?---- Serenya ? ----?
My shadows take me into my chambers in Syltheriel; the familiar scent of lavender greets me, but it does little to calm the tension coiling in my chest. Alira is already here, pacing, sharp eyes fixed on me like I’ve betrayed her personally.
“Where have you been?” she asks, each word clipped and pointed.
I pause, considering my options. I can’t tell her the truth yet. She hates Dimitri, and if I try to tell her the truth about him now, it will start an argument I don’t have time for. So I change the subject. “How are the men doing? Koen, Lioran, and Asbel?”
Alira frowns at my evasion but answers. “They’re fine. Torin says he thinks they’re ready for the final trial.” She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t volunteer anything more.
Before I can say anything else, the door swings open. Torin steps in, his stride purposeful. His steps falter when he sees me. Relief is nowhere on his face. No, his expression becomes rigid, irritated.
“Serenya,” he says sharply. “Where were you?”
I hesitate, words caught in my throat.
It doesn’t matter, though, because Torin doesn’t wait for me. His voice rises with each sentence out of frustration. “The last time we saw you, you ran off to chase after Koen, and then he showedup without you. You send a letter saying you’re okay, but you don’t tell us where you are or what happened. I had to lie to Queen Zephyra when she asked. She didn’t believe me and came looking for you herself. The king needed another healer because we didn’t know where the hells you were. Koen kept asking about you every day, and we had to cover for you. He said you were in pretty bad shape the last time he saw you. What happened?”
I stay silent, caught off guard. I’m not sure what to say. I can’t explain the chaos of the last month with a single explanation.
His eyes narrow, frustration turning to insistence. “It’s been twenty-eight years, and you’restillrandomly running off alone, sulking. It’s time to move forward. The trials aren’t waiting for anyone, no matter how badly you despise them. You can’t pout, you can’t disappear, and you can’t avoid your responsibilities. Everyone can see you’re still stuck in the past. They all walk on eggshells around you, afraid of triggering you. But it’s time for you to move on, Serenya. You’re about to take the throne. We can’t have a queen only half-present.”
Alira tries to intervene. “Torin—”
He cuts her off, taking a step towards me. “I lost him, too, Serenya. He was my brother in everything but blood. But life doesn’t pause. I don’t know where you’ve been for the lastmonth, but I amdonecovering for you.”
His words cut deep. He’s never talked to me like this. My throat tightens. “I need you both to leave,” I say, calm but firm. “I have to get ready.” I don’t wait for an answer. I slip past them into the washroom, shutting the door behind me.
Alone, I let Torin’s words sink in. I know he’s right. But it doesn’t erase the painful sting of what he said.
I sink into the warm bath, letting the water ease the tension in my muscles. The worry slightly slips from my shoulders as I allow myself a moment of peace. This one night ismine—a chance to see Koen, to speak with him, to be in his presence again without the weight of everything else pressing down on us.
I slide on my robe, letting each movement ground me. When I step back into the chamber, Torin is gone, but Alira is still here, her expression softening slightly at my approach.
“I’m sorry about him,” she says quietly.
I shake my head, giving a small, tired smile. “It’s alright. But I don’t want to talk about it now.”
She nods, understanding. “Then we’ll do it like old times. Get ready together?”
I laugh softly. “Yes. Let’s do that.”
Alira and I get ready in near silence, though the air between us is calmer now. She hums faintly as one maid weaves her hair into a braid, while the other maid helps me into my dress. The gown Dimitri gave me clings to my frame as though it were made just for me alone; black fabric shimmers faintly when I move. My hair is half-pulled back in a braided crown, the rest falls in loose waves over my shoulders.
When I glance at Alira, she is radiant in a dark green, shimmering gown, her red hair braided elegantly down her back. She catches my eye and smiles, and it feels just like old times. Two cousins dressing for a night of court, before responsibilities had dug their claws into us.
Together, we walk the long halls toward the ballroom, our guards trailing behind us. When we arrive, the large mahogany doors are opened, and the herald’s voice rises above the murmur of the crowd.
“Her Royal Highness, Princess Serenya of Syltheriel.”
Every eye in the ballroom turns toward us. We pause at the top of the wide staircase. I force myself to keep my chin high, though my heart hammers.
My eyes scan the ballroom until, finally, they land on him.
Koen stands across the room, tall, shoulders squared, dark hair catching in the light. His gaze is already locked on me, unflinching, filled with something that makes my breath catch—relief, and beneath it, something I can’t name.
I can’t look away. Not as Alira and I step slowly down the stairs. Not as the crowd parts below us. His eyes follow every step I take. I don’t care how many eyes are on me; his are the only ones that matter, and mine refuse to stray from them.
At the bottom, Torin appears at Alira’s side, offering his hand. She takes it gladly, and they move to the dance floor. Koen takes a step in my direction, something burning in his eyes. My breath stills—
