He raises a brow. “Which part? The roast or the lack of other company?”
I smile. “The quiet. The peace. Just the two of us, eating dinner after a long day of meetings and state business. The realm safe, everything as it should be.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes glinting. “I imagine most of those meetings will be about what kind of mischief Nadya’s gotten into. Again.”
I laugh. “And I’ll defend her at every turn. Valiantly. Passionately. Even if she’s accidentally set the castle on fire.”
“Much to Indira’s everlasting chagrin.”
“She’ll have permanent frown lines.”
His grin is boyish and warm, but then something shifts. His gaze drops briefly to my lips before meeting my eyes again, darker now. “Everynight,” he murmurs, “I’d sit at this table, pretending to care about roast and spiced figs, when really, I’d be thinking about feasting on something else entirely.”
My cheeks heat instantly. “Let me guess…” I toy with the edge of my plate. “You’d sweep all the dishes onto the floor just so you could have me right here on the tabletop.”
His smirk deepens, a crooked, wicked thing. “Gods, you’re dangerous.”
I pop a grape into my mouth, biting down with deliberate slowness. “Only to men who underestimate me.”
He’s still watching me when the door creaks open, and we both turn to see Sir Donovan stepping inside.
“My lord,” he says, bowing slightly, “your father would like to see you in the council chamber.”
Just like that, the moment fades.
But not entirely.
Because when Dante rises, he still looks at me like I’m a secret worth savoring—and a storm worth braving.
When I’m done with dinner, I take the long hallway toward my chambers, the corridors quieter than usual, the castle hushed beneath the weight of waiting. As I round the corner near the queen’s private sitting room, I stop short.
Queen Eleanor steps out of her doors, her arms loosely crossed, her gown a deep shade of plum that dulls beneath the candlelight. She looks thinner than I remember. Tired. Hollow, in a way that grief carves from the inside.
I hesitate for only a second. “Your Majesty?”
Her gaze lifts, and she seems slightly startled at finding me. “Celeste.”
Her voice is as poised as ever, but there’s a flicker of something softer in it. Something I might dare to callvulnerability.
“Are you feeling better? I heard you have a headache.” I step closer. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She shakes her head faintly. “No. But thank you.”
The silence between us stretches, gentle and heavy.
“When I was a child,” I say, quietly, “I used to think my mother had all the answers. But there were times I would go to her—when something had gone terribly wrong, or when I didn’t understand the world—and she would just listen. She wouldn’t fix it. She wouldn’t give me rules or riddles. She’d just sit with me. And somehow, that made it bearable.”
Queen Eleanor’s mouth tightens. Her eyes glisten faintly, though no tears fall. She lifts a gloved hand, touches her chest briefly, and then nods.
“I miss having someone listen,” she whispers.
“You know, the hurting doesn’t really go away. You just have to make room for it.” Tentatively, I step forward—not too close, just enough that my voice can be softer. “You do so much for this kingdom. You tolerate… so much. But I hope you know you don’t have to carry it all alone.”
Her eyes find mine, and something changes in them. A quiet thawing. “You’re not what I expected,” she murmurs. “The day you came to Ivystone, I thought you were just another pawn in his game.”
I meet her gaze. “I’m no one’s pawn.”
“No,” she agrees. “You’re not. Maybe I should pay more attention. I might have something to learn.”
