And yet… I’m not going into it with any regrets. Except for the fact that it’s all happening so quickly, it doesn’t feel forced.
I brace myself at the threshold. The king has kept Dante busy nearly every hour for the past week. I haven’t seen him on his balcony, and there were no secret nights spent together in his room or mine. But he has to be here, in the ballroom, because this ishiscelebration. There’s a fluttering in my stomach from the thought of finally seeing him after what seems like forever.
The moment I step through the doors, the moment my eyes find him, the rest of the world fades away, and something fills my soul. Something that’s been missing all this time away from him. I feel… complete.
“Somehow,” Nadya whispers beside me, “he looks like an actual prince.”
I can’t help but grin. “Yes. It suits him.”
Dante stands beside the king, his dark tunic edged with gold patterns of ivy, his falchion strapped at his side. His presence is effortless, commanding, his posture one of quiet strength. His smile seems to come easily, and I can imagine it’s because the hard part is over. He survived the trials, and he won the acceptance of the other realms.
Still, I know he hates these gatherings. I know he’d much rather be hidden in the shadows, not forced to talk to anyone.
I’d love to be sitting somewhere in the shadows with him, hidden away from prying eyes. Just him and me and the warmth of our bodies…
As if sensing me before even turning, his head lifts—his gaze sweeping the ballroom—until it locks on to mine.
A slow breath fills my lungs, but it’s not enough to steady me against the force of what rushes through me.
It is not a flicker of warmth. It is not a soft, budding feeling.
It is breathtaking.
A surge of something bright, something overwhelming, something I cannot name but do not need to.
Because in that moment, I know.
I know that, chosen or not, planned or not—this is where I belong.
The moment I step toward Dante, the king’s gaze shifts to me. His expression remains composed, his smile carefully set in place for the watching courtiers. A ruler at ease. A father welcoming his future daughter-in-law.
A ruse.
A lie.
I lower my chin in deference, the proper display of respect, even as every muscle in my body tenses at the sight of him.
“Your Majesty,” I say smoothly. “Prince Dante.”
Prince.
I smile at the sound of the word.
Dante’s eyes are still on me, something unreadable flickering in their depths, before he inclines his head. “Princess Celeste.”
King Silas steps closer, just enough that the words he speaks next are meant only for the two of us. “You’ve done well, Celeste.” His voice is low, measured. “I trust you will continue to do so.”
I keep my posture straight, my expression neutral.Do not react. Do not let him see what he does to you.“Of course, Your Majesty.”
His smile remains, his eyes never leaving mine. “You must understand, my dear, that your standing—your entire future—is a gift. And gifts can be taken away.”
The meaning coils between us like a snake ready to strike.
“I have been generous to Delasurvia,” he continues, his voice barely above the hum of the ballroom. “Your people enjoy the benefits of my rule, the security of my alliance. And Dante—” He glances at his son, then back to me, his smile sharpening. “His love for you is apparent. But love, as you know, is not indestructible. If you are to remain in my good graces, Princess, if you are to keep the luxury of the life I have allowed you, you will be loyal. To Hedera. To me.”
I want to tear the smugness from his face.
I want to spit the truth back at him, that I do not belong to him, that my life, my future, my heart are not things he can manipulate.
