Chapter 16
Merrit
Serenya had outdone herself.
The gown lay draped across the bed like a threat disguised as silk—long-sleeved, high-necked, black as ink, and heavy with beaded shimmer that caught the candlelight like scattered stars.
The skirt fell soft and fluid until the slit ruined any pretense of restraint, slicing high along my thigh like a whispered dare.
“It’s… a bit much,” I signed.
Serenya, perched on Kieran’s chair, with her feet propped on the table, arched a brow as she signed, “That’s the point, love. Let them look. If they’re going to whisper about you, make sure you give them something worth whispering about.”
I stared down at the fabric, jaw tight. The thought of facing him again made my stomach knot.
He’d left me naked on that table—no words, no backward glance, just gone.
I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I’d stop remembering the heat of his hands, the weight of his body pressed into mine, the way his breath had broken against my throat.
Lies. My body still remembered.
And worse, some traitorous part of me worried. Nadia’s words kept echoing—Wolves bite when you stare too long. The fragments I’d caught just hours ago tangled with them, ugly things that wouldn’t quiet. Should’ve been quick. Too many eyes. Blood won’t scrub out. Someone failed their mark.
Someone in this castle wanted Kieran dead.
And despite everything—despite his arrogance, his temper, the way he’d humiliated me—I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of it. Brutal, yes. Arrogant, absolutely. But not heartless. Not deserving of whatever shadows were circling him.
“Get dressed,” Serenya said, rising in a swish of skirts. “You’ve been glaring at it for ten minutes, and I’m starting to think you plan to kill it instead of wear it.”
I glared harder, but stepped into the gown. The silk was cool against my skin, then warm, molding to me as though it recognized what it was made to contain. Serenya’s deft fingers fastened the long sleeves, smoothed the seams, and finally closed the high collar at my throat.
“Perfect,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “Elegant, lethal, and only mildly terrifying. You’re ready.”
Her grin softened, and for a heartbeat, she almost looked kind. “You’ll be fine, Merrit. Keep your chin up and your claws sharp.”
The gown felt like armor, the high neck like a wall between me and his teeth. Maybe that was why I didn’t feel naked walking toward the corridor.
The corridors pulsed with noise and candlelight as I made my way toward the great hall. Every step seemed to echo too loudly, the silk whispering around my legs like it knew a secret I didn’t want to hear.
Guards lined the path, eyes forward, spears gleaming. None met my gaze. Either they’d been warned not to, or they simply knew better. The last time I’d seen their prince, his temper had been bleeding through his skin.
The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine grew stronger the closer I got. Laughter drifted from ahead—polished and brittle, the kind that could cut if you stood too close.
I wasn’t afraid of them. Not exactly. I’d seen worse than noble vipers pretending to smile.
But my palms were slick all the same. Because under the noise and perfume, I could still hear the ghosts of yesterday.
The dying men on the field—their minds unraveling in flashes I hadn’t meant to catch.
The hiss of someone whispering, “Too many eyes.” The wet sound of something breaking.
Someone was hunting him. I could feel it in the air. And saints help me, I didn’t know which of us they’d reach first.
The doors to the great hall loomed ahead, carved with scenes of gods and battles long dead. Two attendants swung them open before I could reach for the handles. Light and sound spilled out in a wave.
The room was all glitter and gold—crystal chandeliers blazing, silverware shining like weaponry. Music thrummed low beneath the chatter. Every noble in Morathen must’ve been crammed inside, dripping jewels and smiles edged enough to draw blood.
And at the far end of it all, he stood.
Kieran.
He looked carved from the same marble as the hall: flawless, cold, impossible to ignore. His coat was deep blue, trimmed in black, his crown glinting faintly in the candlelight. He wasn’t smiling, but people laughed around him, anyway.
The moment his gaze found mine, the air seemed to tilt.
He didn’t move. Neither did I.
For a heartbeat, all I could see was him—the line of his throat, the cut of his mouth, the memory of his skin against mine. My body remembered too easily: the press, the heat, the sound he made when he lost control.
Then his eyes darkened—subtle, but I saw it. Recognition. Restraint. Something like hunger, buried but not gone.
My stomach twisted. I hated that I could still read him so easily, even across a room full of silks and serpents.
The nearest baron rose when I reached the dais, bowing low with the others. Kieran said something I didn’t hear over the pounding of my pulse, and suddenly a chair was being pulled out beside him.
His hand brushed the back of it, a silent invitation—or a command.
I sat.
His scent reached me before his words did—cedar, smoke, the faintest trace of something wild. Kieran signed something polite to the room—a formal greeting—but when he turned to me, his gestures shifted, smaller and more precise, meant only for my eyes. “You came.”
I managed to fight off the urge to kick him in the shin or kiss his stupid, beautiful mouth. “You summoned.”
His mouth curved faintly, and in a voice pitched low enough that only I could hear, he murmured, “And you never disappoint.”
I kept my gaze on the table. The silver goblet gleamed like a mirror, warping my reflection into something I barely recognized.
He turned then, eyes tracing the high neck of my gown before following the line down to where the slit revealed skin. The muscle in his jaw jumped once.
“New gown?” he asked lightly, his fingers following the movements.
“Serenya’s idea.”
“She has taste.” His hands stilled, then he added under his breath, “And a sense of cruelty.”
I refused to look at him. If I did, I wasn’t sure which part of me would win—the one that wanted to slap him or the one that wanted to remember.
The supper was a blur of heat and candlelight, wine and whispers.
The Court moved in practiced rhythm—laughter too polished to be real, smiles too calculated to be kind.
Kieran sat beside me, playing his part to perfection.
The prince again. No trace of the man who’d kissed me breathless and then left me naked on a cold table.
He hadn’t spoken to me beyond what politeness demanded. Maybe that was for the best. The memory of his mouth on my skin still felt like a bruise I couldn’t show.
One of his captains bent low to murmur something in his ear.
Kieran’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders went still.
Whatever it was, it mattered. He rose, leaning in close enough that the Court saw a gesture that looked affectionate—a brush of lips against my cheek—but his breath was warm at my ear, the words for me alone.
“Stay here,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back. Hand on your dagger, just in case.”
Then he was gone, crossing the hall toward the doors with his captain in tow.
My pulse was still thrumming when I realized how quiet it had become. The prince’s chair sat empty, and eyes were turning toward me again—curious, assessing, half-hungry. I didn’t look at them. I kept my hand where he’d told me, fingers brushing the hilt hidden under silk.
That was when the man in black rose.
He was tall, spare, the kind of handsome that came with a lifetime of power and no need to use it loudly. The chatter dimmed as he moved, like the sound itself bent to give him space. When he reached me, he bowed just enough to pass for courtesy.
“My lady,” he said aloud, his voice smooth and rich. His hands shaped the same words as he spoke, precise and elegant. “Forgive me. I’ve yet to make your acquaintance.”
He straightened with the ease of someone used to deference. “Lord Tobias. Advisor to His Highness.”
He smiled dimly. “You caused quite the stir at the Hunt. I’m told you kept your head better than half the guard and all the companions. Bravo.”
My hands moved before I could stop them. “I was trying not to lose it.”
His lips quirked. “You succeeded beautifully.”
He was too smooth, too calm, like a razor sheathed in velvet.
“You’ve given the Court something to gossip about,” he went on. “The Divide girl who stood her ground beside the prince. They’re still arguing whether it’s bravery or luck.”
“Neither,” I signed, my hackles rising. “It was simply survival.”
Tobias chuckled softly. “Then perhaps that’s the difference. The rest of us have forgotten how.”
His thoughts flickered faintly, teasing the edges of my mind. Still reckless. Still thinks he’s invincible.
It could’ve been concern. Maybe it was.
“You must be special,” he said, the words slow, deliberate, his fingers dutifully following them. “He guards you like his own personal ace in the hole.”
The courtiers nearby tittered, but I kept my face still. “And you guard him?”
Tobias’ smile turned slightly rueful. “When he lets me.”
Another thought, colder this time: He won’t, not for long.
I couldn’t tell whether I’d imagined the edge to that thought or if it was my own anger at Kieran twisting it for me.
“You know,” he said lightly, “I envy him. A woman like you could make even a doomed man look lucky.”
That one hit like a spark—the kind meant to test to see if I’d burn. I met his gaze squarely and signed, measured and deliberate. “Careful.”
He laughed, low and soft, genuine amusement flickering through his eyes. “Saints, you really are Divide-born. I’d have wagered the prince preferred his women gentler.”