13. Chapter 13

thirteen

T he next morning, Kallessa’s brush snagged on a tangle as an impatient knock rattled her door. Dawn’s soft hues barely cracked the horizon, filling her new chambers with pale light. Another knock sent tremors through the glass vase of irises on the dressing table. With a sigh, she abandoned her half-brushed hair and opened the door.

Dovina swept in, a vision in silver gossamer and glittering beadwork. A delicate leaf coronet adorned her elaborate braids and curls. “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

Under her arm, Dovina clutched her travel harp, the lightweight willow wood polished to a sheen. She paced restlessly, the soft tinkling sound of the silver beads in her gown filled the air as she moved.

Sitting back down at the dressing table, Kallessa continued to brush her long dark curls before making parts at the scalp. She intended to keep it simple. She certainly didn’t stand a chance in the looks department with her beautiful cousin at her side.

“We aren’t meeting with the prince for another hour,” Kallessa mumbled around the hairpins she held in her lips, her fingers deftly braiding her hair and twisting it into a neat halo atop of her head.

“You aren’t even dressed yet. Did this new room come with a maid?” Dovina’s gaze darted around the opulent room, brows furrowing. “You said your fiancé was the son of a shipbuilder. Why are these rooms so… lavish?”

Kallessa’s stomach knotted. She’d wondered the same thing. Ornate tapestries, plush rugs, gilded mirrors, and a crystal chandelier screamed wealth beyond a mere shipbuilder.

“I’m not sure.” When she’d first entered the opulent chambers the previous evening, she’d been shocked, convinced that the maid had escorted her to the wrong room. However, the maid assured her that this was where she was supposed to stay for the rest of the festival.

“Must be really good business,” Dovina murmured, her brows furrowing slightly.

Her cousin strode to the bed, eyeing the peach dress Kallessa had laid out. “No, no, no. You can’t wear this one.” Dovina yanked the gown up. “Can’t you see I’m wearing silver?”

“And I was supposed to read your mind this morning?”

Dovina’s perfectly arched eyebrow suggested yes, she was. She rummaged through the wardrobe, swishing dresses aside one by one, mumbling to herself. “I didn’t know we’d be presented to the prince together. I should have had more dresses made.” Dovina whipped out a simple off-white satin gown, the smoothness of the fabric catching the light. “Wear this one, with the silver shoes and silver necklace. That way, we won’t clash.”

And Kallessa wouldn’t stand out against her. That was fine. She just needed Prince Castien to listen to her idea. Then he could flirt with Dovina to his heart’s content.

Dovina fussed and Kallessa dressed, and soon enough it was time to go. Kallessa grabbed her box with her split skirt and Dovina, her harp. A footman escorted them to their destination, their footsteps echoing as they navigated the unfamiliar halls. Where would they be presented? Would it be in a grand courtroom or a throne room?

Her heart pounded as they stopped at... a sunroom?

Inside, Prince Castien reclined by the window, dawn’s cool light reflecting off his pensive features. His slender fingers curled around an earthenware mug, wispy tendrils of steam rising hypnotically from its murky surface. Silvery mists danced on the lawn beyond the expansive windows, cool and clean in the early dawn.

But the stuffy room reeked of pungent flowers, making Kallessa’s head spin. The crackling fire in the brazier in the corner intensified the temperature. Sweat beaded on her brow as her gaze swept over shelves lined with blood-red and orange blooms.

“The ladies Dovina Wynlar and Kallessa Dahoko, my lord,” the footman announced.

The prince waved lazily. “Yes, thank you. You may go.”

The footman clapped his heels and retreated, leaving Kallessa and Dovina standing near the doorway, glancing at each other nervously. According to protocol, they couldn’t speak until he acknowledged them. Yet he continued to stare at the distant horizon. Kallessa felt Dovina’s nervous energy radiating beside her. Her own muscles ached from standing so still.

Moments ticked by, the prince sipping from his mug, Kallessa resisting the urge to squirm. Finally, those eerie gray eyes shifted to them. Caught in the hazy morning light, they were translucent, like wisps of smoke. He pointed to the embroidered seats across from him and uttered a simple command, “Sit.”

Kallessa sank into the seat, relief warring with mounting tension. A delicate tea service of silver and porcelain sat on the table between them, accompanied by a platter of buttery scones, lemon curd, and tiny persimmon tarts dusted with sugar. The prince’s plate sat untouched. A bead of nervous sweat trickled between Kallessa’s breasts as they sat waiting, her mind filled with questions.

Finally, the prince broke the silence, his mild voice a contrast to the mood of the sunroom. “Tea? I’ve dismissed the maid, so if you would like, you can pour it yourself.”

Drinking anything hot sounded awful, but Kallessa’s throat had gone so dry, she would need some just so she could speak without croaking.

“I’ll do it,” Dovina murmured softly. With the graceful movements of long practice, she expertly arranged the cups on their saucers, then lifted the ornate teapot. She poured a rich, dark red tea into the exquisite china, the fragrant steam rising. With precision, she added a touch of milk and sugar to both cups, swiftly stirring them. Kallessa couldn’t help but admire Dovina’s composed demeanor, as she skillfully hid her own nerves.

Prince Castien’s gaze drifted back to the window, his eyes devoid of emotion. Kallessa followed his line of sight, her eyes resting on a distant vineyard. The vines were now barren of their ripe grapes, harvested earlier in the fall, with only the mottled gold leaves of autumn still clinging to the twisted branches.

“I hear the beaches of Teansong are breathtaking at sunrise,” he finally said, his voice a soft baritone in the quiet room.

Gone was the teasing man from yesterday’s games. The lightness and humor were gone from his face, replaced by a melancholy stillness. He seemed adrift, like the mists floating across the valley.

Dovina, oblivious to his mood, chirped, “Indeed, my lord, but none can compare to the splendor of a sunrise on your estate. ”

His eyelids fluttered as he gazed across the valley. “I’ve seen too many of these already.” His voice was low, bleak.

As the sun’s first rays stretched across the valley, the prince resolutely turned his back on the dawn. His shoulders straightened, and the morning mist faded from his eyes, replaced by the steely gray of granite.

Nevander didn’t feel the soft sheets beneath him, nor the pillowy comfort of the blanket that rested upon him. Instead, he gasped for air, a suffocating weight on his chest. Death bore down on him, his comrades in arms accusing him with hollow, lifeless eyes. He wrenched his eyes open, the vaulted ceiling of his luxurious chambers a stark contrast to the harrowing scenes in his mind. Tears he refused to acknowledge dampened his lashes.

He’d wasted the past two years trying to drown out these feelings. Once his shoulder had healed, he’d plowed through any woman that would let him, desperate to feel anything other than the darkness that ate at him. He’d drank any spirit put in his hand, seeking oblivion at the bottom of a bottle. He’d said no to himself and yes to every distraction, be it good or bad, that came his way. Anything to avoid facing the demons that plagued his soul. But they were here now, surrounding him, condemning him for his failures.

He twisted in the blankets, tossing the down pillow on the floor. His men lay in beds of dirt, never to wake again, while he carried on this ridiculous charade of engagement to an intriguing woman in the next suite.

Untangling his legs from the sheets, he stalked to the window and flung it open. The cool air hit his bare chest as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm the angry, ugly thing vibrating just below the surface of his mind. Some days he fought it, some days he was too damn tired.

Splashing cold water on his face, Nevander dressed quickly in a simple white linen shirt, soft wool breeches, and well-worn leather boots. He ran a hand through his damp hair, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. Too many ghosts swam in those green eyes.

The halls were silent as he made his way to the stables. Dawn broke over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in peaches and roses. A low mist swirled at his ankles, clinging to the last moments of night.

Sunu nickered a greeting as he entered. Akeela played with a strip of leather at his feet while he groomed the horse, forcing his thoughts to stay present. The silky mane beneath his fingers, the sweet scent of hay, the soft shuffling noises of the barn—these were real, tangible things to anchor him.

He swung a saddle over Sunu’s back, settling it gently into place before fastening each strap. Methodically, he checked each buckle, ensuring all was secure. When he turned toward the barn entrance, the sudden appearance of the queen made his jaw clench.

Just as he’d finally started to relax into his familiar morning routine, she appeared like a specter, disrupting his fragile peace. Queen Lyra strode to him, her silver hair unbound over a loose dark gown of forest green. Her piercing eyes studied him in the pale morning light .

He forced a courtly smile to his face and greeted her.

“You must forget the household I married into, Van,” the queen said, a half smile gracing her face.

“Pardon?”

“In the Ravenbluff clan, deception is the game. You don’t have to plaster that smile on for me.”

This woman had known him for almost ten years, yet he still didn’t feel he could let his guard down. He even schooled his face around his own mother. It was too ingrained in him as a prince of the court.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, her gaze piercing through his carefully constructed facade. “Fine. Keep it to yourself. I can see how well it’s working for you.”

The smile froze on his face, the corners of his lips twitching with suppressed frustration. He wanted to rage; to ask if she knew what it was like to lose so many people who had relied on him. But she’d lost too.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he replied, his voice strained. “What can I do for you?”

Akeela padded up to the queen, purring softly. Lyra scooped up the cat, her delicate fingers stroking its fur. “Is this one from Wynna’s litter?” she asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice.

“Yes,” Nevander replied, his voice softening. “She thought I needed watching after.”

The queen chuckled softly. “I miss that little one. How is she doing? And Ciana? I’ve been surrounded by men since those two left.”

He busied himself with hanging up the grooming tools. “Wynna is growing tall and coming out of her shell. As for Ciana, well, she’s a true Lionskye. Good at being pushy, and she’s mastered the art of hiding her feelings like the rest of us.”

“She’s a Ravenbluff, and her place is here,” Queen Lyra stated firmly.

Nevander clenched his jaw. After Dane’s death, Ciana had packed her things and come back home to Lionskye estate, with Wynna. He wanted to argue that blood would always be thicker, that Ciana would always be a Lionskye in her heart, but he bit his tongue.

The queen rubbed her temples. “But that’s not why I caught you.” Her eyes, so like Castien’s, held a rare vulnerability. “What can you tell me about Castien? Has he shared anything? Dane’s death was hard on us all, but I’m worried about him. According to the healer, he should be much further along in his recovery.”

Nevander’s chest tightened. What could he say? Castien was as tight-lipped as ever, his defenses stronger than before.

“I don’t know, my lady,” he admitted.

Lyra glanced down at Akeela, cradled in her arms, stroking the cat’s neck. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He doesn’t eat, he hardly sleeps. He won’t talk about Dane. He won’t talk about the throne. Graynor doesn’t even try to talk to him about it. He keeps telling me to give Castien time.” Lyra swallowed hard. “How much time? Do I have to watch both sons die?” She shook her head, her jaw set. “No, that’s not going to happen. You two were thick as thieves before. I need you to talk some sense into him.”

It wouldn’t work. No man liked to be manipulated, especially Castien. He would rebel for the sake of rebelling.

“I will be his friend, my lady, as I’ve always been.”

Lyra’s shoulders slumped. “If he would just talk about it… ”

He shouldn’t betray Castien’s trust, but he had to tell her something. He couldn’t stand to see that look of loss in anyone’s eyes, especially those he cared about.

“He still believes the poisoner is at large,” Nevander admitted.

Her eyes snapped to his. “But the Zhakrova family was murdered. Every clue led to them. Graynor had men on it for months.”

She was wrong. One Zhakrova still lived—Shaydn, who had saved Castien’s life. But to that, he was sworn to secrecy.

“That’s all I know, my lady.”

“Do you think there’s any truth to his suspicions?”

“I haven’t found any evidence of it.”

The queen grew silent, her hand resting motionless upon Akeela’s back. Then, in a flat, chilling voice, she spoke, “If I ever find out the poisoner still lives, I’ll shred him apart with my own bare hands.”

She lowered Akeela to the ground. “Tell Ciana to visit soon. I miss her.” Without another word, she left.

Nevander finished saddling Sunu and rode out as the first rays of sunlight crept through the stable. He pushed the horse into a gallop, wind whipping his hair and stinging his face. Faster and faster they went, the countryside blurring past in a wash of gold and brown. Yet no matter how fast he rode, he couldn’t escape himself. His thoughts chased close behind, nipping at his heels like wolves on the hunt.