-W
Chapter Thirty
Wynessa
I sat on the edge of my bed, half-laced into a pale-rose gown, while Jasira’s fingers worked silently behind me.
The gale off the sea shrieked against the castle walls, its relentless force threatening to tear the very stone from its foundations and plunge it into the depths.
Though the sky was perfectly clear, an icy detachment seeped in, leaving a sensation of deep, internal coldness. Even the sun here looked pale.
I didn’t ask what time it was. The knock at the door had come after dawn, and the girl who delivered the summons hadn’t looked me in the eye. “His Highness requests your presence in the Southern Council Chamber,” she’d said, voice flat. “Immediately.”
Not an invitation. A command.
Now, with the last pin secured in my hair, Jasira leaned closer and muttered, “I don’t like this. No one should ask to speak this early unless someone’s dead.”
I tried to smile, but failed. “Maybe it’s policy.”
“Mm,” she said, clearly not convinced. “Try not to agree to marry anyone without reading the fine print, alright?”
A sharp knock interrupted us before I had a chance torespond. This time it was lighter. I stepped out into the hall; the servant girl fell in at my side without a word. Her steps were short and quick, her head bowed slightly as if she knew better than to meet my gaze.
The walk through the castle was worse than I remembered. Even with the marble polished to a mirror shine and every torch lit, the halls felt hollow. Guards stood at every crossing, silent as statues, their silver armor gleaming like ice. Sconces bristling with thorns snaked along the arches, their twisted forms suggesting a malevolent growth. Portraits of Caerthaine’s ancestors glared down with blank, mournful eyes. Not a single banner moved or was out of place.
The servant’s pace never faltered, her soft slippers whispering over the stone as she led me deeper into the keep. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask questions.
The Southern Council Chamber sat high in a tower overlooking the sea. When the door opened, cold light poured across the table, as if it meant to wash everyone clean of warmth.
My eyes connected with Erindor’s as I walked into the chamber. He stood stoic in the back with Gideon at his side, still assigned to my personal guard detail. Meaning he had to be here.
The Southern Council Chamber was all sharp lines and cold light. A long, narrow table of black-veined marble stretched nearly the length of the room, flanked by high-backed chairs carved from pale driftwood. Tall, narrow windows faced the sea and were inset in the walls; the clear glass made the water look close enough to touch. Salt wind hissed faintly against the panes. Above, the vaulted ceiling bore a mural of Caerthaine’s fleets cutting through storm-tossed waters, their silver sails catching an imagined moonlight.
Kaelen stood at the head of the table, poised and polished in storm-blue robes, hands clasped behind his back.
Along the far wall, three older men in formal gray stood with scrolls in their hands. Kaelen’s councilors, by the look of them. They did not speak, only watched.
Alaric sat halfway down the table from Kaelen, leaning back in his chair in a way that suggested nonchalance until his eyes found me. He stood as I entered, pulling the empty chair beside him back without a word.
I glanced at Kaelen, and he gestured for me to sit. I lowered myself into the chair Alaric had pulled out, the cold from the glass behind me seeping straight into my spine. He settled back into his seat beside me.
Kaelen’s gaze sharpened. “Princess Wynessa, this is Lord Dorian of Southport. Merchant advisor to the eastern provinces.”
“And aspiring scene-stealer,” Dorian added with a wink, looking at Alaric.
Alaric’s brows shot up. “I—” He cleared his throat, suddenly standing a little straighter.
Kaelen’s jaw ticked, his voice cutting in like a knife. “And not here to waste our time with theatrics.”
Unbothered, Dorian only grinned wider. “Not yet.”
He was striking—tanned skin, chestnut hair tied back into a loose tail, and enough jewelry to shame a high priest. Chains of gold, garnet, and moonstone draped across his tunic collar, and a thin cuff curled up one ear, catching the light whenever he moved.
“Well,” he said, smiling as if we’d been friends for years. “The Princess herself arrives.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I kept my head low, wishing I were safely tucked up in Erindor’s arms, far away from here.
Kaelen unrolled a scroll, its ribbon a pale, perfect blue.
