“I’ll manage,” I mutter, massaging my temple with two fingers. “I just need a moment to breathe without everything spinning.”
She turns from the window with a frown, a neatly folded nightgown in her hands. “You’re still pale. Are you sure you don’t want tea? I could fetch something mild for the pain—though, I admit, their teas taste like boiled parchment here.”
I groan softly. “Gods, I can still taste the flavorless pudding from last night’s dinner. If that’s what they do to desserts, I don’t want to know what they do to tea leaves.”
Indira snorts, placing the gown on the bed beside me. “Suit yourself.But if you faint, I can’t promise I’ll catch you.”
She’s halfway to the door when the faint sound of a knock on the open frame draws both our eyes.
I’ve been in my room since after the trial, but Nadya told me Dante hadn’t been at lunch. Nor were the kings or Farvis, so I assumed he’d been pulled into some post-trial meeting. Now he’s dressed in simple dark linen, damp curls pushed back from his face, his eyes searching.
“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” he says, studying my face. “Thought I’d check on you.”
Indira arches a brow, her arms crossing. “She needs rest.”
“And tea,” I add suddenly, rising just enough to smooth the skirt of my gown. “That actually sounds… like the perfect remedy.”
Indira levels me with a knowing look. “Mm-hmm.” Her gaze flicks back to Dante. “Leave the door open, my lord.”
“Of course,” Dante says with a gentle nod. “Sir Holden and Sir Donovan are right down the hall as well.” He steps aside as she brushes past him. He waits until her footsteps fade, then steps inside.
He doesn’t talk right away—he just looks at me. A long, quiet look that slides beneath my skin.
“You didn’t come to the feast,” he says.
“I think you’re being generous with the word ‘feast,’” I joke. “But I couldn’t. The headache… and everything else.”
He nods once, his hands curling into the back of the chair near the hearth. “I understand.”
I pat the space beside me on the bed. “Would you like to sit?”
He hesitates only a heartbeat, then moves, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. We’re close, not quite touching, but the heat between us is immediate, unmistakable.
“I didn’t know they were going to put you through that,” I say quietly. “When I saw the arena, I thought it would be a sparring match, maybe a duel. But that course—Dante, they were trying to break you.”
“They were doing what they’ve done to every soldier and every would-be heir in over a century,” he replies. “No bastard has ever been legitimized without proving he can survive the same trials their kingsonce did. It’s an ancient tradition, which Podrosa obviously hasn’t forgotten.”
I lift my hand to his jaw without thinking, brushing my thumb along the faint bruise forming beneath his cheekbone. “You look like you held your own.”
His eyes shutter slightly before meeting mine. “I was fueled by the thought of you watching.”
A smile tries to tug at my lips, but it fades too fast. “I did watch. Every second. And I felt so… helpless.” My fingers fall back to my lap. “Dante… something happened.”
His brow lifts.
I exhale slowly, sorting the threads of thought into something that might resemble an explanation. “I don’t know if it was me, not entirely, but when you reached the point where you had to choose left or right, I saw the trap. And I—I thought it. I screamed it in my head.Go left.And you did.”
He blinks, his brows plunging. “I… thought I was imagining it. You called out to me?”
“In my head, yes.” I shake my head.
His eyes widen. “Celeste, have your powers manifested?”
I take a long, deep breath before I begin. “It’s a long story, and I’m not even clear on all the facts. It started after Torbin stabbed me,” I murmur.
I tell him about the buzzing in my body, about how I was able to push and pull things after that, about the magnolia petals in the courtyard. And then about calling his name at the trial.
He waits, listening patiently.
