I glance sideways, my heart thudding, and find Nadya standing near the edge of the room, still guarded, still quiet. My stomach knots tighter.
Torbin guides me into another turn, bringing me closer. His voice drops low, conspiratorial. “Imagine it, Celeste. You and I, ruling together. Power unmatched, under the tsar’s watchful guidance. The lands united, the old kingdoms brought to heel. No more squabbling, no more feigned peace. We could shape the world.”
“I have no interest in your fantasies,” I snap under my breath.
Especially because that is not how this would play out. With my power drained, he would keep me under lock and key. I would not be ruling by his side. I would be his prisoner, his plaything. I wouldn’t putit past him to keep me tied to his bed while he terrorizes the world.
“You will,” he says softly, eyes crinkling with something too close to fondness. “Given time.”
The song begins to slow, the notes drawing out like a dying breath, and the masked courtiers pivot in place, creating an opening.
From the far end of the ballroom, a new presence enters.
The tsar.
Clad in dark furs and silver-threaded robes, his imposing figure cuts through the gathered crowd. His hood is up, his mask a simple dark leather piece covering the upper half of his face, but the effect is no less unnerving. Beside him, half a step behind, moves the seer. Cloaked, masked, silent, like a shadow trailing after its master.
On the other side of the tsar stands Osrem, and I’m beginning to see that he never really worked for Torbin. He was always working for my father.
The air shifts. Every guest stills, lowering their heads in respect, like a kingdom bowing to its god.
My pulse pounds against my ribs.
The tsar raises a hand, and the musicians cut off mid-note, the last tremble of strings vibrating into silence. The murmurs of the crowd dissolve just as swiftly, as if the cold itself has commanded their obedience.
“Welcome,” the tsar says, his voice deep and cutting, no warmth to soften its weight. “I have gathered you here tonight not simply to feast, but to witness the beginning of a future—one forged in strength, bound by power.”
The masked faces around us remain still, heads tipped just enough to show deference. Their eyes glint like shards of ice behind their painted disguises.
The tsar’s gaze sweeps the hall, his posture unyielding, his presence coiled like a serpent waiting to strike. “Dulcamar will rise, greater than before. With this union”—he gestures to Torbin and me, his lip curling faintly—“we secure the force necessary to conquer whatever daresdefy us.”
Torbin’s grip tightens ever so slightly at my waist, possessive, as though I were a jewel he was polishing for display.
The seer steps forward. Behind her, two guards hold Nadya tightly in their grips. It’s a warning. I need to do as they say, or she will be harmed.
Torbin moves, guiding me forward, his hand firm at the small of my back. I glance up at him sharply, but his expression is carved from marble. No explanation, no hint of pity. Just certainty.
My feet stumble, my pulse galloping in my chest.
Wait. The tsar saidunion. What is this? What’s happening?
The seer stops just shy of us, her arms lifting. The gesture is ceremonial, deliberate.
My breath knots tightly in my throat.
This isn’t a ball. This is something else. Something worse.
My gaze darts to Nadya. Her eyes are as wide as mine must be.
The air thickens, and the courtiers press in closer, their hunger for spectacle palpable. I catch their stares—cold, eager. They know what this is.
A wedding.
A union I didn’t consent to.
The seer begins to murmur, low and rhythmic, words I don’t recognize but feel all the same—like nails dragging along my spine. My skin prickles, my mind screaming for some way out, some means of stopping this before the noose tightens around my neck for good.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
