Maireth does not move. Does not acknowledge them. Does not acknowledge the presence of a king.
Nor does Kael.
He does not bow or address them. Does not treat them as royalty. In fact, his lip lifts into a snarl.
He leans over the table next to them, where cherry blossoms are laid out in intricate designs and patterns. He picks one up, twirling it between his fingers.
“Nice to see your decorations haven’t changed in fifteen years, Maireth. Still trying to convince the world this place is beautiful?” he insults, flicking the cherry blossom away, and letting it fall to the floor in the space between them.
What in the fucking Stars is he doing?
Maireth does not react. She is not offended, not amused, just… neutral.Nothing.
“And your manners have not improved, Kael,” she comments, tone even and bland as if she’s commenting on the weather. “Your father did always rule with a rather… soft hand.”
Kael doesn’t react.
Marin steps forward, an amused sneer playing on her lips. She does not move like an elegant princess. She moves like a challenge personified. “Though your taste is better than your father’s,” she taunts, gesturing her head toward Elyssara.
An insult wrapped in the pretty disguise of a compliment—how original.
Kael does not react. Does not flinch. At least, not on the outside. Through the tether, Elyssara feels the blow land like a cannon ball through stone.
“My taste is impeccable, yes,” Kael agrees, adoring eyes locking on Elyssara.
Maireth inclines her head. “Welcome to Caeloria, Elyssara Dawnmere,” she announces.
A small pause.
“We have been waiting for you to reveal yourself for so long. You have caused us all a great deal of trouble.”
The words sear through her like a brand. Rage rips through her composure in a heartbeat.
Elyssara? Causingthema great deal of trouble?
Steady, my love. The words drift down the tether like a lifeline. She tries to cling to them. Tries to climb onto the raft he offers, but it’s washed away in the rapids of this godsforsaken place.
She lets rage grab her tongue instead.
“The troubleIhave caused you is nothing compared to the atrocitiesyouhave thrust upon the people of Dravara,” she spits, voice all vicious and venom.
Again, Maireth does not flinch. Her composure is so absolute, she almost appears inert. Statuesque.
A humorless laugh rips from Marin’s throat. A sound that opposes her obvious beauty. “I fear your intel has failed you, Elyssara. What part do you believe Caeloria has played in the destruction of your people?” Her voice drips with condescension and disdain. A war chief laughing at the idiocies of an ill-informed slum rat.
But Elyssara does not cower. Does not back down.
Kael’s hand traces idle circles on her lower back—an anchor in the eye of the storm.
So Elyssara bares her teeth. “You sold toxic resin to Thalmyr to poison my people. To erase the history of Dravara—the history of my family!”
Nearby nobles slow their movements.
Eyes drift to her.
Music slows.
If Maireth is uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. Her face is a mask of neutrality.
