His wavy, black hair falls just above his high collar, a little more unruly than usual, as if he’s run his fingers through his hair one too many times. The smooth, black jacket he wears fits his tall, agile frame perfectly, the tailored lines emphasizing the power in his shoulders and the sharp angles of his body. Beneath it, a dark shirt peeks through, maintaining the sleek, monochromatic style that always makes him seem both elegant and dangerous.
But it’s his eyes that hold me—the storm-grey depths I know too well. They sweep across the hall, distant and unreadable, until they meet mine. And when they do, the world around us seems to blur. There’s no trace of the sharp-tongued rogue who once mocked me and told me I don’t belong here. Instead, there’s something deeper, something that makes warmth caress its way up my neck despite the chill lingering in the hall.
He schools his expression, as I’m sure he’s been instructed to. But the tension crackling between us is enough to make my heart thrum painfully against my ribs. And as much as I know I should look away, I can’t. Not when he holds my gaze like that. Like I’m the only thing anchoring him in a room full of strangers.
Dante takes his place, standing to the side of the king’s throne, and though he faces the crowd, I can tell he’s not really seeing them. There’s a quiet strength about him, though shadows of weariness linger in his posture. I wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, but I can’t even get close enough to him to ask. Not without the king punishing me—or rather, punishing Delasurvia—for disobeying his command.
King Silas has concocted a distinct plan, and we are expected to abide by it.
I finally tear my gaze from Dante, but everywhere I look, everything I see sours my stomach. The mourning ribbons, the fog of sadness in the air, this fucking mourning gown—it all feels like a farce. Torbin is notdead. I know it in my bones. But here in the great hall, under the weight of the court’s collective grief and suspicion, I cannot say it aloud.
When the king lifts his hand, a somber silence ripples through the great hall. Every inch of the place is occupied, and the crowd spills into the open corridors beyond. The weight of what has happened seems to press down on all of us, making the air thick and difficult to breathe.
The only thing breaking the stillness is my pulse pounding in my ears.
“People of Hedera,” the king begins, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd like the heavy toll of a bell. “Today, we gather to mourn those we have lost. The attack on our citadel was a tragedy, and my heart grieves for every life stolen and every family left broken.” He pauses, his hands gripping the arms of his throne. “I have ordered my men to assist with the proper burials and cremations of the victims. No family will bear this burden alone.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the polished stone floor, resisting the urge to flinch at his words. His tone is measured, his delivery flawless, carefully calculated to project compassion. But I know better. He’s not grieving for the citizens lost. They are merely collateral damage, pawns in his larger game.
The king shifts his gaze to the floor, his expression somber, the perfect picture of a grieving father. “It is with the heaviest of hearts that I must confirm the loss of my son, Prince Torbin. Though no body was recovered, the circumstances leave no room for hope. And I cannot dismiss what I’ve witnessed with my own eyes. The plummet from the castle tower broke his body. And the carnoraxis carried his lifeless form away, leaving behind only the blood that marked their violent path.”
Gasps swell through the hall. The faint sound of muffled sobs echoes from the back of the room. The queen lowers her head, shadows masking her expression, but the slight tremble of her chin and in her shoulders betrays her grief. She lost her only son. Even if he is not dead, Torbin had become something else. Something to which even a mother could not devote her love.
The words scrape against me like a violent rash. The people of the court have no idea what actually transpired. They don’t know that Prince Torbin had hurt the king, might have even killed him if Dante and I hadn’t interfered. The nightmarish memory plays out in my head, causing my heart rate to elevate. Torbin had become a dangerous threat. And I can’t bring myself to believe he’s truly dead. The people of Hedera are being lied to by their own king.
I lift my gaze, unable to stop myself, and my eyes meet Dante’s across the dais. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. His jaw is tight, and his fists are clenched at his sides, but his expression softens as he looks at me. It’s fleeting—a brief flicker of understanding and solidarity—but it’s enough to steady me.
The king clears his throat, pulling my attention back to him. “Princess Celeste was promised to my son, and as her guardian in these uncertain times, I will honor that promise. Hedera will look after her, as a tribute to Torbin’s memory and as a continuation of the bond between our two realms. This is what my son would have wanted, and what I shall ensure as her king.”
A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd, and I tighten my grip on my skirts to keep my hands steady. The weight of their stares is unbearable. They don’t know the truth. They don’t know that their king is spinning a tale to mask his own ambitions. They only see him as a hero. A man worth his word who cares for his people. It’s so fucking far from the truth, I could vomit.
I bow my head, though every word from the king grates against me. I don’t need his guardianship—I never did. I should be returning to Delasurvia, leading my regiment, defending my own land. But I can’t. Not when Hedera has struck a deal with the agriculturally prosperous realm of Mersos to reopen the trade routes that will keep my people fed. If I leave, if I defy Silas, he would see it as a slight against his generosity, a betrayal of our arrangement, and Delasurvia would suffer for it. So I remain, bound not by duty to him, but by necessity—for my kingdom, for my people.
The speech continues, but I stop listening. My thoughts are a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and helplessness. The king’s words are daggers wrapped in velvet, and I feel their sting with every passing moment.
And this is only the first part of his plan. The entire reason I am in Hedera is to provide an heir to the Copperhammer bloodline. And now that Torbin is gone, King Silas intends to replace him with Dante, his bastard son. In order for the realms to accept this measure, Silas purports he intends to first legitimize Dante. I’m still unclear how he’s going to accomplish this. I can’t remember reading or hearing about any legitimization taking place in Terre Ferique in the last hundred years, but then again, until my classes with my magister, Ezra, I always did tend to skip out on history lessons.
All I know is that after Dante is legitimized, the king will announce our engagement, so his plan to acquire an heir can go forward. Until then, I have to play my part as the mourning princess who lost her betrothed to tragedy. Which means I cannot be seen in the company of any man or woman who might be speculated as a love interest. And that, unfortunately, includes Dante.
The hall empties in a slow, solemn procession, black-clad courtiers murmuring quiet condolences to one another as they slip through the towering doors. But I barely hear them. My gaze is locked across the room, past the flickering torchlight and the thinning crowd, to where Dante is being escorted out of the room.
His shoulders are squared, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his stance that betrays him. A hesitation, a reluctance to move even as those around him disperse. His storm-grey eyes catch mine, holding me captive in a silent exchange neither of us can afford to have. There are no words spoken, no gestures made, yet the weight of everything left unsaid coils between us, as thick as the tension that has followed us since Torbin fell from the balcony.
Nadya says something, suddenly present at my side, but I don’t catch it. Her voice is distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears.
Dante shifts, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for me but knows he can’t. I want to cross the room, want to tell him that Ihate this—that the only thing I want right now is to speak to him, to hear his voice without the weight of eyes upon us. To feel the warmth of his arms. But the space between us is insurmountable. And before I can find the courage to move, a firm hand grips my arm.
I start, snapping my gaze away as Indira, my feisty maidservant, steps close, her expression carefully composed but firm. “It’s time to go, Your Highness.” Her grip is not unkind, but it leaves no room for argument. “The mourning period must be observed, and I have been entrusted with ensuring your virtue remains intact.”
Nadya, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, gives a dry, unimpressed snort. “Oh, yes, because sneaking off to defile herself is clearly at the top of her priorities today.”
Indira barely spares her a glance. “Rules are rules. There will be no room for indiscretions. And you can’t argue with me because I’m only following orders from the king.”
I set my jaw, forcing my expression to remain impassive even as frustration prickles at my skin. I know what’s expected of me. I know the pretense I must uphold. But to have it spoken aloud, to be reduced to nothing more than a delicate thing in need of guarding, grates against me like a dull blade.
“Of course,” I say, my voice level, disguising the heat simmering beneath my skin. “Lead the way.”
Indira nods, seemingly satisfied, and releases my arm, turning toward the grand doors. I follow, Nadya at my side, but just as we step forward, a presence shifts in my periphery.
