ChApter
Forty-Six
Dante
The corridors of Ivystone are unusually still as I make my way toward Celeste’s rooms, the echoes of my boots lost against the thick tapestries that line the stone walls. Early sunlight filters through the arched windows, slanting long, golden beams across the floor, but even the light feels subdued this morning. Another sign that winter is on its way.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to smooth the nerves that have coiled tight in my chest since I woke. Last night was amazing. Like every time with Celeste is. If someone were to have told me a year ago that I would be in love with this woman, that I would be betrothed to her and fated to spend the rest of my life able to hold her, I would have thought that person had lost their mind. But now, I can’t imagine my life without her.
Still, I had to give her the choice. Though I feel like I know what heranswer will be, I need to be completely sure it’s what she wants. I can’t just assume because of the way she kisses me, the way she looks at me, the way she melts into my arms, the way her body responds to me.
I told her to take her time. I know I said I didn’t need an answer right away.
But gods, I want her answer now.
I need to hear it from her own lips, see it in her own eyes. I need to know she’s choosing me—not because duty demands it, but because she wants to.
I almost went to her last night. I went to my room after our night of incredible passion, only to pace it for an hour, wondering if I was being stupid.
I went as far as stepping outside my door, the urge to return to her room so strong, it was pressing in on my heart, but I couldn’t do that to her. I told her she could sleep on it, and it would have been unfair if I went back on my word. That’s not how a successful marriage works.
But now, it’s the next day, and hopefully, she’ll have had plenty of time to think it over. My heart races, hope swelling in my chest as I head to her room.
I reach her door and knock once, twice, lightly enough not to wake her if she’s still sleeping. I wonder for a moment if she slept soundly or if she tossed and turned all night like I did. I wait, shifting from one foot to the other, but there is no answer.
I frown and knock again, a little harder this time. Still no answer.
And Sir Holden is not at his post. Is it even his post anymore?
Perhaps Celeste has already gone down to breakfast. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to sleep and was up with the dawn, starving.
I force myself to turn away, unwilling to start the day by acting like a desperate fool. I’m a prince now, and I’ll be expected to act like one. Especially while the nobles from the other realms are still in Ivystone Citadel. The thought makes me square my shoulders as I head to the dining hall.
Celeste is probably halfway through her breakfast, gossiping with Nadya about which of the kings was the most misogynistic. Hopefullynot in front of Silas, though Celeste is brave enough to do just that without batting an eye. I love that about her. She’s not afraid to stand up to him.
Is she waiting for me to arrive? Is she constantly looking at the door, wondering when I’ll step through it? Is she anxious for my arrival so she can give me her answer?
Or is the answer I’m expecting not the one she’s ready to give me?
Maybe she’s avoiding me because she wants to delay crushing my heart.
Unease prickles beneath my skin as I make my way through the corridors. Each step echoes louder than it should. Each turn feels too empty.
When I reach the grand dining hall, the tension in my spine unspools just slightly at the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread drifting through the air.
She’s here. She must be.
I step inside—and immediately scan the room.
Some of the kings and queens from the other realms are seated at the long table, already helping themselves to the fresh fruit, eggs, and sausages. I put on my princely face, steel myself for empty pleasantries. But as my gaze passes over the faces gathered, I don’t see Celeste.
The queen sits at her place, her back rigid, her gaze lowered to the goblet in her hands when she isn’t conversing with Queen Shaylin. Across from her, King Silas eats methodically, his knife carving into a slab of meat with mechanical precision as he nods along to something King Birchus is saying. The coldness between my father and the queen is palpable, an invisible wall erected between them, thick enough to suffocate the entire hall.
Celeste’s chair remains empty.
My stomach knots.
The present royals greet me, wishing me a pleasant good morning, but I can only nod in response. My mind is reeling, my fingers itching to do something, anything that will help me figure out where Celeste is.
