6. Chapter 6

six

A fter a much needed bath, Nevander found Castien in the estate’s heated sunroom, watering a flat of small red flowers. A slight haze hung in the air, thick with humidity and a strange scent. He’d never actually been in here. When they were younger, King Graynor kept the doors locked for fear that they'd break the glass windows. They probably would have.

Enormous panes ran from floor to ceiling, framed in gleaming bronze. Shelving ran along the back walls, holding various flats, watering cans and other implements. A sitting area nestled in one corner, while a large brazier flanked by two club chairs took up the other corner.

Castien didn’t turn as Nevander entered.

“Since when did you take up horticulture?” Nevander asked.

Castien cut a few blossoms, letting them drop into a porcelain bowl. “Do you know what these flowers are?”

Nevander drew closer. The blossoms were not only red, but turned orange and gold toward the tips of the broad, flat petals.

Nevander raised an eyebrow. “Is this a trick question?”

Castien continued, ignoring Nevander. “They are steaming rotten torture devices that taste like musty dragon remains.”

Nevander’s brow furrowed as Castien took the blossoms to a brazier in the corner and dumped them in a small pot of boiling water. A pungent odor wafted up, stinging Nevander’s nostrils, and he stepped back.

Castien smiled at him, the expression cold and devoid of humor. “I used to try to mask the taste with sugar, or lemon, or spirits, but nothing helps.”

“Why would you drink such vile stuff, then?” Nevander asked.

“Because fireflowers are the only thing that keep me from freezing to death.”

Nevander shuddered inwardly. Even now, Castien suffered from the aftereffects of the Va’Tar mushroom. Shaydn had tried to explain it in her letters, but seeing it was different. The Va’Tar mushroom was so rare that only those from the frigid northern regions even knew of its existence. It only grew deep inside certain arctic caves, and its poison was usually absolute. But Castien had survived. Unlike Dane.

The poisoning wasn’t common knowledge—only Shaydn had told Nevander about it. Yet even she lacked the full details. She only knew the wine had been tainted. Dane gulped the entire glass, while Castien only sipped before sensing something awry.

As a result, Dane died, leaving Castien to struggle with not only his brother’s death, but the looming crown.

Castien removed the pot and poured the contents through a sieve into an earthenware mug, steam rising in wisps. It had barely stopped boiling when he took a large drink from it, his face contorting in a grimace. But as he consumed the foul drink, color returned to his cheeks and a brightness to his eyes.

“Care for a sip?” Castien offered, holding out the mug with its last remnants clinging to the bottom .

Nevander cautiously took it, bringing it to his lips. Acrid fumes accosted his nose and his lips started burning as if he’d rubbed them with an ember from the brazier. He jerked the cup away.

“Just one small delight in my exciting day as heir to the throne,” Castien said, bitterness laced through his voice.

Before Nevander could respond, Castien changed the subject. “How is the royal family of Dracia, anyway?”

How were they? Driving Nevander crazy. Coming home from the chaos of war, he was greeted with the news that his sister, Ciana, was already a widow and now had to raise her daughter alone. The energy of the Lionskye household engulfed him once again, the echoes of their shouts resonating throughout the house. He could hardly stand it. Their questions, their relentless pushing for him to be who he was before, the laughing. The laughing. The blood on his hands hadn’t even dried, and his family wanted the old Nevander back. Honestly, if Castien’s letter hadn’t arrived, asking for his help, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

“Their usual loud annoying selves. Wynna misses you.” Nevander’s sister, Ciana, had been Dane’s wife. She’d returned home after his death. Wynna, her daughter, was barely the age of six when her father met his untimely demise.

Castien’s gray eyes softened at the mention of their shared niece, but he said nothing.

“Father is building a new shipyard to take advantage of the trade with the new territories.” Nevander continued. The brutal Zhakrova dynasty that had once held tyrannical control over the vast northern Birazahian Empire was no more, their reign of oppression finally ended. But the cost had been immeasurably high .

Nevander had seen the devastation firsthand during the war, the civil unrest, the citizens that suffered under that cruel regime. When the Zhakrova’s made the fateful decision to invade Dracia, stretching their armies and resources to the breaking point, it proved to be their ultimate undoing. The once mighty empire now lay broken into disparate kingdoms, each vying for their own independence with newly installed sovereigns.

“Well, they’ve kept busy.” Castien’s voice had an air of dismissal as he set down his mug. “Let’s get out of this room. It stinks.”

Nevander was more than happy to escape the stuffy, smelly room. As they left, Castien hung his coat on a stand. Nevander’s breath caught in his throat. He was so thin. Nothing like the Castien he’d known two years ago, the one who rode a horse like a champion, who wielded a sword like it was made of air.

Queen Lyra, her silvery blond hair trailing behind her, rushed up the hall. She stopped in her tracks as she spotted them, her violet silk gown rustling. “Castien, I just heard from the painter that-” She broke off, her eyes falling on Nevander.

“Van, dear, is that you?” The intensity of her gaze made it clear that she recognized him.

Just when Nevander had hoped he could go unnoticed.

Nevander bowed slightly. “My lady.”

Her eyes held a layer of emotion she didn’t voice. “Well, why are you still standing there? Give me a hug. Why do you look as if you just escaped prison?” The sound of her voice was stern, yet filled with warmth.

Leave it to Queen Lyra to never mince words.

Nevander gently hugged her slender waist and stepped back.

“It’s good to see you, too.” He smiled .

Her stern expression held as she turned back to her son. “Why is the painter quitting?”

Castien’s face was devoid of any emotion as he responded. “I have no idea, Mother. Everything seemed to be going so well.”

Lyra’s gaze darted about. “I don’t have time to deal with this now. We’ll look into it after the festival is over. Have you seen Celine?”

“No, Mother. The chef is probably browbeating her staff into submission, as usual, in the kitchen.”

“I need to finalize the menus.” She looked back at Nevander, her eyes softening. “Welcome back Van, it’s good to see you.”

“You as well, my lady.” The warmth in her voice made him feel a twinge of homesickness he hadn’t expected.

She hurried off, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the hallway, calling back to them, “Castien dear, are you sure you don’t mind checking the seating charts for tomorrow’s dinner?” The scent of lavender perfume lingered in the air as she spoke.

“Not at all, Mother,” Castien said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Make sure the guest list is updated and give Nevander a copy of the schedule of events,” she called, before she turned the corner and out of sight.

“Yes, Mother,” Castien responded in a syrupy voice too quietly for her to hear.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Nevander as he fell in step with Castien.

Castien paused, fixing him with an intense gaze. “Would you leave your friend that you haven’t seen in two years, who might be dying, I might add, to face these two weeks alone?”

Nevander let out a frustrated sigh. “I came to help you, not to join in with these ridiculous games and parties. You know I hate society.” The thought of mingling with the elite and their false pleasantries made his skin crawl.

Castien’s expression remained impassive, not a trace of sympathy in his pale gray eyes. “As do I, but do you see me shirking my duties?”

Nevander squinted at Castien. “You love parties. And I thought your letter stated you wanted my help.”

“I love people watching. There’s a difference,” Castien countered smoothly. “And I do want your help. What better way to search for potential suspects than to be among all the guests?”

A shiver ran down Nevander’s spine at the thought of the crowded rooms and buzzing conversations. There would be close to two hundred people in attendance. Some coming in for the day from closer by, and others staying on the sprawling estate. People, people, people. As they walked down the hall, the air grew thick with the scent of freshly cut flowers, mingling with the aroma of rich, decadent food from the kitchens.

“No.”

Castien’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know how many guests know that Prince Nevander, the war hero, will be in attendance?”

Is that what they thought? That he was a hero? All he could see were the blank eyes of his dead soldiers staring back at him, accusing.

“You told me I could remain unknown,” Nevander stated flatly.

“Yes, I did. But only if you participate. Otherwise, I will make an announcement at the first dinner of our illustrious guest.” His words hung in the air like a heavy fog.

Nevander’s heart sank. “Why are you doing this to me? ”

Castien raked his fingers through his black hair, the first crack in his composure. “To you? What about me? Mother is trying to auction me off like a prize pony.”

“Is she really expecting that you will find a bride?” Nevander asked.

Castien shook his head in frustration. “It’s ridiculous. Her desperation is embarrassing.”

“What does King Graynor say about it?”

“Since when have you ever seen my father defy my mother? He’s still mourning Dane and won’t even come to the festival,” Castien revealed, a quick flash of pain in his eyes, swiftly disguised. “He’s found some excuse to stay in the capital. So I’m here at my mother’s mercy, and you want to hide in your rooms for a fortnight?” Castien shook his head. “I’m sorry, my friend, but it’s not going to happen.”

All of those peaceful moments Nevander thought he could have, the ones in the massive library here on the estate, or the quiet walks in the hidden gardens, or even the days of not getting out of bed, were shattered.

“So nice to be back,” Nevander mumbled sarcastically.

“Indeed,” Castien said. “So, who do you want to be for the next two weeks?”

Ravenbluff Estate emerged on the horizon as the carriage crested the final hill, its rose-colored stone walls stretching endlessly under the late afternoon sun. Kallessa’s breath caught in her throat.

Vibrant formal gardens decorated the front lawns, their colors dancing in the breeze. Intricate iron lanterns swayed gently, casting a warm glow across the drive flanked by massive oaks whose leaves glowed bronze against the azure sky. Someone had magically created an atmosphere of grandeur and intimacy existing side by side.

As they pulled up, stiff butlers dressed in black and white emerged to escort them down.

Dovina’s delighted smile hadn’t faltered since they’d first glimpsed the estate. “It’s just how I imagined it,” she gushed.

Kallessa’s stomach knotted. It was breathtaking, and startling in its obvious wealth. A stark contrast to Aunt Gevene's cottage.

The manservants led them up the twisting stone walkway to the massive paneled front doors.

In contrast to the formal staff, urns of cheerful orange mums and ivy framed the steps. At the entrance, a butler scanned a parchment.

“Names, please?” he asked, his accent sharp and precise.

“Dovina Wynlar, and my companion, Kallessa Dahoko,” Dovina announced.

The man marked his chart and motioned to a nearby maid. “Ms. Pellion will show you to your rooms.”

Kallessa’s eyes widened as they entered. The foyer’s ceiling soared at least thirty feet high, stained glass windows casting a kaleidoscope across polished checkered marble. Tapestries of vast landscapes adorned whitewashed walls. The air smelled clean and citrusy, with a hint of floral that made her nose twitch .

Twin ebony staircases circled grandly up to the second floor. As they climbed the left one, plush burgundy carpet engulfed Kallessa’s slippers. The hallway seemed endless, illuminated by circular skylights that softened the surrounding stone.

Ms. Pellion opened a two paneled door and ushered them in.

“This will be your room during your time here. The schedule of events and a map of the estate are on the entry table. Enjoy your stay.” Then the maid disappeared, leaving them to explore.

Their suite was light and airy, with watercolor florals on soft yellow walls and gauzy curtains billowing in the breeze. Kallessa could spend two weeks here, easily. She imagined curling up with a book by the window or drifting off in the luxurious bed.

Dovina raced around, giggling. “This is amazing, cousin! Even better than Wynlar estate, isn’t it?”

A lump formed in Kallessa’s throat. No, she wouldn’t trade a thousand Ravenbluff estates for her childhood home. Her mother would have laughed at all the grandness. All I need is a roof to keep me dry and your father to keep me warm. And horses, she’d say, hugging Kallessa’s father, gazing at him as if he’d hung the moon. Kallessa sighed. To have a love like that.

“There’s to be a masquerade ball!” Dovina exclaimed, brandishing the schedule.

“We didn’t bring costumes.”

“It says they will provide the costumes.” Dovina twirled. “This will be the best two weeks of my life.”

Kallessa’s stomach churned. While Dovina danced and dined, she’d have to find a way to see the prince. If she couldn’t interest him in her ideas, why was she even here? Besides Uncle Talos’s threats of destitution, of course. She grimaced at the thought of so many dinners and events, so many people.

The estate map on the mahogany table caught her eye. It was no standard map, but a masterful, magical illustration. As she held it, she could almost hear birds chirping and bunnies rustling as she spotted their delicate drawings among the trees and gardens. It was obviously an artistic rendering of Ravenbluff, as there was no way the entire estate could possibly fit on the paper. But it was so enchanting, she didn’t care.

Unfolding it three times, she discovered a small legend tucked away in the bottom left corner. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to be discovered.

Kallessa pushed the thought away. She wasn’t here to explore; she was here to secure her and Aunt Gevene’s future. With her 23rd birthday looming, Uncle Talos would expect her to be married soon. Desperation washed over her. This might be her last chance at independence.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dovina asked, her nose still buried in the schedule.

Kallessa pulled back the gauzy curtains. The setting sun bathed the vast vineyard and formal gardens in a golden glow, a tapestry of carefully arranged wealth that seemed to mock her. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. “Around 5 o’clock, I’d guess,” she replied, her voice hollow.

Dovina’s urgency shattered the moment. “We only have two hours before the events begin! Where’s our luggage? Do we even have a maid?” She yanked the door open.

Irritation flared in Kallessa’s chest. “How would I know? We arrived here together, remember? ”

Dovina rolled her eyes. “Go find out about our luggage. And a maid. I need someone to do my hair for dinner. I love you, cousin, but your hair styling skills need work.”

Kallessa wanted to yell, that’s because I’m not a maid! But she held her tongue. For the sake of peace during their two-week stay, she’d have to keep her frustrations in check. But as she left the room, her fists clenched at her sides, she wondered how long she could maintain the facade.