“Your Majesties, Your Highness.” She straightens. Aside from the way she stares at Dante, there is nothing flirtatious about her posture or movements. She carries herself as a Podrosan princess, not a Bastosi queen. “I wanted to personally offer my heartfelt felicitations, Prince Dante. It is a well-deserved recognition.”
Dante inclines his head. “It’s very kind of you to say, Princess Orida.”
“Perhaps, during the course of the evening, we could find a moment to talk. Or maybe even have a dance.” She smiles sweetly, her face full of hope.
Dante hesitates only for a second, but he keeps his expression polite. “I will keep that in mind.”
She seems thrilled at his response, nodding before gathering her skirts and heading toward the table where her family sits.
Princess Rosemary is the next to approach. She studies Dante as if inspecting how well her favorite tree has grown. “Prince Dante, you have my congratulations.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He inclines his head, and his fingers twitch at his side.
I recall the conversation she had with him at the feast, how she commented on his fertility, and I wonder if she’s thinking about putting her theory to the test as soon as possible.
She turns to the king and queen and curtseys. “Mersos thanks you for your hospitality, Your Majesties.”
After she joins her family at their tables, the king leads Dante to ourtable. The queen, Nadya, and I follow his lead and take our places.
The hall hums with quiet opulence. Servants move in graceful lines, setting down gleaming platters of roasted game, bowls of jewel-toned fruits, and loaves still steaming from the oven. The scents of sage, citrus, and slow-braised meat drift through the air, mingling with the faint tang of spiced wine. Candlelight glints off polished silver and crystal, scattering golden flickers across the long table. A quartet of musicians plucks a gentle melody on harp, violins, and lute, the notes threading through the warm murmur of voices as the guests settle into their seats.
The clinking of cutlery quiets, the low hum of conversation tapering off as King Silas rises from his seat at the head of the table. A goblet of deep-red wine glints in his hand, catching the golden candlelight as he lifts it slightly.
“My friends,” he begins, his voice carrying easily over the long table, “welcome. It is no small thing to travel the lengths of the realms, and I thank each of you for making the journey to Ivystone for this most significant occasion.”
He pauses to sweep the room with his gaze, slow and deliberate. “You honor not only our kingdom, but my son, with your presence. You have seen in Dante what I have always seen—strength, capability, and the will to lead—and you have returned home to speak in his favor, granting him your acceptance. For that, you have my deepest gratitude.”
The guests raise their goblets in polite acknowledgment. I keep my hands in my lap, my eyes on the polished table, because I can already feel the queen across the way stiffen.
The king’s gaze turns to Dante, pride swelling in his voice. “Dante, you have proven yourself in more ways than one. You have fought for the safety of this kingdom, you have endured trials most men would not survive, and you have done so without complaint, without hesitation. You have earned your place beside me, and I know you will carry forward my legacy with honor.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Queen Eleanor’s faint wince, the subtle downward twitch of her mouth. He speaks the words ‘my son’ so easily, so warmly, and yet Torbin’s name hasn’t left his lips in weeks. It’s asthough the memory of her child has already been brushed aside, replaced. Even knowing what Torbin became, I sympathize with the queen, because her maternal feelings are still valid.
“I have no doubt,” the king continues, “that Dante will go on to accomplish even greater things than I have. And with that in mind”—he straightens, his voice sharpening with a note of formality—“I have another announcement.”
A ripple of curiosity moves through the guests.
“It is my pleasure to share that Dante will take Princess Celeste of Delasurvia as his betrothed.”
My heart stutters. The words hang in the air, their weight settling over the room. All eyes shift toward us. I notice how Princess Orida’s face falls and how Princess Rosemary grinds her teeth.
The king’s expression softens by a fraction. “The late King Axel was my friend. I know he would have been glad to see our kingdoms joined in such a way. His daughter has proven herself a formidable protector of her people, a capable commander, and a worthy future queen.”
Even if I doubt he believes half of what he’s saying, the words still land with their intended weight.
“I am confident their union will stand as a symbol of lasting alliance between Hedera and Delasurvia—a unification of strength, prosperity, and peace.”
He raises his goblet high. “To Dante and Celeste.”
The hall echoes with voices repeating the toast, goblets lifted, wine swirling like blood in crystal. I know not everyone is pleased to hear this announcement, but in this moment, I don’t really care. Dante glances at me from across the table, and for a heartbeat, the noise fades to nothing but the sound of my own pulse.
He’s not with me because it’s the king’s wish. He’s with me because he wants to be.
Halfway through our meal, King Harold of Podrosa and King Gallor of Mersos approach, their smiles polite but measured. They offer their congratulations—first to the king, then to Dante, and, finally, to me—but there’s a glint in the Podrosan king’s eye that makes my skintighten.
“It is a fine match,” King Harold says, his voice smooth, almost friendly. “I only wonder if the…arrangementscould have been open to discussion. A union with Podrosa, for example, might have been of equal benefit. Perhaps more so, given our similar leadership.”
He knows I can hear him, but this is not a man who cares what women think, so I’m not surprised he is so blatant with his thoughts in front of me.
