The scar on her finger throbbed rhythmically like her heartbeat. She forced her breath to steady. “My father says youknow how to break the Sleeping Curse. Tell us, how do we undo the spell?”
Eldrik chuckled, raising his goblet in mock salute. “That, my lively bride, I will whisper sweetly in your ear on our wedding night.”
Revulsion curdled in her stomach like spoiled milk. Alora’s face burned beneath the weight of every stare. He was revolting. Lower than filth. No man she could ever bestow herself to marry.
Sinking back in her seat, Alora let the remainder of the night blur on, each course and toast dragging her further into suffocation. At last, the dinner broke in the late hour. Lords and ladies excused themselves one by one. Caelum lingered a moment, but Alora stayed rooted in place, nudging a lone pea across her plate as the servants cleared away the dishes. Soon even he was called away by his father, until she sat alone at the long table.
A servant plucked away her plate and fork. Meager trivialities taken from her, much like everything else in her life.
“Is this my fate?” she muttered to the air.
“What is fate but an illusion that imprisons us within walls others have decided?”
Alora blinked, startled. Lady Zinnia stood beside her, pink eyes luminous in the candlelight. She thought her godmother had already taken her carriage back to the Midlands by now.
“Is that why you are no longer with the Spring Court?”
The Thornbearer hummed, lifting a finger so a butterfly of light could rest upon it. “Ah… that was an age ago.”
So it was true.
“Why did you leave Arthal?”
Zinnia’s gaze drifted around the hall as though seeing past it to another time. “For the same reason most people leave their home. In pursuit of an uninhibited life.” Her eyes slid back to Alora, her gaze gleamed with meaning. “Such are the ways ofkingdoms. Men will seek to use us for our gifts, moving us like pawns in a game where we are not afforded a turn. So tell me, princess, do we attempt to play, or do we forfeit?”
Alora’s jaw tightened, fire smoldering in her chest. No, she would not forfeit. Not to her father. Not to Calveron. Not to anyone who thought to bind her to a fate she had not chosen.
Seeing the answer in her eyes, Zinnia smiled. Her fingers brushed a stray strand at Alora’s temple, adjusting the jeweled hairpiece. “Go with grace.”
It was a blessing and a warning both.
As her godmother swept from the room, her retinue trailing like a silken shadow, Alora’s resolve hardened. She would find her own way in life, even if that meant making a deal with the darkness itself.
Alora rose, shoulders straightening. She left by the southern hall, her guards trailing, but a single look dismissed them. Her steps rang sharp in the quiet, carrying her toward the doors marked with Argyle’s crest.
She lifted her hand and knocked lightly, then entered.
The study smelled of parchment and smoke. A fire crackled in the corner hearth. Books lined the walls, towering and silent. The scratch of a quill and rain thrumming against the windows filled the room.
Laurent sat hunched over the desk, half-buried in scrolls and sealed letters. His crown lay askew among the clutter, and without it he looked… smaller. The streaks of gray in his hair looked white in the low light, his shoulders sagging beneath the velvet mantle of his office.
He spared her a quick glance. “Daughter, leave me to my missives. I have much to prepare for. Holdings to transfer.”
For a heartbeat, Alora wavered. She had not seen him look so tired and worn, as if the crown itself had been devouring him from within.
Yet pity soured quickly to anger. Tired or not, he had abandoned her for a new family, then summoned her home to barter her away.
She couldn’t endure it any longer.
“If there were another way to save Argyle…” Alora murmured. “Would you take it?”
Something in her tone made him lift his head. Laurent studied her for a long moment before exhaling a weary sigh. “I know this is not what you wanted, Alora. But the crown serves the people. Your duty is for them. The date is set. You and Prince Eldrik will wed in a week’s time.”
He returned to his writing, dismissing her again. The simple action was like a thorn driven into her chest.
Alora swallowed, moving closer. “Do I truly mean so little to you?”
Laurent straightened slowly, guilt flickering in his eyes.
