7. Chapter 7

seven

T wo hours later, Dovina flounced out of the room, her hair perfectly coifed and her delicate pink gown cinched to perfection. “I’m not waiting for you,” she declared. “I hope you didn’t think we’d be spending all our time together while we’re here.”

Kallessa flicked her eyes skyward and huffed in relief as the door clicked shut. Thank goodness for that.

She turned toward the window, inhaling the clean evening air. Russet and violet painted the sky as the scent of fresh-cut grass and mums wafted through the opening. She tried to focus on the chirping crickets, her breathing, anything but the night’s events.

Her stomach twisted as conversations and laughter seeped through the door. She checked her image in the full-length mirror beside the wardrobe. The maid had really outdone herself. An elegantly attired young woman in dark blue, with flattering ringlets framing her face, stared back. Wow. If only she could make her unruly hair do this at home. Biting her lip, she forced her feet to the door.

Kallessa grasped the cool brass doorknob with a sweaty palm and forced her breathing to settle. She could change her life this week if she could just summon the courage—and not embarrass herself in the process .

The grand dining hall assaulted her senses. Over a hundred brightly dressed lords and ladies chattered too loudly, clinked their forks too forcefully, chewed too enthusiastically. Flickering candlelight danced across faces, disorienting her. The mingling aromas of sweet, salty, and sour dishes made her head spin.

Thick marble columns lined the hall, their capitals carved with twining grape vines and unfurling leaves. Between them, tapestries in rich burgundy and navy depicted scenes from Krithadean history, their threads catching the candlelight like liquid gold.

The endless dining tables gleamed with pristine white linens and elaborate centerpieces of fall flowers mixed with wheat stalks and dragon-shaped candelabras. Silver, gold, and crystal sparkled everywhere. Even the chairs were works of art, carved from dark wood and cushioned in deep blue velvet that matched the royal colors.

Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling along one wall, though their views of the garden were now hidden behind heavy brocade curtains. Servants in black and white livery moved silently between the tables like shadows, appearing and disappearing through discrete doorways set into the paneled walls.

Everything spoke of old money and power, from the polished marble floors to the ornate moldings, and she’d never felt more out of place.

Kallessa dodged the man’s elbow yet again as he waved his fork in time to the animated story he recounted to the lady seated across from him. The first time it happened, she had her head turned, politely listening to the older lady sitting to her right. Her cheek still stung from the accidental blow.

“So terribly sorry, miss.” The young man had mumbled before diving back into his tale, his tailored green sleeve waving once again. She’d rubbed her face, thinking it was just a single mistake, until it happened again.

Now, she leaned back, teetering on the edge of her chair.

She’d lost her appetite, anyway. The food, though exquisite, was far richer than what she was used to. And who could eat seven courses? Even at her father’s dinner parties, the meals were simple, like roasted chicken and cheese dumplings or mashed rutabagas with savory gravy. Desserts of custard pies from the market or fresh apple tarts from the kitchen. But this dining experience transcended her wildest imagination.

The parade of elaborate dishes blurred together. Clear soup with mysterious golden cubes. Vibrant red beets on peppery arugula. Five more courses she couldn’t name. Finally, a decadent chocolate-dipped biscuit arrived, dusted with what looked like gold.

Before Kallessa could taste it, the clink of silverware on crystal reverberated through the room, piercing the chatter and bringing about a sudden silence.

On a raised platform, at the head of the table, sat a slender young man in regal blue attire, his wavy dark hair touching his collar. Even from across the room, his cool gray eyes assessed the party.

“Welcome, everyone, to the Axan Moon Festival.” His voice resonated with authority, capturing the room’s focus. “We are delighted to once again commemorate Axan, dragon of harvest. This feast symbolizes our gratitude for another abundant year. ”

As he continued his speech about dragons, harvests, and traditions, Kallessa’s gaze drifted around the hall before returning to the speaker. The young man’s words rang hollow, as if he didn’t believe them himself. He studied the crowd with a distant look, simply going through the motions. As he concluded his speech with thanks to the laborers for their hard work, he took his seat, his eyes fluttering before he sipped a glass of water.

Kallessa startled as the attendees erupted into applause before their voices rose in a swell of chatter as they returned to their plates. Had any of these nobles ever lifted a finger to do any actual work in their lives? How many of them had ever toiled in the fields or mended their own clothes? Kallessa could guess a grand total of none.

“Can you believe that’s Prince Castien?” The man across from her whispered to his companion.

“I know.” The lady replied behind her hand. “Maybe the rumors are true.”

“He looks nothing like the prince we saw two years ago.”

Kallessa tuned them out. She hated gossip. If there were any conclusions to draw about the situation, she’d make them herself.

She risked another glance toward the platform. The prince sat next to a beautiful older woman with silver-blond hair swept into a crown, his expression softening as he chatted with her. His slender frame and pallid complexion made him less intimidating than she’d imagined. Had he been ill?

His pale gray eyes swept the room, meeting hers for a fleeting instant. They lingered, assessing her, and she forced her gaze down. No, his apparent illness had no effect on his authority. Those shrewd eyes could impale a person. How was she going to get an audience with him?

She picked up the chocolate biscuit, gold flakes sprinkling back onto the small porcelain plate.

“The name is Warwick,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. A bolt of panic shot through Kallessa. It was the man seated to her left. Elbow man. Had he grown tired of his previous conversation? Sure enough, he’d fixed his gaze directly upon her. The biscuit froze in her hand, halfway to her lips.

He wasn’t really a bad looking man. His eyes were a pleasant shade of blue, and his cheeks were rosy with drink. His disheveled blond hair added a casual charm to his appearance. He wore an emerald suit that fit his trim figure, with a paisley cravat tied about his crisp white shirt. To Kallessa’s eyes, it was rather garish, but what did she know of Krithadean fashion? He could be at the forefront for all she knew. However, the memory of his intrusive elbows jolted her back to reality.

“Um, hello,” she stammered, meeting his expectant gaze.

“And your name is?” He raised a groomed eyebrow.

“Kallessa,” she replied, her voice strained.

He leaned closer, narrowing the careful space she’d crafted between them. The spicy scent of his cologne stung her nose. “Kallessa, it cannot be mere coincidence that fate has placed us side by side on this serendipitous night.”

Kallessa’s mind raced, searching for any polite response, but the man’s next words held her captive in mortifying anticipation.

“My wife, may she rest in peace, drowned a year ago on this very night,” he proclaimed. “And thus, I’m officially out of mourning as of today. ”

She stared at him in stunned silence, mouth parting. What could she say to that? Should she congratulate him? Offer him sympathy?

Her attempt to murmur condolences was swept away by his relentless tide. “And now,” he forged ahead, eyes glinting, “I’m in search of a fresh start... with a new wife.”

The biscuit clattered to the plate, dropped from her limp fingers.

“Sir, I—”

Warwick reached across the space between them, his hand hovering dangerously close to hers. “Dearest Kallessa, your name flows like a gentle stream off the tongue. It suits you.”

She drew back, sliding her hand out of reach. He’d drawn out the ‘s’, hissing like a snake, and leaned forward.

“A life of solitude can be a dreadful thing, don’t you think?” he murmured, inches from her ear. “A widower like myself deserves companionship... and you, a lady of such grace, ought to be cherished.”

A trickle of sweat crept down her spine. “I am not—”

“No need for modesty, my dear. I’ve ample wealth to provide. And I assure you, my marital past is unblemished by any foul deeds. The authorities were quite thorough.”

Her jaw dropped as she stared into his bloodshot eyes. No, no, no. Was this really how the festival was going to be? Fending off strange men who may or may not have drowned their wives?

She placed a hand on her midriff. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It must have been the beef. Please excuse me.” She swiveled, the scrape of her chair distant to her ears, and caught a glimpse of his grin, like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

“Understandable.” Warwick eyed her retreat. “Take all the time you need, my dear. The festival days are long, and so are the nights. ”

Barely registering the servant pulling out her chair, Kallessa plunged into the halls of Ravenbluff Estate, having no idea where she was going, but knowing she couldn’t stay there.

Nevander’s eyes widened. Not three seats away sat that annoying blond-haired woman who’d swindled him out of his room at the inn. Her slim gloved hands rested in her lap, a picture of demure grace. Beside her sat Lord Valen, an old windbag whose ramblings filled the air over the background noise of conversation and clinking silverware. Her delicate laughter and subtle nods perfectly synchronized with the elderly lord’s monotonous tale, one that Nevander had endured countless times at similar events.

Gone was the wild-eyed banshee from the inn. In her place sat a serene, composed lady. Soft curls framed her face, and her pink gown shimmered in the chandeliers’ glow. Cream lace adorned the edges, matching her gloves perfectly.

The young Lady Wynlar glanced his way, as if sensing his scrutiny. Nevander flashed his most courtly smile, eyes twinkling. Her cornflower blues widened slightly before she returned a sweet smile and turned back to Lord Valen.

Just as he suspected, not a spark of recognition. Nevander suppressed a chuckle. To her, he’d been nothing more than a ragged vagabond, an outsider unworthy of such grand affairs. Society was indeed fickle. All he had to do was grow a beard and act unassuming, and his own citizens didn’t even recognize him. Not that he minded. Two years had passed since he’d last attended court, and he didn’t miss the fanfare one bit.

A new thought struck him. If Lady Wynlar was here, then her enigmatic companion must be too. That warm, radiant woman he’d held for a fleeting moment two nights ago. The woman whose name he still didn’t know. Try as he might, she’d lingered in his thoughts. Would she even want to see him again? At the very least, he owed her a genuine apology.

Nevander leaned forward, peering beyond the towering platters and floral arrangements. A sea of faces filled his view, but he was looking for that curly dark hair and golden skin.

The clink of silverware against glass pulled his attention. Castien took his place at the raised table, preparing to deliver his welcome speech. Queen Lyra gazed at her son, pride and sorrow mingling in her eyes.

Castien had never shared the harrowing tale of their poisoning with Nevander. But Nevander knew better than to pry. Castien would open up in his own time. Still, he looked so thin, as if more than illness was eating away at him.

As Castien concluded, Nevander’s gaze drifted back to the west side of the hall. A petite figure abruptly rose from her chair. It was her. Though her expression was indiscernible from this distance, he recognized her dining companion - Warwick Ratliff, Krithadean dignitary and all-around creep.

Nevander’s pulse quickened. Excusing himself politely from the table, he glanced at Castien, who raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Later,” Nevander mouthed silently.

Then he rushed from the hall, following her navy blue gown as it disappeared around a corner.

Kallessa’s heart raced at the faint echo of footsteps behind her. Was that odious man following her? Panic surged through her veins as she turned a corner, entering a dimly lit hallway lined with rows of intricately carved wooden doors. This place was a labyrinth, and she didn’t have time to study the map hidden in her small handbag.

She grasped the doorknob of the first door on her left.

Locked.

She flicked her gaze back, but the hall’s shadows were too deep to see very far. Rushing to the door on her right, she yanked on the knob and it blessedly turned under her grip, releasing a soft creak as it swung open. She slipped inside, shutting it behind her with a delicate click.

Leaning against the door, her chest heaving, she silently pleaded, Please let him go by. Please, please. Had they only arrived today? Two more weeks of this and she’d either go mad, into hiding, or be engaged to marry a suspected murderer. How could it get worse?

The scent of aged leather and polished wood filled her nostrils as her gaze darted around the office, searching for a potential hiding spot.

The doorknob began to turn. Her heart leapt into her throat as she whirled around. The desk? No, she didn’t have time to hide under it. The curtains! Lovely full drapes hung in the large windows that blocked the light. She slid behind the sumptuous drapes, pressing herself against the cool glass, pulse pounding in her ears. The door swung open with a faint squeak before closing. The room fell into an eerie stillness, broken only by the sound of her own racing heart.

“Are you hiding from them also?” A voice, rich and resonant, that sounded faintly familiar for some reason, filled the room.

Kallessa froze, holding her breath. That wasn’t Warwick’s voice. Should she respond?

No.

She wasn’t saying a word. Maybe if she held still, he would lose interest and leave. Please leave.

“I know you’re there.” The words hung in the air, heavy with certainty, followed by light steps across the thick carpet. What now? Was she going to let herself be found cowering behind the curtains? Her cheeks burned. She looked down to see a pair of dark, glossy boots peeking out from beneath the curtains at her feet.

“These parties can be overwhelming, can’t they?” the rich voice spoke again, its timbre filled with understanding.

She remained silent.

“I’ve never had a conversation with a person hiding behind a curtain before. I find it rather refreshing, don’t you? All that mundane talk face to face, completely overrated, in my opinion.”

A giggle escaped her lips against her will.

“Ah, a lady. Well, fair lady-” He paused, interrupted by another noise emanating from the door.

The curtains beside her swished, and suddenly a tall man stood next to her, his scent carrying hints of clove and cedar. It was a clean scent she suddenly wanted to inhale. And she would have, except a large, warm hand gripped her arm in subtle warning .

Two deep voices spoke in a harsh language she didn’t understand in hushed, hurried tones. The man beside her stiffened, looking down at her. He placed a finger against his lips, silently urging her to remain quiet. She nodded, and he slowly withdrew his hand.

In the dim light, his silhouette was all she could see, yet something about him felt strangely familiar. Had she heard his voice before? His accent made her think of northern Dracia. The warmth of his body next to hers chased away any chill she felt. She should be appalled. She was hiding behind a curtain with a stranger. What if they were caught? She was uncertain of the Krithadean courting customs, but she highly doubted that clandestine meetings behind curtains were deemed acceptable.

An eternity seemed to pass before the two men finally ceased their conversation and exited the room. She heard him sigh next to her as the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them. In the stillness that followed, she found herself holding her breath, uncertain of what would happen next. Though she knew nothing of this stranger beside her, some instinct told her not to fear him.

“My lady,” he whispered softly, “we must stop meeting like this.”

She felt a nervous laugh building in her throat again and she shoved it down.

Instead, she surprised herself by saying, “This is the most fun I’ve had all evening.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. It was true, though. Hiding here behind the curtains trying not to laugh was far more enjoyable than the tedious party with all its false smiles and inane small talk. Not to mention that horrible Warwick.

A low chuckle rumbled from him, sending delightful shivers cascading down her arms .

“Perhaps, to not start a scandal this early in the festival, I should leave the room.” He lightly touched her wrist, his fingers grazing her bare skin. “But I beg you to grace me with your name first.”

Kallessa hesitated, unsure if she should tell him. But there was something magnetic about this stranger that made her want to trust him.

“K-Kallessa, my lord.” Had she just stuttered? At least he couldn’t see her blushing here in the dark. And he likely wouldn’t recognize her later, anyway.

He raised her hand gently, his lips brushing against her skin like the softest whisper. Her breath hitched at the exquisite sensation, her eyes widening in the dim light as she tried to capture every detail of him in her memory.

“I am Nevander. And I am no lord. Just a simple man. I bid you good night, Lady Kallessa.”

His voice was like velvet as he spoke her name. The curtains swished aside as he released her hand, and the door opened and closed again before she could draw another shuddering breath.

She stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity before she finally forced her feet to move. Then she raced back to her chambers, her heart pounding like a stag being chased by a fox, the memory of his touch lingering on her skin.