interpreted his appearances over the past two days as a sign that things were improving between us.
Emrys glanced at me once, quickly, then looked away. There was no more anger, no coldness, only a profound sense of emptiness behind his expression now. Like he knew he’d gone too far but couldn’t say so. I felt for him then, even if he had hurt me. It seemed he hadn’t meant to.
