I lift my chin. “The king can wait. I’m going to see my uncle first.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the guard says. “He insists.”
My stomach knots. Not just because I knew I’d have to deal with Silas, but because I’m desperate to see how my uncle is doing and the fucking king is getting in the way.
Dante exhales sharply, barely masking his frustration, but he doesn’t argue as we dismount. I pull at the hem of my jacket, steeling myself, and together, we follow the guards through the stone corridors. They do not lead us to the throne room, but rather to his private chambers.
The moment we step into the room, I know this isn’t going to be a quiet reprimand.
King Silas stands at the back of his chaise, hands grasping the velvet back, his entire body thrumming with barely contained rage. His piercing eyes, devoid of any warmth, fix on me first, then flick to his son.
“You,” he spits, “have disgraced yourselves.”
Dante stiffens beside me, but I don’t lower my gaze. I’ve never been one to bow before the weight of the king’s anger, and I won’t start now.
Silas strides toward us, his boots echoing against the marble floor. “You were meant to be in mourning,” he snarls, pointing a finger at me. “Not gallivanting across the countryside like some reckless soldier.”
I set my jaw. “Your Majesty, I think it would interest you to know that the carnoraxis attack was in Robinburg, which lies on the border of Hedera.” My voice remains even, though my pulse hammers against my ribs. “I don’t think the attacks are limited to Delasurvia anymore. This concerns Hedera, too. If you want to protect both kingdoms, then I should be allowed to carry out my duty.”
The king’s face darkens. “Your ‘duty’?” The words are a growl, laced with fury. “Your duty is to play the part of the mourning would-be bride of my son. As is expected by both kingdoms.”
“Both kingdoms expect us to thwart any threat against them,” I bark back. “Have you even thought to take my warning about the tsar seriously? Even if I’m wrong, what would it cost you to send some men north to Dulcamar to check if my claims are valid? If Torbin actually survived the fall, and the carnoraxis carried him to—”
“Enough!” Silas’s voice reverberates through the room like a thunderclap. He narrows his eyes and points a finger at me. “Do you takeme for a fool? Just because I do not feed you reports of my actions does not mean that I am not doing my kingly duties. I’ve sent men up to Dulcamar. Osrem is with them, since he was Torbin’s advisor and might have insight. So do not assume that I have ignored your claims.”
My breath hitches. “Have any returned?”
A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he straightens. “These things take time. But no one has yet to come rushing back to tell me my son is still alive.”
And they probably won’t come back at all. Especially if Osrem is with them. Osrem was loyal to Torbin, which means he is probably loyal to the tsar. I’m willing to bet the king’s men are already dead.
Silas turns to Dante now, the fury shifting to something sharper. “And you.” His voice drops to a venomous hush. “You were not supposed to be with her.”
Dante’s fists clench at his sides, but when he speaks, his voice is calm. “I’m not going to sit idly by while she rides into battle alone.”
Silas’s eyes flash with something I can’t name, his anger a roaring flame. “You can and you will. Do you think I can afford to lose you?” His voice rises, echoing through the hall. “It’s a moot point now because Princess Celeste is forbidden from fighting in the attacks.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No, we had an arrangement.”
“Your arrangement was with Torbin, and he is dead.” His words strike harder than I expect. “And if you think I’m going to let the same fate fall upon the both of you, then you’re even more a fool than I believed. Not to mention that if you die in battle, Princess, Delasurvia is mine.”
I open my mouth to contest, but the king raises a hand.
“It’s over. Your role as commander must now be set aside, as we agreed, to keep that priceless womb of yours safe and sound until it serves its fucking purpose. You will mourn my son until the tour ends, and then you will marry Dante and provide an heir. Otherwise, Delasurvia and its future are forfeit.”
For a fleeting moment, I think I see something deeper in his eyes. Not just anger, not just control, but fear. Not for me, but for theprecarious future he’s built. A legacy that hinges on my survival.
The realization coils in my gut, hot and twisting.
I could push back. I could tell him that my life, my choices, are not his to dictate. But my principal would come at a cost. And King Silas knows I won’t betray my people. He knows he has the power here, and he will not let me forget it.
I don’t go to my room after the king’s reprimand. I don’t even bother changing out of the mud-streaked pants I wore during the mission. My boots leave damp prints across the stone floor as I make my way down the corridor, the weight of guilt clawing tighter with every step.
There was no way for Dante and me to properly part from each other with the king watching, but I push that thought aside as I rush into my uncle’s chambers.
The scent hits me first. The heat and the sweat that chokes the air.
The fire in the hearth is banked low, but the air is stifling, heavy with damp linens and something sharp beneath it—acrid and bitter. Ezra stands at the bedside, sleeves rolled, carefully wiping a cloth over my uncle’s chest. The sheet beneath him is soaked through.
