12. Chapter 12

twelve

K allessa’s heart dropped into her stomach. She read the words on the page again, hoping that for some reason it would say, just kidding, at the bottom. Or that it was addressed to the wrong person. But no, in stark black script on official Ravenbluff stationery that was probably worth a day’s pay back home, was her name. Dovina’s labored breaths beside her only amplified the pressure building in her chest, waiting for an explanation she couldn’t even begin to give.

How had one little lie to get out of being held hostage by “elbow man” turned into this? The words blurred as she looked through the page, past the page, struggling for an answer that wouldn’t come.

If she told the truth, Dovina would tell anyone who’d listen about the tale of poor Kallessa, who couldn’t get a husband even when she faked it. And what if word reached the prince that she had boldly lied to his face? Her chances of selling her split skirt idea would be history. Not to mention the consequences for poor Nevander, whom she had convinced to go along with this madness. What had she done? Her breathing grew shallow, her heart pounding in her ears.

Kallessa mentally shook herself. She had to get it together. Do this for Aunt Gevene if no one else. She could play along for two weeks, then she and Nevander could just call off their little “engagement”, dismiss it as youthful folly. The elders would roll their eyes, and the younger folks would laugh it off. Probably be glad that handsome Nevander was back on the market.

Taking a deep breath, Kallessa lifted her eyes to meet Dovina’s gaze. Her cousin’s pretty face was blotchy, her eyes glistening.

Before she could utter a word, Dovina burst into tears.

“Why you?” She asked, her voice breaking. “You’re - you’re nobody! And you got engaged in one day? What did you do? You have to tell me!” Dovina halted her outburst and scanned the hallway for any eavesdroppers. Then, grabbing Kallessa’s arm, she dragged her down the hall and into their, no, Dovina’s room.

Her cousin pulled Kallessa down to the bed and sat beside her, a scary look of determination in her still damp eyes.

“Have you met the prince yet?” Dovina demanded, her voice rising in pitch.

“Ah, only briefly,” Kallessa responded hesitantly, leaning away from her overeager cousin.

“What was he like? Was he charming? I bet he’s even more handsome up close.”

Kallessa thought back to her first encounter with Prince Castien, recalling his dismissive remarks. His face had looked hollow and fatigued, but he'd studied her with eyes like a hawk's.

That was hardly the image her starry-eyed cousin wanted to hear.

“He was polite,” Kallessa replied slowly, attempting to conjure an image of a charming prince for Dovina’s benefit. The real prince had barely met even the minimum requirements for courtesy.

“And quite handsome too, with piercing gray eyes,” she continued inventively. “He seems very... princely.” Kallessa cringed internally at her pathetic attempt at deception, but Dovina’s face lit up in rapture.

“Did you get a chance to tell him about your split skirt idea?”

Now why would Dovina care about that? Surely her cousin hadn’t suddenly taken an interest in her wellbeing. “Yes, he agreed to see me tomorrow morning.”

“You must take me with you,” Dovina’s grip tighten on her wrist, pain shooting through her arm.

“Ow,” Kallessa yelped, wrenching free from Dovina’s vice-like clutch.

Dovina’s rose perfume enveloped them as she leaned closer. “You don’t understand, cousin. I have to meet the prince.”

Ah, now there was the cousin Kallessa knew. Of course, there was an ulterior motive.

“Why?”

“Because I wrote a song for him.” Dovina’s hands clasped together, eyes gleaming.

Kallessa raised her eyebrows. “And?” she asked.

Dovina had an intense, scheming look on her face that Kallessa recognized all too well. “He’s looking for a wife, remember? And I hear he is a great lover of music.”

Kallessa suppressed a sigh. The prince hadn’t looked like he was searching for a wife when she’d seen him earlier. In fact, he’d appeared to be actively avoiding it. There was no use in explaining that to Dovina, though.

“Of course I’ll take you with me.” Kallessa finally relented, with a small shake of her head.

“Now tell me,” Dovina pressed, “who are you engaged to, and how did it happen? ”

One lie…

Kallessa knew she was going to pay for this. Never in her life had she tried to live a lie, even for a moment. She hated the fake politeness, the forced smiles, and the secretive rumors of the court, but now she was willingly adopting that persona. She wasn’t even a good liar.

Kallessa’s heart raced, palms growing sweaty. “Just a shipbuilder’s son. I guess it was sort of love at first sight.” She stole a quick glance at Dovina, expecting scorn or disbelief in her cousin’s face. Instead she saw, what- hope?

“Well, how did you meet? Did you know he was going to be here?” She paused. “No, wait, you wouldn’t have. You must have met last night. What’s his name? Did he kiss you?”

Heat crept up Kallessa’s neck as she remembered Nevander kissing her hand behind the curtains. Had that only been last night? Why had it felt so clandestine?

“His name is Nevander, and yes, we met last night. He kissed my hand.” Well, at least that was technically true.

“How did he propose?” Dovina pressed, her eyes wide.

You are my fiancé.

Kallessa wanted to burst out in nervous laughter at her own audacity. Had she actually done that? Just walked up to a complete stranger and claimed he was her betrothed? It was madness.

As she tried to conjure a romantic proposal, Tynan’s face intruded on her thoughts. His poetic words, his promise to ask for her father for her hand again after being refused... then vanishing without a trace.

Suddenly, she wasn’t so excited anymore. The prospect of marriage, even a fake one, was only tiresome.

“I’ll tell you some other time, cousin. Why don’t you tell me about your day?” Kallessa forced a smile, desperate to change the subject away from her disastrous romantic history.

Nevander’s muscles ached as he climbed the stairs to Castien’s chambers, freshly bathed and dressed in simple linen pants and a comfortable shirt. He found the prince slumped in a chair by the blazing hearth, face drawn and exhausted. Was Queen Lyra pushing him too hard? He wanted to demand that Castien tell him when the last time he’d eaten, or how he was feeling, but he held his tongue.

Their eyes met, and the prince’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “So, tell me about your fiancée.”

Nevander’s heart skipped. “You tell me. She’s one of your guests.”

Castien steepled his slender fingers, regarding Nevander with shrewd eyes. “Ah yes, the tragic Kallessa. Her story is quite sad. But I don’t really think it’s fair to tell you her story without giving her a chance to share it herself.”

Nevander strode to the window, sweeping back the curtains. The last purplish hues of light faded over the vineyard, night closing in. “Humanity from you? Is the prince turning over a new leaf?”

Castien’s laugh was sharp and abrupt. “I love a good story, and I wouldn’t want to mess it up by retelling it poorly. I’m sure I could do it no better justice than the lady herself.”

Nevander spun on his heels, pacing the length of the prince’s spacious chambers. The room suddenly felt stifling. He loosened the top buttons of his shirt with impatient fingers. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

The prince traced a pattern across the upholstered chair with a finger. “Oh, I’m sure you will think of something. She’s quite beautiful, after all.”

A vision of Kallessa’s golden eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight, her smile that made him ache to taste that happiness, stabbed through Nevander’s mind. She was beautiful. And innocent. Not someone to be used, even if she had unknowingly thrust him into this charade. He felt an innate need to protect her, to shield her from harm. But he had to maintain his distance. He was, after all, the prince of Dracia, even if he was masquerading as a pauper.

“You should thank her,” Castien said. “You could have been partnered with Lady Tursam.”

Yes, Lady Tursam. His shins ached in sympathy for all that displeased the spiteful elderly woman. He stopped pacing, staring at Castien. “Did your mother make these matches?”

“Some of them.” Castien’s eyes darted around the room. “But I may have glanced over the list myself and made a few... adjustments.”

“Why would you put me with Lady Tursam?” The thought of having his ankle tied to the elderly woman for that first race instead of Kallessa’s made him cringe.

Castien shrugged. “I find her quite entertaining.”

“That’s because she wouldn’t dare smack the prince with her walking stick,” Nevander retorted.

The faint aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air as Castien poured a cup. “There’s more to her than meets the eye. She is very loyal to the Ravenbluff family.” He raised his cup slightly. “Care for some tea?”

The sight of Castien calmly consuming the steaming drink made Nevander’s spine tingle with perspiration. Castien was the only reason he stayed in the sweltering room, and he wasn’t about to make himself any hotter by drinking hot tea.

Nevander declined with a shake of his head. “She’s loyal, hmm? Interesting that you mention that.” He wandered to Castien’s cluttered writing desk, lifting a few papers covered in formal script before dropping them back to the desk. “She said something rather revealing to me today. Something about a chilly vintage from two years ago.” Nevander kept his tone casual, but his meaning was clear.

Castien made a noncommittal noise as he slowly sipped his tea, his face impassive, though his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “She doesn’t miss much, but I trust her. Did she recognize you?”

“If she did, she kept it to herself. So, is she one of your spies?”

Castien raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Castien’s hand trembled as he placed the teacup on its saucer.

Concern gnawed at Nevander. “Why don’t we dine alone this evening, just the two of us? You can catch me up on all the latest court gossip and intrigue.”

Castien’s expression hardened into an icy mask. “I didn’t ask you to come here to babysit me, Van. I’m not an invalid.”

“I know,” Nevander replied. “You’re far too much of an insufferable jerk for anyone to take care of you for long.”

Castien scoffed but motioned to the chair next to him. “Sit your butt down and tell me how your sister is doing.”

Nevander breathed an internal sigh of relief and did as the prince commanded.