28. Chapter 28

twenty-eight

A torrent of questions swirled through Kallessa’s mind as she entered her suite, shoving the ornate door shut with a resounding thud. What had Nevander been about to tell her before the page interrupted them? His gaze had been so intense, words on the tip of his tongue.

She inhaled deeply, Nevander’s coat still warm and carrying his scent of clove and cedar. Shivers raced across her exposed skin as she unbuttoned it, her fingertips grazing her neck where he’d kiss it. Her skin still felt electrified from the memory of his touch. She caught her reflection in the mirror, cheeks pink, eyes alight with a fire she hadn’t seen in years.

Kallessa’s breath hitched as memories flooded back. Nevander’s hands running through her hair, sliding across her exposed back, his lips soft yet insistent against hers. Suddenly, she no longer felt the chill.

She hung the dress back in the wardrobe, smoothing the fabric as if she could press her swirling thoughts flat. But her mind refused to quiet, replaying every moment, every touch, every whispered word.

An envelope on her nightstand caught her eye. She quickly slipped into a dressing gown and settling on the edge of her bed, grasped the mysterious envelope and broke the wax seal.

As she flipped open the paper, she was surprised to see a clean, simple script instead of the swirling flourishes from before.

Kallessa,

Castien has told me of your split skirts, and I am intrigued. Please join me in the east parlor at 9 am.

Yours,

Ciana Lionskye

Kallessa’s breath caught in her throat. Princess Ciana had written her a personal note, forgoing all formalities and titles? Her fingers trembled as she held the letter, her mind whirling with questions. She’d never even laid eyes on royalty from her own kingdom, let alone exchanged correspondence.

A knot of nerves twisted in her belly. Who was she to be addressed so informally by a princess? The girl from Teansong, living with her aunt, stripped of her title.

No, she couldn’t allow those insecurities to take root. This was her chance, maybe her last, to secure a future for herself.

As Nevander followed the page down the estate’s winding halls, whispers and glances followed in his wake. Without the wild beard and long hair, they recognized him. A lead weight settled in his gut, pressing against his lungs. It was over, his freedom of anonymity ending, the burden of the crown once again upon his head. He forced the mask of his royal status back onto his face, a face filled with an emptiness that ate at his soul.

And he’d left Kallessa with that confession untold, on the tip of his tongue. How hard would it have been to just blurt it out? I’m the bloody prince of Dracia.

He wasn’t sure whether to thank or throttle the harried looking page. Whatever had him rushing toward Castien’s suite better be good. If he’d been pulled away on a whim, Castien would get an earful. Would he be able to get back to Kallessa and tell her the truth before she heard it secondhand? He lengthened his stride. He needed to end this quickly and get back to her, but to what end? Once Kallessa knew the truth, the fragile illusion they shared would shatter.

Well, what had he expected?

He hadn’t expected to fall in love with her.

He overtook the page, resting a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“I can take it from here. The prince is in his suite?”

The page stared wide eyed at him. “You- you’re,” then he swiftly bowed. Low. “Prince Nevander, I’m so sorry for not recognizing you.”

“Get up,” Nevander whispered quickly, glancing around. All he needed was more attention. Confusion written across the boy’s face, he slowly rose, then inclined his head. “Yes, my lord, the prince is in his suite.”

“You are dismissed.”

The page scurried back down the long corridor. Thankfully, they were close to the private suites and the observers of their interaction were few. Heaving a sigh, Nevander strode to Castien’s suite, not bothering to knock, and swung the door wide.

What he saw froze him in place, his rebuke stalled on his lips.

Castien, his face raw with longing and sadness, love and joy, sat watching the top of his niece’s head as she read from a book in her lap. They sat side by side in one of Castien’s many plush club chairs, a picture of domestic tranquility that seemed at odds with the tension thrumming through Nevander’s body.

Akeela lay in Castien’s lap and he absently stroked her back. The cool morning light glimmered off Wynna’s coppery hair, brighter than Ciana’s, but with eyes as grey as the dawn, just like Dane, her father.

At his abrupt entrance, both Wynna and Castien flicked their matching grey eyes upward. The guarded look on Castien’s face fell into place, a stark contrast to the huge grin splitting Wynna’s.

She wiggled out of the chair, her stocking feet hitting the carpet with a soft thud, and ran to Nevander, her arms wide. “Uncle Van!”

Nevander swung her around in a circle before putting her down. Her hair smelled like sunshine and summer, her cheeks warm.

“My, my, could you have possibly grown in the two weeks I’ve been gone?”

She giggled and patted Nevander’s arm. “I’m only nine, uncle.”

Nevander’s lips quirked up. Then he glanced at Castien.

“Where is Ciana?”

Castien waved his hand. “Oh, she’s about. Did I forget to mention that she was coming?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, he had. Nevander narrowed his eyes at Castien .

The prince continued. “Well, since you were nowhere to be found when she and Wynna arrived yesterday evening, there wasn’t much I could do, now was there?”

Yesterday evening he’d been in another world. He was glad that no one could find him. An image of Kallessa, snowflakes drifting onto her dark hair and eyelashes, captured him again.

Wynna tugged on his sleeve. “I think you look much prettier without all that hair growing out of your face and head everywhere,” she declared.

Nevander chuckled. “I look prettier, hmm?”

Wynna nodded. “Mama said you looked like a vaga... vaga-bomb,” she repeated, stumbling over the word.

Nevander burst out laughing. “Oh Wynna, I missed you.”

“As have I, my little queen,” Castien said, rising gracefully from the chair. Akeela jumped down with a soft mew and trotted over to Wynna, circling her legs.

Castien smiled gently at Wynna, and in that moment, it struck Nevander with poignant clarity. She was Castien’s last connection to his brother, to Wynna’s father, the late Prince Dane.

Wynna’s face became serious as she looked at Castien. “Uncle Cas, why do you look so skinny?”

“Ah, a child’s honesty,” Castien murmured. He squatted down next to Wynna, barely concealing a groan. “I’m getting old and pining for my little Wynna these past two years.”

Wynna giggled and hugged Castien. “I love you, uncle Cas.”

Nevander watched Castien as he gently wrapped his too thin arms around Wynna, watched his eyes go bright, watched his throat bob as he swallowed back unshed emotions. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

This was one time when Kallessa wished Dovina would come crashing into her room and tell her what to wear. She rifled through the dresses in the wardrobe for the fifteenth time, all of them coming up short. Too frilly, too bright, too formal. None felt right.

Kallessa swung around and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still a wild mass of curls and her cheeks were bright with nerves. She yanked the window sash open, letting in a cool breeze.

Be yourself. It’s just tea with a princess. No big deal.

She took a shuddering breath and grabbed a simple cotton day dress from the closet. Dark maroon ribbons trimmed the ecru frock, modest and unembellished. She slipped it over her head, laced up the sides, and twisted her curls into simple braids atop her head. Her favorite calfskin ankle boots completed the look.

Kallessa retrieved the large box containing her split skirts, her future, her ticket to freedom, and stepped into the hall, flagging down a maid.

“Could you please direct me to the east parlor?”

“Of course, my lady, right this way.”

Her heart ratcheted higher in her chest until they paused before the open door. Kallessa took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic fluttering of her pulse.

Princess Ciana was soft, and so beautiful Kallessa could only stare. Auburn waves cascaded down the princess’s back, complementing an olive satin gown that set off her milky complexion to perfection. A pang of envy shot through Kallessa, quickly shoved aside as those hazel-green eyes met hers.

She rose and strode toward them, a sureness in her movements that must have come from being royalty, of never feeling a doubt about her station. Kallessa curtsied low, drawing her skirts to the side.

“My lady,” Kallessa and the maid murmured in unison.

“Now, now, enough of that,” Ciana said, dismissing the maid with a subtle nod. “You must be Lady Kallessa, am I correct?” Ciana asked, studying her face intently.

“Yes, my lady.” Kallessa replied, lingering in the doorway.

“I am Ciana. Please, won’t you join me?”

Princess Ciana settled in an upholstered red chair beside an ornate ebony table laden with pinafores, muffins and tiny red tarts. A large teapot sat on a silver tray, along with two dainty teacups. Kallessa’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten anything since before the masquerade party, which now seemed a lifetime ago.

She sat on the opposite side of the table in a golden velvet loveseat and placed her box beside her.

“Please, help yourself.” Ciana laughed, gesturing to the spread. “The staff outdid themselves. They must remember how much I used to eat when I was younger.”

“You are not eating, my lady?”

“Call me Ciana. May I call you Kallessa?”

“Of course, my lady, ah - Ciana.” It just felt wrong to address a princess that way.

Ciana smiled warmly and smoothed her embroidered skirts. “That’s much better. We’re just two women having tea, and talking shop, that’s all. No need for all this formality. ”

Kallessa’s head spun at the princess’s casual demeanor. This defied every etiquette rule she’d ever learned.

As Ciana poured tea, Kallessa’s gaze wandered to the princess’s bare fingers. No rings. A widow’s hands.

“Cream or sugar?” Ciana asked.

“Both please,” Kallessa replied, finally finding her voice, though it came out barely above a whisper.

Ciana handed her a cup and a plate for the pastries.

“You must help me eat some of this food or Cook will be upset with me.” Ciana smiled wryly.

This is not what she expected at all from a princess. Where was all the formality, the protocol, the icy superiority?

But, if the princess wanted help to eat all that wonderful food on the table, who was she to argue? Kallessa layered her plate with an assortment of treats and sat back in the loveseat. As she nibbled on a muffin, Ciana sipped her tea, then addressed her as if they’d been friends for ages.

“My daughter Wynna and I ride almost every morning. I just love the wind in my hair, feeling the sturdy horse beneath me. But sitting side saddle makes it nearly impossible, and I would have never dreamed of doing anything different while married to Dane.”

Kallessa nodded, her mouth too full of muffin to reply. Dane, the future king of Krithadea. Yes, she’d been to his lonely grave only days ago.

A shadow passed over the princess’s eyes. “Two years ago, after my husband’s death, we returned to Vaston. I had a tailor fashion riding pants for myself and Wynna. Well, you can imagine the uproar that caused. ”

A lady, no, a princess, wearing riding pants. If it was anything like the pushback she’d received from the merchants in Teansong, she could imagine.

“So, I called on tailors to come up with a solution. They balked.” Ciana leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Then when I arrived yesterday evening, Castien told me about a wonderful lady here with the perfect design.”

Ciana had been there since last night? Well, how would Kallessa have known? She and Nevander were hiding in their own world, made of glass and moonlight.

But she needed to concentrate. This could be her ticket to freedom. Aunt Gevene could buy all the silly trinkets she wanted. Maybe they could even fix the leaking roof. Dozens of images flashed before her.

It was only dimmed by the thought of doing all those things alone. She mentally shook herself. She had to leave Nevander out of her equation. He couldn’t possibly be part of her future.

Kallessa placed her plate down, lifting the box lid with trembling hands. Pulling out her finest riding skirt, she stood to the side and flipped it so the layers fell into place.

“Full pockets with hidden closures are sewn into each side,” she showed, “eliminating the need for a handbag.” She flipped up the top layers, revealing the pants underneath.

“They appear to be a skirt, but they’re split in the middle so the rider can sit on the horse astride with no problems. The top layers supply the modesty society expects by draping loosely over the under layers, concealing them completely.”

Ciana’s eyes burned with excitement. “May I? ”

Kallessa handed over her hard work, her future, into the hands of the princess.

“Wynna will love this,” Ciana said, examining the skirts, swishing them this way and that.

“How old is your daughter?” Kallessa asked.

Ciana looked up from digging her hands in the pockets. “She’s nine years old. An amazing rider already. She can already beat Nevander in a fair race.” Ciana laughed.

Kallessa’s heart stuttered in her chest. “Nevander?” His name fell from her lips in a breathless whisper.

Ciana glanced up, brows knitting together. “My brother. He’s been here all week. I’m sure you’ve seen him, although right now he’s wearing that ridiculous beard.” A small frown creased her features as she studied the stitching on the skirts.

A wave of dizziness washed over Kallessa as the blood drained from her head. She felt faint, knees wobbling treacherously.

And a thousand tiny hints fell into place in a mere second.

“Prince Nevander Lionskye?” Her voice came out as a gasp, as if she’d been running uphill. He couldn’t be. Not the man she’d spent the last two weeks with. Not the man who cradled her in his arms, and kissed her so tenderly mere hours ago. Not him.

Finally glancing up, Ciana met Kallessa’s stunned gaze. “Yes, although he hates being called that.” The princess’s brow furrowed. She grasped Kallessa’s trembling hands in her own. “Are you alright? You look terribly pale.”

“I, I…” Kallessa stammered, the room spinning. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, threatening to burst free from its bony cage .

Backing up, she finally managed a strangled response. “I’m fine.” The words barely escaping her trembling lips. The walls closed in, suffocating her with each shallow breath. She had to get out of here. “I’m so sorry. Please excuse me.”

Then she fled, her world tilting on its axis.

Kallessa careened toward her room, the once-familiar halls now seeming shadowy and unfamiliar. Every step felt heavier, like trudging through molasses, each heartbeat, the slam of a sledgehammer. She fumbled for the doorknob before finally swinging it open and stumbling inside. Tears she could no longer hold in blurred her vision.

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, fingers fumbling with the laces of her dress. Finally, she ripped it off, the fabric tearing under her desperate grip, slipping to the floor in a whisper that seemed to mock her.

How could she have been so stupid? Prince Nevander Lionskye? The royal scion of Dracia? The reality struck her with the ferocity of a lion’s roar.

She had lost herself in a whirlwind of emotions, failing to see the truth right before her eyes. She’d been flouncing about, kissing a prince, telling everyone he was her fiancé, all the while thinking he was just a simple person like her. The chasm between their stations was now a gaping, impassable abyss.

A choked sob escaped her lips. Her body flushed from head to toe in a burning wave of shame that seared her soul. Nevander must have been laughing at her the whole time, reveling in her ignorance. He and that bloody Prince Castien had probably had plenty of laughs at her expense, mocking the silly, naive girl who dared to dream.

With shaking hands, she retrieved the only silver half crown she had from her purse. The profile etched on its surface was unmistakable, hauntingly familiar. Without the beard, she easily recognized the chiseled jawline of Prince Nevander Lionskye.

A torrent of stories and rumors she’d overheard about the famed prince throughout her life came crashing over her in a dizzying whirlwind as all the cryptic pieces of what he’d shared with her fell into place like tumblers in a lock. How could she have been so na?ve, so utterly blind to the truth staring her in the face?

“A shipbuilder’s son,” she scoffed, her voice bitter in the empty room. Technically, he hadn’t lied. King Oren Lionskye owned the largest shipyard in the world, a master shipbuilder in his own right.

With Princess Ciana’s arrival, everyone would soon realize Nevander’s true identity. Why had he hidden it from her? It didn’t matter. She didn’t belong among these people.

She had to get out of here. Maybe Dovina would be ready to go.

Not likely. Another wave of mortification crashed over her. She could just imagine the laughter of these people, gawking at her with noble disdain, their mocking whispers as their lips curled: That’s the pathetic pauper girl who pretended she was engaged to a prince.

In a frenzy, she packed the smallest travel bag with a few simple dresses. She didn’t even have any of her split skirts anymore. She’d ran so quickly from the room that she’d left them with Princess Ciana.

Once the princess discovered she was a fraud, she would probably burn them, anyway.

Her gaze fell upon the map of the estate on her desk, and she noticed a detail she’d overlooked before. In the bottom left corner, what she’d thought was a decorative flourish was actually the profile of a lion, with a flourished ‘N’ inscribed inside. She instantly recognized the distinct shape of that initial. Nevander’s signature mark. He’d drawn this exquisite map.

Her hand hovered over the map, torn between the urge to rip it apart and the desire to keep this one tangible piece of her shattered dream. Before she could change her mind, she stuffed it into her bag. She needed something to remind her that this had been real, even if it was all based on a lie.

Pulling on her woolen cloak and sturdy shoes, she glanced out the window. The snow had stopped, a heavy blanket of silence over the world, a world she no longer felt she belonged to. She mournfully glanced at all the fine dresses left in the closet. Dovina could retrieve them for herself. She wouldn’t have room to take such reminders of her idiocy.

The urge to scream clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it down, drawing deep breaths to steel herself against the rising tide of panic and despair. She’d gotten herself into this mess; she would get herself out, no matter how bleak the path ahead looked. That would teach her to dream of something more than the crumbs life had allotted her thus far.

Checking that the hallway was clear, Kallessa rushed to Dovina’s room, her soft leather boots barely whispering against the granite floor. She tapped lightly on the ornately carved door, hoping against hope that her flighty cousin might still be there .

“Dovina? It’s me, Kallessa,” she called out in a hushed voice.

Silence greeted her. Pushing the door open wider, she found the room spotlessly clean, the gauzy curtains flung wide to admit the meager morning light.

Dovina was gone.

“Excuse me, my lady.” A maid’s voice startled Kallessa.

“Where is Dovina?” Kallessa asked, whirling to face the maid.

The maid’s blank look prompted Kallessa to clarify, impatience sharpening her tone. “The lady who was staying in this suite.”

“Oh,” comprehension dawned on the maid’s face, “she left yesterday, my lady.”

“What?” Kallessa felt the ground shift beneath her feet as the maid’s words registered. Dovina was gone? How could that be?

“Sorry, my lady, that’s all I know,” the maid offered with an apologetic shrug before turning to go about her duties.

Panic rising in her throat, Kallessa rushed to the stables, praying for a miracle, only to be met with the sight of the empty spot where the Wynlar carriage had been.

“I am an idiot,” she whispered, the words cutting deeper than the winter chill. Tears streamed down her face, dripping steadily onto the frozen earth.

She had dared to hope and had been cruelly reminded of her place.