Alora inclined her head. Warmth stirred in her chest despite the weight of the evening. “I’ll see you soon then.”
He straightened and marched away with the measured tread of a soldier. Left alone with her guards, Alora continued down the torchlit corridor until they came before the grand double doors of the dining chamber.
The castle guards stationed there crossed halberds in salute before swinging the doors wide.
The great chamber unfurled before her in a blaze of firelight. Tall candelabras and wall sconces threw their glow across the vaulted ceiling, where Argyle’s banners of deep emerald and white rippled faintly in the draft from the open hearths. A long dining table stretched the length of the hall, polished to a mirror sheen, heavy with silver platters and goblets that caught the fire’s gleam. The air hummed with low voices and the clatter of armor as lords and ladies, courtiers and commanders alike, turned their eyes upon the entrance.
A carved dais rose at the far end of the hall, the king’s high-backed chair commanding the space like a throne, though tonight it was one seat among many. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine mingled with the faint tang of steel, for many of the guests wore their swords at their sides despite the setting.
The herald beside the doors struck his staff against the stone, his voice carrying over the gathered company:“Her Royal Highness, Princess Alora of Argyle, daughter of the king!”
Every face turned toward her.
Alora’s heart pounded as she descended the broad stone steps with her head held high, skirts trailing behind her.
Laurent stepped forward to meet her and offer his arm. He frowned at her dress but bent his head enough for her to hear. “You look beautiful, daughter. Thank you for joining me tonight.”
His tone was light. Compromising.
Alora’s lips tightened in a tight smile. “As if I had a choice.”
His jaw flexed but said nothing more. He patted her hand once before guiding her to stand by the steps to wait for more guests. But she stopped short.
King Thalion and Prince Eldrik sat at the head of the table.
In the place that belonged to her father.
She shot Laurent a look, but he nodded for her to keep walking.
Lords and ladies already clustered in the room in uneasy knots. The Archbishop bent close to Queen Delphi in one corner, his voice hushed. The Lords of Argyle huddled together, gaunt faces half-shadowed as they whispered: Ser Tallin of Gellmere, Lord Graye of Gloam’s Watch, and Lady Isolde, High Priestess.
More lords and ladies in attendance than Alora could name, most human among the fae.
And the atmosphere was tense.
But her gaze kept returning to King Thalion and his son, Prince Eldrik. They were the only ones laughing and drinking, already celebrating among their kin.
The herald’s staff stuck the floor again.“His Grace, Duke Gideon Basile of Ironvale, Commander of the King’s Armies! And Duke Ronan Alder of Stormwatch, Warden of the Seas, Lord Admiral of Argyle’s Fleet!”
Alora looked up at the doors.
Duke Basile cut an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and stern, his brown hair silvered at the temples. He wore aceremonial uniform of emerald and gold, the breastplate etched with his House crest of a falcon. At his side walked Caelum, the likeness of him in youth, his dark hair neatly combed, his arm linked with Theia’s as her betrothed escort. Theia’s pale blue gown set off her warm skin and dark hair, a pearl necklace gleaming at her neck.
Behind them came Duke Alder, his dark skin weathered by years at sea, his hair now fully gray. He bore the look of a man carved by salt and storm, his navy-trimmed mantle bearing the crest of his house, a ship beneath a storm cloud. At his side walked his wife, elegant in aquamarine jewels and a braid threaded with silver. She shared Theia’s warm complexion and quiet demeanor.
Laurent stood tall at her side as the dukes and their families descended. The dukes and Caelum bowed low. Theia and her mother dipped in a graceful curtsy.
“Gideon, Ronan,” Laurent said, his voice carrying. “You remember my daughter.”
Alora inclined her head to the dukes. “My lords, you are pillars of Argyle’s strength.”
Duke Basile smiled at her warmly. “By the Seven’s grace, our princess has returned and a beauty far beyond naming.”
Duke Alder looked at her stoically, his mouth pursing.
Alora greeted his wife next. “My lady, welcome. May you find peace in our hall, though I know Stormwatch is never far from your heart.”
“You are most kind, princess,” Duchess Alder replied softly. She moved on with her husband, but not before Alora heard the duke mutter,“Pillars… pillars to be toppled.”To which his wife hushed,“Dear…”
