“Not just pretty enough to keep peace. You’re…distracting enough to get a man killed.”
“That’s not really an improvement,” I murmured, cheeks burning.
He looked at me then, and for the first time all day, something in his eyes softened.
“That was not intended as a compliment.”
I huffed. “What was it, then?”
“A warning. To myself.”
I turned away before I said something foolish as my pulse roared in my ears, deafening and insistent.
The road to the castle bridge rose like a spine, cutting through the heart of Caerthaine’s capital. Everything here gleamed with precision. Someone swept the streets clean. The windows shone without smudges. Silver lanterns hung on iron posts, each one identical in size and distance.
Beyond the hill, the sea whispered faintly, but even that seemed dulled here, like the sound had to ask permission to be heard.
The castle came into view gradually, through gaps in the layered buildings. Not towering like Elyrien’s, nor draped in ivy like the temples of Wildervale. It was all angles and order. Sharp turrets of white stone. Slate roofs with no moss. No birds perched on the spires.
Everything was symmetrical. Controlled. Cold.
Even the bridge to the gates was strange. Long, flat, and polished so smooth it almost shimmered like glass. No banners. No flowers. Only the muted echo of our horses’ hooves as we crossed.
Inside the gates, rows of guards stood in perfect silence. Not a single cheer or trumpet greeted us. No citizens lined the path. Just watchful eyes behind visored helms and the hush of something too careful.
The courtyard was pristine. White stones inlaid with blue-gray veins formed a pattern like ripples in water, and the palace beyond appeared pale and vast, its marble and silver surfaces bathed in a soft light that flickered like candlelight trapped beneath a lake.
A steward awaited us at the foot of the grand steps, where the stone staircase swept upward toward the castle’s towering front doors.
“The reception is prepared for tomorrow,” the steward announced, his tone smoothly devoid of deference, his head remaining at its arrogant level.
“His Highness awaits you in the throne room.”
My legs ached from the climb, but I kept my back straight as we mounted the last steps. The front gates groaned open, and cool air swept out to meet us.
Inside, the castle was a cathedral of shadow and gold. Shafts of late-afternoon light cut down through high, arched windows, turning the dust motes to drifting stars. The walls were carved with scenes of kings and conquerors, their eyes seeming to follow us as we passed. Gilded sconces held flames that barely wavered, as if even the fire here obeyed the rules.
Our footsteps echoed across the polished stone in a slow, steady rhythm. The air smelled faintly of salt and iron, threaded with incense that clung to the back of my throat.
The steward led us down a long corridor lined with towering columns, their bases wrapped in coils of engraved bronze. At the end stood a pair of immense blackwood doors banded with gold. They opened without a sound, revealing a cavernous hall that swallowed us whole.
The throne sat atop a wide dais, framed by banners the color of midnight.
And there he was.
Prince Kaelen sat on the throne as though carved there—tall, immaculate, with one hand draped lazily over the armrest like the weight of the kingdom meant nothing to him.
His hair, the color of midnight, lay smoothly combed, not a single strand deviating from its place.
The high-collared navy tunic shimmered with silver thread woven into intricate, curling waves, while his boots gleamed like newly polished obsidian, ready for a formal inspection. Whenhe smiled, it was a precise, practiced movement, lacking any genuine warmth.
“So,” he remarked, a slow ascent and descent of the steps mirroring his unhurried grace, “this is the bride they’ve promised me.”
He reached for my hand. I gave it slowly as I drew in a breath. His lips brushed the back of my bare skin in a gesture that felt more like possession than courtesy.
As his mouth touched my hand, I flicked my gaze toward the others. Alaric stood at ease, though I caught the faint crease between his brows. But it was Erindor’s face that caught me, his eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like a man restraining himself from stepping forward.
“Though I expected someone taller,” Kaelen asserted, his gaze scanning the surroundings, settling back on me with a critical flicker in the depth of his eyes.
