21. Chapter 21

twenty-one

N evander’s fingers screamed with cold as he folded back the battered canvas tent flap. Frigid mountain wind knifed through countless tears in the fabric, whistling into their makeshift shelter. Rows of cots lined the tent, each a small island of agony. Moans and vacant stares filled the air, blending with the haunting wind and distant battle.

One voice rose above the chaos. “Prince Nevander, please. It’s urgent.”

Nevander wove his way to the cot, each step on the frozen ground sending shockwaves of pain through his body. If he ever made it back home, he’d never take warmth for granted again. His fingertips, almost translucent, warned of imminent frostbite, but he pushed past the meager warmth of the central brazier. Duty demanded his presence, and he would not forsake his men’s dying pleas.

Blood and fluids had soaked through the bandages wound tightly around the soldier’s torso. Nevander’s stomach clenched. He recognized him, Tynan Respa, who had fought with a ferocity few could match. But Tynan wouldn’t be going home.

When their eyes met, Tynan gripped Nevander’s arm with the intensity of a man whose strength was being held by sheer will. “My prince,” he rasped, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Each cough filled the air with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the sterile odor of the medic’s potions .

Nevander dismissed the hovering medic and perched on the cot’s edge. “I’m here,” he whispered, covering Tynan’s trembling hand with his own.

“Proud... to fight beside you,” Tynan managed, his brown curls matted with sweat despite the cold. “To do something worthy... if only for once.”

Nevander hated this. He despised this war, every blood-soaked second of it. These moments, bearing witness to young men’s last words, were the worst. Yet he swallowed his anguish, offering what little comfort he could. “You were brave, lad. Well done.”

Tynan’s face contorted, his features twisted by the agony that coursed through his body. He took a shuddering breath. “I have to tell you something. I can’t... can’t carry this burden to the grave. It’s caused too much damage.”

Nevander’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening. “Go on.”

“There was a girl,” Tynan whispered, barely audible above the distant cannon fire.

Of course, there was always a girl.

“Her name was Kallessa Wynlar. I wanted her. Not just for her title and wealth. She was... beautiful. I am a poet, you see. I’m drawn to pretty things.” Tynan’s shoulder lifted in a resigned shrug. “I didn’t love her, but I made her fall for me. She was only seventeen. So young. So gullible.”

Unease coiled in Nevander’s gut.

Tynan continued, each word a struggle. “I was used to getting everything I wanted with my charm and wit. Even the queen adored my writings. Yet Kallessa’s father refused my proposal for marriage. No matter what I did, he refused.”

He paused, arms curling protectively around his stomach. A moan escaped his lips, his body convulsing. When his eyes opened again, they held a terrifying clarity .

“When they arrived at the Vaston music festival without Kallessa, I confronted her father,” Tynan’s voice filled with bitter resentment. “Taeral dismissed me, warned me to never to inquire after his daughter again. The rage... it consumed me. I hatched a plan to embarrass the carriage designer to royalty. Who did he think he was to refuse me?”

Tynan’s gaze locked onto Nevander’s, feverish intensity burning in his dark eyes. “During the festival, I slipped away. Sabotaged their carriage. Cut the ties, just enough to go unnoticed.”

His voice faltered, anguish spilling forth in a gut-wrenching cry that left him gasping. Nevander felt the eyes of nearby soldiers turn towards them, but he couldn’t look away from Tynan’s tormented face.

“I only meant to embarrass them,” Tynan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “To teach them not to treat Tynan Respa like a commoner. I never meant—I never wanted—” His words hung in the air, like an arrow hovering at its peak before descending to strike.

Tears welled up, tracing grey trails down his dirt-streaked face. “Oh Kallessa, I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Nevander leaned closer, his heart pounding. “What happened?”

“The carriage broke loose at Whisperwind pass,” Tynan explained, his voice a mix of anguish and guilt. “It went over the cliff. All three of them... dead. Kallessa, left without a family. Her uncle took over, kicked her out.”

His features contorted, voice growing raspy. “I ruined her. All out of spite,” he whispered. “The guilt... I couldn’t stand it. Never contacted her again. Never wrote another word. My muse abandoned me. When the war started, I joined. Hoping to escape my deeds. To do something right, for once.”

His eyes closed, face slackening. For a moment, Nevander thought he was gone. But with a sudden jolt, Tynan snapped back, eyes wide with determination .

“Please, my prince,” he pleaded, desperation filling his voice. “Find her. Tell her I’m sorry. It was never her fault. Tell her... tell her I begged for forgiveness with my last breath. That she was always too good for me.”

With those final words, his dark brown eyes fluttered closed, his body shuddered, and he lay still, his last breath leaving him in a long, cold exhale. The vise like grip Tynan had kept around Nevander’s arm loosened, then fell back to the blood-soaked cot in finality. The weight of his confession lingered in the icy air, adding another burden to Nevander’s already heavy heart.

“Nevander?” Kallessa’s voice quavered, her eyes searching his face.

The weight of Tynan’s confession, long buried in the depths of his war-torn memories, pressed down on Nevander. His chest tightened as he wrestled with how to tell her. As a captain, he’d witnessed countless deaths, heard innumerable last words of longing and regret. But this... this was different.

Kallessa began to rise, her movements stiff and guarded. Panic flared in Nevander’s chest. He couldn’t let her leave, not like this. In a desperate move, he reached for her arm, pulling her onto his lap as he sank back to the ground.

“Wait,” he pleaded, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Just... stay. Please.”

She stilled against him, her body tense. Could she feel his heart beating wildly? He pressed his chin against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, trying to draw strength from her presence .

“Tynan Respa is dead,” he finally managed, the words hanging heavy in the air between them.

Her head snapped around, locking eyes with him. “How do you know this?” she whispered.

Nevander swallowed hard. “I was there. At the battle of Narian. He was... he was one of my soldiers.”

Kallessa’s brows furrowed, her lips parting as if to speak, though no words came. He could see it, the seismic shift in those tawny eyes. An entire lifetime, rearranged in a single moment.

But there was more, so much more she didn’t know. Nevander’s stomach churned.

He’d held grieving mothers’ hands as they raged at him for letting their sons die. He’d seen grown men fall to their knees as they gripped the letter that spelled the end to their progeny. But he’d never had to tell a woman that her family’s death was the result of one man’s pride.

“I never knew,” she murmured, her gaze dropping as the color drained from her face. Then, confusion creasing her brow, she looked up at him again. “He joined the war? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Nevander tightened his grip on her hands, feeling the softness of her skin against his calloused palms. “I don’t think it was his plan,” he admitted. “But he mentioned you. At the end.”

Her eyes widened. “He did? What… what did he say?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Nevander’s throat constricted. “He begged for your forgiveness.”

“But why?” Her voice was like a knife to his heart .

Such innocence, such sweetness. About to be crushed by him. He pulled her closer, as if he could somehow shield her from the truth with his body. She didn’t resist, too stunned by his words to do anything but cling to him.

Nevander took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to say next. The words, when they came, felt like shards of glass in his mouth.

“Kallessa, he... he sabotaged your parents’ carriage.”

He sabotaged your parents’ carriage. The words ricocheted through Kallessa’s mind, a cacophony of nonsense and terrible clarity. It had never been an accident.

Sabotage.

Her lungs constricted, each breath a battle. “Tynan... sabotaged their carriage?” The name tasted like ash on her tongue.

Nevander’s reply came as if from a great distance, muffled by the roaring in her ears. “He claimed he never meant to do any harm, only teach them a lesson.”

Kallessa jerked away from him, sparks dancing at the edges of her vision. A gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, its icy fingers raising goosebumps on her skin. She stumbled to her feet, nearly upending the picnic basket in her haste.

“My family is dead because he wanted to teach them a lesson?” The words clawed their way out of her throat, raw and primal. Her knees buckled, and she doubled over, a keening wail tearing from her chest. “My family is dead!”

The truth crashed over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drag her under. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nevander’s eyes, filled with pity, bore into her, and she couldn’t stand it. She had to escape.

“I must go. I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out, barely coherent.

She bolted, leaving Nevander calling her name. Or was it just the wind? She couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except putting distance between herself and the crushing weight of this revelation.

Her feet pounded the earth, stumbling over roots and stones. Branches whipped at her face and arms, but she barely felt the sting. Sunu’s worried whinny pierced through her fog, and Kallessa changed course. That placid little pony couldn’t give her what she needed now. She needed speed, needed to outrun the truth nipping at her heels.

Kallessa vaulted onto Sunu’s back, her fingers tangling in the horse’s mane. She dug her heels in, and Sunu responded instantly, sensing her rider’s desperation. They tore across the meadow, hooves thundering, kicking up clods of earth and grass.

“Mother, Father, Blain,” Kallessa choked out, burying her face in Sunu’s mane. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, quickly cooling in the rushing wind. “I miss you so much!”

She surrendered herself to the gallop, willing her mind to go blank. No thoughts, just the pounding of hooves, the rush of wind, the burn in her muscles. Anything to drown out the echoes of Nevander’s words .

They rode for what felt like hours, careening through fields and wooded trails. The landscape blurred around them, a smear of greens and browns giving way to orderly rows of bare vines. They had reached the estate’s vineyard.

Sunu slowed to a canter, then a trot, picking her way carefully along the paths between the rows. Most of the grapes had been harvested, leaving only a few wizened raisins clinging stubbornly to the vines. A gust of wind sent a handful of golden and russet leaves skittering across their path.

The sky had darkened ominously since they’d left the lake. Sunu’s ears flicked back and forth, her steps growing more restless as she sensed the impending storm. The air crackled with electricity, carrying the rich, earthy scent of damp soil from the vineyard.

As they neared the edge of the vineyard, an unexpected clearing came into view. From a distance, it could easily be missed, tucked away just beyond the next rise. It faced west, offering a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and distant peaks crowned with early snow. At the center stood a majestic onyx memorial, its dark surface a stark contrast to the vases overflowing with golden sunflowers and blood-red roses flanking it. A solitary bench of rose granite stood sentinel before it.

Drawn by an inexplicable pull, Kallessa dismounted. Her legs trembled, muscles protesting after the punishing ride. She let Sunu graze among the soft grasses while she approached the memorial on unsteady feet.

Even in the fading light, the intricate carvings were mesmerizing. Kallessa’s fingers traced the engraved words, finding the stone cold and unyielding beneath her touch .

Prince Dane Ravenbluff

Husband and Father

Krithadea mourns her Son

A lump formed in her throat. He’d been only twenty-eight when he died. Just six years older than she was now. The epitaph seemed woefully inadequate for the heir to the throne. Where was the mention of his parents? His brother, Prince Castien? There were no clues here how he died, but the immaculate condition of the memorial spoke volumes about someone’s devotion.

The intricate carvings encircling the writing drew Kallessa’s gaze. Two ravens with outstretched wings, their bodies intertwined in a spiraling grapevine. The birds never quite touched, frozen in an eternal dance amidst leaves and grapes captured in exquisite detail.

She took a step back, her legs giving way as she sank onto the bench. From here, Prince Dane had a front-row seat to every sunset from now until eternity, his memorial facing the vast western sky.

The cold granite seeped through the thin fabric of her skirts, sending a shiver up her spine. As she sat there, gazing at the grave of a young man who’d been destined to be king, alone on this windswept knoll, a crushing realization washed over her.

Her family lay at the bottom of an unreachable ravine, their lives snuffed out in an instant. And they had nothing. No marker, no place for her to visit, to remember, to mourn.

After their deaths, her life had become a blur of grief and loss. Uprooted from her home, stripped of her status, cast adrift. And she’d been existing, not living, in a state of numb denial, drifting from one day to the next .

How was she honoring her family by this shadowy existence? Is this what her mother would have wanted for her? Her father? Even Blain?

No.

As the sharp wind rustled through the leaves, she felt a stirring within her, as if she had finally awakened from a long slumber. Uncle Talos may have taken away her physical home, but he would no longer crush her spirit.

It was time for change. She would honor her family’s memory. She would make changes when she returned to Teansong.

She was tired of being a shadow.

Returning to the stables, Kallessa slid from Sunu’s back, her legs trembling with exhaustion and emotion. “Thank you, Sunu. Mama would be so proud of you.” The words caught in her throat as thoughts of her mother intertwined with the bitter revelation about Tynan. His face, with those moody dark eyes and unruly curls that she’d always adored, now belonged to a villain.

The air grew heavy with an impending storm as she walked the winding path from the stables back to the grand estate. She slipped in through a side door, grateful to avoid the bustling crowds of the evening’s festivities.

The thought of donning a mask of serenity and playing the part of a proper lady made her stomach churn. Her body ached from riding, her eyes swollen and raw. All she craved was the solace of a hot bath, to wash away the day’s revelations, along with the dust and sweat.

Yet, as she entered the warm hallways, an invisible force tugged at her, drawing her inexorably towards the library. She hesitated at the threshold, memories of Nevander’s kiss in the hidden nook flooding back. A surge of raw emotion quickly overpowered the bittersweet nostalgia.

Inside, the once-cold fireplace now roared with life, casting dancing shadows across the room. Kallessa marched to the shelf where the slim green tome of Tynan’s poetry sat, mocking her with its innocuous presence. She slid it out, its weight a leaden reminder of shattered dreams and bitter truths.

With trembling fingers, she flipped to page 34, where her once-favorite poem resided. The words blurred before her eyes, but she didn’t need to read them. They were etched into her soul, each line now holding a meaning it never held before, revealing the real man behind them. She slid her fingers across the fine paper to the top, separating the page from the others.

Slowly, she tore the page, savoring the severing of sheet from binding, ripping it from its home, like Tynan had ripped her away from hers. Once freed, she crumpled it tightly in her fist and with a vehement motion, she hurled it into the flames.

A small grin crept upon her lips, a rush of exhilaration coursing through her veins as the flames hungrily consumed the words she once held so dear. One by one, she tore the pages from the book and tossed them into the fire, each page curling and blackening before turning to ash, just as her last vestiges of feelings for a man she hadn’t really known burned with them. Finally, she held only the binding, and she wrenched it back and forth, trying to rip it in half, but it wouldn’t give. In a fit of exasperation, she flung the remnants into the flames, her chest heaving with a mixture of exhaustion and a lingering sense of madness.

“That was one of mother’s favorite books,” a voice spoke behind her, startling her from her frenzy.

Kallessa whirled around to find Prince Castien standing there, one eyebrow raised.

She knew she should apologize, or curtsy, or something, but in that moment, she didn’t have it in her. In that moment, she was free.

Instead, she pointed to the fire. “That coward murdered my family,“ she said, her voice as cold as the snow-capped mountains outside the window.

“Did he now?” The prince’s voice was low, calm, a stark contrast to the storm swirling within Kallessa.

She turned back to the fire, her heartbeat still pounding. The room fell into a hushed stillness, broken only by the mournful wail of the wind seeping through the chimney and the crackling of the flames.

Struggling to match the prince’s composure, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I loved him once. I dreamed we would be happy together.” She let out a bitter laugh. “What a fool I was.”

Prince Castien joined her by the fire, his hands outstretched towards the dancing flames, his wool jacket and heavy trousers insulating him from the cold.

“Many people believe the purpose of life is to pursue happiness,” he remarked, glancing at her with tired eyes that flickered against the orange glow. “But they’re mistaken. If happiness ever finds you, it will leave you just as quickly, like a drunken lover, or a perhaps… a fickle poet.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you want to know the meaning of life?”

Taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation, Kallessa hesitated before replying, “Yes.”

“So do I.” Bitterness etched across his features as he stared into the flames. “But I know one thing it isn’t. Letting the dead rule us from the grave.” He turned to face her, his eyes intense. “They’re gone to rest in peace or whatever the dead do, yet they leave behind these messes for us. The dead are always going about, mucking it up for the rest of us, aren’t they?”

Kallessa let out a surprised scoff. “I guess they are.”

Rain tapped more insistently against the windows. Kallessa had seen the bruised clouds outside; this was merely a harbinger of the storm to come. Had Nevander made it back? Would he even want to see her after this?

Castien retrieved a linen handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of smoke from the fire. He waved his hand about in a circular manner. “Your face is a bit of a wreck.”

She let out something between a cry and a laugh and took it from him, dabbing at her eyes. “I bet all the ladies swoon with lines like that, my lord.”

Castien heaved a breath and released it. “You’d be surprised what royalty can get away with. One of the few perks.”

He gave a mock bow. “I do come bearing good news. Princess Ciana will be here next week, and I’ll tell her of your ridiculous riding skirt idea. I promise you, she will seek you out. ”

Kallessa’s heart leapt. Could it really be that simple? She’d been so focused on the pain of the past, she’d almost forgotten the possibility of a brighter future.

“Thank you, my lord. I will be forever grateful for any assistance you can provide.” And if the princess didn’t like her idea, she would find another way, somehow. She would escape her uncle’s iron grip and forge her own path.

Castien gazed at her thoughtfully. “Is it really that bad, my lady?” he asked gently.

“What do you mean?” Kallessa replied, caught off guard by the prince’s perception.

“I make it my business to know the background of every person who visits my estate, Lady Kallessa Wynlar.”

She glanced at him sharply. How much did he know about her family circumstances?

Prince Castien held up his hands in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, I am a master at keeping secrets. Your history is safe with me.”

Kallessa didn’t know how comfortable she felt with the foreign prince knowing her life story. It would make her feel better if she knew even one small thing about him.

So she turned to the prince and gauged his face, his pale skin warming to golden in the firelight. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

He nodded once.

Her thoughts drifted back to the lonely grave in the vineyard that faced the vast expanse of western sky. That massive memorial to a prince who would never be king.

“What happened to your brother? ”

Castien’s eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he stared into the fire. It seemed a thousand lifetimes came and went before he answered, his voice a mere murmur. “Remember what I said about the dead mucking it up for the rest of us?”

“Yes.”

His eyes finally broke their contest with the fire, turning their icy intensity upon her instead. “Dane takes the grand prize,” he said bitterly.

With that, he spun on his heels and left her alone, holding his handkerchief in her hand.