Chapter 21
Merrit
Three days seemed like three hours and three years all at once.
Kieran had thrown himself into preparations with the single-minded focus of a man going to war. I'd watched him through the bond—felt his exhaustion, his determination, the way fear threaded through every decision. He was terrified of losing me. I was terrified of being the reason he fell.
We'd stolen moments between strategy meetings and security briefings. A kiss in a shadowed alcove. His hand finding mine under the table during dinner. The bond thrumming between us like a lifeline, keeping us tethered when the weight of what was coming threatened to pull us under.
But now, standing in his chambers with Serenya, circling me like a hawk assessing prey, those three days were gone.
Serenya had figured out I could hear within days of my arrival.
She was too observant, too sharp—she'd caught me reacting to things I shouldn't have been able to hear.
When she'd confronted me, I'd admitted the truth: not deaf, just mute.
And I wanted the Court to keep believing the lie because it made them careless with their words around me.
"Oh, I like you even more now. Half this Court deserves to have their secrets spilled." She'd grinned like I'd just handed her a weapon.
"Stop fidgeting," she grumbled. "You look like you're about to bolt."
“I am about to bolt,” I projected to Kieran, wherever he was in the castle.
His response came immediately, warm with amusement. “Don't. Serenya will hunt you down, and I'd rather not have to rescue you from my cousin before the Exhibition even starts.”
“Some partner you are.”
“I'm delegating. It's a leadership skill.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"There," Serenya said on a sigh, stepping back to admire her work. "Now you look like you belong here instead of like you're about to murder someone."
"I can do both," I signed.
"Oh, I know." Her grin was wicked. "That's what makes you perfect for him."
The gown she'd chosen was blood-wine velvet, darker than rubies, rich as sin.
Long sleeves of black lace climbed to my wrists, while the bodice plunged into a deep V that exposed more skin than I'd shown in years.
The skirt was a masterpiece of dramatic layers—a high-low hem that would let me move while the train pooled behind me like spilled wine.
It was stunning. It was bold. And I hated how exposed it made me feel.
My hands moved before I could stop them. "The neckline is too low."
"It's perfect for Court," Serenya said, already moving toward a velvet case on the table. "Besides, that's what this is for."
She opened the case, and my breath caught.
Diamonds. Layers upon layers of them, cascading like frozen waterfalls, each strand catching the light until the whole thing seemed to glow. The choker was a work of art—delicate and heavy all at once, clearly worth more than everything I'd ever owned combined.
"These were his mother's," Serenya said softly, her hands gentle for once. "Kieran wanted you to have them."
My throat tightened. “Kieran.”
His attention sharpened, his focus zeroing in on me, even though he was somewhere else in the castle. “Do you like them?”
“They're... they're too much.”
“They're yours.” His mental voice was firm, absolute. “My mother would have wanted you to have them. And I want the Court to know exactly how I feel about you.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “And how do you feel about me?”
“Like you're mine. Like I'd burn the kingdom down before I let anyone hurt you. Like—" He stopped, the emotion too big to fit into words. “Just wear them. Please.”
Serenya was watching me with knowing eyes, a small smile playing at her lips.
"He's talking to you right now, isn't he?
" Her grin turned sly. "I walked in on you two the morning after the Hunt.
Saw the way you were looking at each other—the way you both went still at the exact same moment, like you'd heard the same thought.
The whispered legends aren't as dead as people think. "
I stiffened, but she waved a hand dismissively.
"Relax. Your secret's safe with me. I think it's romantic as hell, actually.
Terrifying, but romantic." She moved behind me, gathering my hair to expose my throat.
"And since he can probably feel how much you're panicking, maybe he'll remember to breathe. "
The choker settled against my skin, cold and heavy. Serenya's fingers worked the clasp, and with each strand that locked into place, the scar disappeared beneath diamonds and white gold. The weight pressed against the puckered flesh, hiding what I'd always hidden, turning vulnerability into armor.
When she finished, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back looked like she belonged in Kieran's world.
Polished. Elegant. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with knives and everything to do with the way the gown clung to curves I usually hid, the way the diamonds caught the light, the way my copper hair had been swept up to expose my neck—now protected by a queen's jewels.
"There," Serenya said, satisfaction clear in her voice. "Now you look like a prince's consort instead of a bartender playing dress-up."
“She's mean,” I projected to Kieran.
“She's right,” he replied, his hunger pulsing. “Saints, Merrit. I can feel how beautiful you are through this thing, and I'm not even there yet.”
“You're biased.”
“I'm bound to you. I'm allowed to be biased.”
The bond hummed with his want, his pride, his fear all tangled together until I couldn't tell which emotions were his and which were mine.
A knock at the door made us both turn. One of Kieran's guards stood at attention, his thoughts a disciplined blank—trained to keep his mind quiet. "Prince Kieran is waiting in the courtyard, my lady. The Exhibition is about to begin."
“Stay close to Elias and Nadia,” Kieran reminded me. “And keep your shields up. If anything feels wrong—”
“I'll tell you immediately,” I finished. “We've been over this.”
“I know. I just—” His mental voice cracked. “I can't lose you.”
“You won't.” I touched the choker at my throat, feeling the weight of his mother's diamonds. “We're in this together, remember?”
“Together.”
The courtyard had been transformed into something between a festival and a battlefield.
Banquet tables lined the perimeter, groaning under the weight of spelled food and bloodwine that shimmered in crystal decanters.
Torches burned in iron braziers, their flames dancing blue and green from whatever magic fueled them.
The air smelled of smoke and expensive perfume, of magic and anticipation.
But it was the center that drew the eye.
A massive arena had been constructed, the ground covered in sand that had been raked into perfect patterns.
Viewing boxes ringed the space, each one draped with house colors—crimson and gold, silver and black, green and bronze.
The nobility clustered in their designated areas, already drinking, already watching, already judging.
And in the royal box, elevated above the rest, Kieran waited.
He looked every inch the Crown Prince—dark coat embroidered with silver thread, his crown a subtle circlet that caught the torchlight. But his eyes found mine the moment I stepped into the courtyard, and through the bond, I felt his reaction like a physical blow.
“Gods, you’re fucking exquisite.”
“Serenya's work,” I deflected, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.
“No.” His mental voice was rough, almost reverent. “It’s you. It’s all you.”
I climbed the steps to the royal box, hyperaware of every eye tracking my movement. The whispers started immediately, and I didn't need telepathy to know what they were saying. The diamonds at my throat, the queen's diamonds, had just made a statement louder than any words ever could.
A collective intake of breath rippled through the nearest nobles as the torchlight caught the jewels.
Fans snapped open, providing cover for urgent whispers.
I caught fragments of thoughts—shock, speculation, outrage from some of the older courtiers who remembered the queen wearing these very diamonds.
The queen's choker—
He's claiming her publicly—
Does the king know?
Bold move, even for him—
Kieran rose as I approached, offering his hand. I took it, and the bond flared hot and bright between us.
"You're stunning," he said aloud, his voice pitched for the nearby nobles to hear. But mentally, he added: “And terrified. I can feel it.”
“I'm fine.”
“Liar.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “But a beautiful one. And they're talking about you exactly the way I wanted them to.”
“By questioning your judgment?”
“By realizing I'm serious about you.” His mental voice was fierce, possessive. “Let them talk.”
He guided me to the seat beside his, the chair clearly meant for someone important. Not a mistress tucked away in shadows. A consort. An equal.
The weight of it pressed down on my shoulders, heavier than the diamonds at my throat.
Elias stood behind us, rigid and perfect, his fractured mind still a mess of static and broken thoughts. But Nadia was there, too, melting out of shadows near the back of the box, her presence a comfort, even if Elias made my skin crawl.
She caught my eye from the shadows and signed, quick and fierce: "Anyone gets stupid, I'll gut them before they finish."
I signed back, "Thanks."
Her grin was razor-sharp as she signed: "Don't thank me yet. Night's still young."
The Exhibition began with a flourish: horns blaring, announcements shouted in magically amplified voices. The first demonstration was pure spectacle: a pair of vampires dancing through a weapons display, their movements so fast they blurred, blades singing as they clashed and parted.
The crowd roared their approval.
I should have been watching the arena. Should have been scanning the nobles, reading thoughts, looking for threats.
But I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.