Chapter 30
A fter breakfast, Magnus and Luella flank me as we make our way to my next appointment the dreaded afternoon tea with the noble ladies. When Luella had informed me of the engagement after our return to my chambers, I'd contemplated hurling myself from the balcony.
I could track a mark through a blizzard, steal the crown jewels without detection, and end a man's life without hesitation, but an hour of mindless chatter with these noble daughters felt like a special kind of torment.
Considering Luella's warning about their bitter resentment over my engagement to their precious prince, I would rather face a hundred armed guards than endure their false pleasantries.
Who would have thought Death's Wraith would quiver at the thought of a little tea party? Ma?l's voice echoed through my mind with that familiar mocking lilt.
Thank the gods Oryn couldn't hear Ma?l's voice in my head.
If he knew I spoke with my dead fiancé while plotting treason, I'd be rotting in the darkest cell of his dungeon by now.
If you were real, I'd drive my blade between your ribs.
Careful, little hunter. Your threats only excite me more.
A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. If Luella heard, she was too well-mannered to comment.
"Do you think Oryn could rescue me from this nightmare?" I ask Luella as we follow my silent sentinel.
Her laugh echoes through the vast hallway, drawing a sharp glance from Magnus.
"If you want your life in the palace to become unbearable, then by all means." Luella pauses before the garden doors where the tea awaits.
"Show any weakness, and they'll descend like vultures. Having Prince Oryn rescue you from a tea party? They'd never let you forget it. The rumors would spread like wildfire, worse than what's already being whispered in dark corners. Remember, respect is a two-way street in this court."
I freeze, my heart stuttering. "Wait. What rumors are already spreading?"
She dismisses my concern with a wave. "Focus on showing these noble daughters that their games mean nothing to you."
She gives me an encouraging smile and a gentle push toward where Magnus stands, door held wide.
I meet his gaze, bracing for the morning's cold reception. But something different glimmers in those grey eyes.
"I don't suppose you'd grant me mercy with that sword of yours?" I glance at Magnus's weapon hopefully. "It would give me a perfect excuse to skip this nightmare."
"My blade serves to protect you, not harm you," Magnus replied, his voice low and firm. "The girl speaks true. Walk in there with your head high, or they'll devour you whole. But should any of them dare to harm you, call for me. I'll come."
His words, though not quite the rescue I'd hoped for, settled something in my chest. I didn't need protection. Gods knew any of these nobles who tried to harm me would find my blade in their heart before they drew their next breath. Still, knowing someone would answer if I called stirred an unfamiliar warmth in my chest as I entered this nest of vipers.
The noble women perched around delicate tables adorned with lace and flowers like perfectly posed dolls. Their endless chatter faltered as I approached the center table where Luella had directed me earlier. The women rose in unison, offering gentle bows as they introduced themselves. Then my gaze caught on a familiar face - the brunette from before, her blonde shadow relegated to a distant table. She introduced herself as Ingrid.
"A pleasure to meet you all," I murmured, matching their bow before claiming my seat at the head of the table. Conversation fluttered to life as servants filled our cups with steaming tea. I doctored mine with cream and sugar, letting the delicate floral notes dance across my tongue.
"You must be thrilled," Elliana gushed from my right, delicately biting into a shortbread cookie. "Prince Oryn is absolutely divine."
"He is," I admitted, cursing the warmth that crept up my neck. "The whole situation feels rather surreal." And it was true - whether I wanted this or not, anyone would find it strange to go from a normal life to suddenly being engaged to a prince. Especially one so highly revered.
Ingrid's scoff cut through the pleasant atmosphere like a blade, her teacup barely concealing her sneer. The other women tensed, their expressions shifting from placid to wary. "I'm sure you're not complaining about your fairy tale ending. Though I wonder if your uncle has found someone to replace you yet. Such a pity you came to help him only to abandon him so quickly."
I set my cup down and meet her cold, narrowed gaze. “It is a shame, I truly loved my time at the book shop. He won’t have a need for me after I find a suitable replacement to help my dear uncle.” I pick up one of the dainty cookies and take a small bite before setting it down. “These are just so lovely.” I muse.
The ladies murmur their agreement as they sample the delicate pastries. Ingrid's gaze remains fixed on me, unyielding with hate.
"Don't mind her," Elliana leans close to whisper, glancing nervously at the other girls like prey watching for predators. "I heard her parents were negotiating a betrothal between her and the prince before the king began fixating on the prophecy." Most of the ladies wore calm masks as they chatted and sipped their tea, but some, like Ingrid, looked ready to turn this frivolous occasion into a blood bath.
"How curious that you appear in town and suddenly find yourself chosen," Ingrid's voice dripped with venom. "Surely there are ladies here of far more...distinguished lineage than a mere shopkeeper's niece."
"The Fates work in mysterious ways," I replied, keeping my voice light. "I never wanted to take that assessment. A prince marrying someone like me? The very idea is laughable."
A laugh escaped my lips as the women's eyes darted between us like frightened birds. "And yet, here we sit."
Ingrid's sour expression had my fingers twitching, yearning for the familiar comfort of my dagger. How lovely that blade would look buried in her pale throat.
Her judgment meant nothing. I knew what I was - an assassin playing at being a princess, soon to be queen. The absurdity of it all burned in my chest. I never asked for any of this.
Her endless lecture about bloodlines faded to meaningless noise. When I noticed the other tables emptying, I seized my chance. Rising with practiced grace, I offered the ladies a farewell before gliding from the room.
Relief flooded through me at the sight of Magnus's perpetually grumpy expression. He looked as thrilled about waiting through this ridiculous affair as I felt.
"Did the tea party meet your expectations, Lady Alora?" Magnus asked, his expression caught between amusement and concern.
"I'd rather face down an army," I admitted, checking that neither Luella nor Miss Gregoria lurked nearby to witness my breach of etiquette. "Could we visit the garden? I need to breathe air that isn't perfumed with false pleasantries."
"Of course," Magnus said, guiding us through a door into the lush rose garden.
"So you prefer war over tea?" His deep chuckle resonated in the garden. "That's certainly a first."
If only he knew who he was speaking to. Ma?l's laughter echoed in my mind before fading like morning mist, there and gone on his own wild whims.
My expression must have betrayed something because Magnus's laughter grew when our eyes met.
"Give me steel and blood over false smiles any day," I said.
"Strange. I'd expect Augustus's niece to excel at mind games. Your uncle always had a razor-sharp wit about him."
I settled onto a stone bench, patting the space beside me. Magnus shook his head, assuming his guard position at my side like a stalwart shadow.
"I had no idea you knew my uncle," I said, anxiety coiling in my gut.
"I was stationed in Bridgedale years ago when he lived there with your aunt," Magnus said, his voice warm with memories. "I must admit, I was shocked when you appeared. Vanya always seemed too wild to settle into motherhood."
I could picture them crossing paths in some dimly lit tavern, Vanya expertly relieving him of his coin through bets he'd lost before he even made them. My master had always excelled at reading people, turning simple card games into elaborate mental traps.
"I was adopted," I said carefully, watching his reaction. "I never knew my parents."
The silence from my weekly letters to Vanya burned like acid in my chest, but I made a mental note to ask about Magnus in my next one.
"My father served as a soldier there," I said, crafting the lie with practiced ease. "And my mother... well, she was flighty. I’ve been told I am her mirrored image.” The half-truth felt bitter on my tongue, but I prayed it would satisfy his curiosity.
Magnus's face softened with sympathy as he murmured platitudes about perhaps crossing paths with my father.
Like everyone else, he probably assumed my father met his end on the front lines, becoming another nameless soldier ground to ash between the warring kingdoms.
We resumed our stroll and he steered our conversation back to the tea gathering. I recounted Ingrid's barely veiled insults about my inexperience with court life.
"There's more to ruling than having the right bloodline," he said, his voice hard with conviction. "Sounds to me like she's nothing but a jealous harlot."
A laugh bubbled up as I imagined Ingrid's horrified face at the insult. I hadn't expected this gruff warrior to lift my spirits after the morning's disaster. Usually, he was granite and steel. Untouchable. Coiled tension ready to strike. Much like my Raven - both of them forged for battle, not these delicate social games. I didn't realize I'd spoken that last part aloud until Magnus responded.
"I remind you of a raven?" he asked, brows furrowing.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You remind me of my horse, Raven. You have similar mannerisms." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"You're saying I act like a horse?" His voice held a dangerous edge.
I winced, scrambling to salvage the situation. "Please forget I said anything, you do not act like a horse. He acts like you."
After a few quiet steps, Magnus's voice cut through the silence. "Wait, is this the demon horse the city stable has been talking about?"
"He's not a demon," I protested, heat rising to my cheeks. "He's just selective about his company."
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, "One of my men almost came back with a few less fingers after he was called to help wrangle the bastard."
"Well, he shouldn't have touched him without permission," I said with a defiant lift of my chin. "Like I said, he's very particular. Davian and I have no issue approaching him."
He shook his head, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for patience. Pride swelled in my chest as I smiled, pleased that Raven kept his wild spirit. Domestication be damned, he was born for battlefields and glory, for making grown men tremble in their boots.
"I'll add you to his list of approved attendees," I teased, enjoying the way his face paled slightly.
"I choose life," he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
The library doors creaked as Luella and I slipped inside, seeking refuge from the earlier drama of the queen's tea. Books stretched endlessly from floor to ceiling, their weathered spines glinting with gold and forgotten promises. The scent of aged paper and ink wrapped around us like a familiar embrace. I felt a familiar pang in my chest, remembering the cozy bookshop nestled in the heart of the capital.
"I spend most of my free time here," Luella confessed, running her fingers along the shelves. "The other handmaidens think I'm odd."
"Then we can be odd together." I followed her deeper into the stacks. Books had been my sanctuary since childhood, though my grandmother's collection paled in comparison to this. A familiar ache bloomed in my chest as memories of countless nights spent curled up with her books washed over me, each one a treasured escape from the weight of simply existing.
Luella pulled out a massive tome bound in midnight blue leather. "This one's my favorite - Ancient Prophecies and Portents." She set it on a nearby table, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams streaming through tall windows.
"The stories of the lost gods always intrigued me, I like to think I would've been one of their acolytes in another life." She looked down at the heavy tome with a distant smile, one I knew well. I understood that dreamy expression. How many times had I lost myself in imagined lives, in countless adventures waiting to unfold?
As she flipped through yellowed pages, I caught glimpses of intricate illustrations - constellations, mythical creatures, and elaborate symbols. She stopped at a page marked with a silk ribbon.
"This prophecy has been discussed more lately," she said, pointing to flowing script.
"Several claim it foretells the victor between realms." The ancient words danced before my eyes like living things, an ethereal glow seeming to pulse beneath the ink as candlelight caught each carefully penned letter.
When shadows lengthen and stars align, the weaver of fate will tie the strings.
Powers once separated shall intertwine, unleashing power to shatter the world's very bones.
The harbinger of flame and fate will save us all, a beacon in the darkness a blade of all. Those who dare to wield this power will rise, crowned in formidable glory.
In the forge of blazing fate and destiny's weave, a power beyond reckoning will awaken and cleave. For the merging of might that dances just beyond, a siren's call of glory and bonds unbound.
My breath caught as I read the prophetic text a second time. The words resonated in my bones like a forgotten melody. But that was absurd. Prophecies were nothing more than the wine-soaked ramblings of long-dead mystics... weren't they?
"What do you make of it?" Luella asked.
I forced a casual shrug, grateful she couldn't see my trembling hands. "Just another prophet trying their hand at poetry. Though I'll give them credit for their dramatic flair."
Luella's laughter danced between the shelves, a warm ring in the dust-filled air. The scent of aged leather bindings mingled with the musty sweetness of forgotten pages, while golden afternoon light caught the dancing motes like falling stars.
"The king believes you're the key to ending this war. That's why he wants Prince Oryn to marry you. He sees something in you, a power that could finally bring our people peace."
I let her words settle in the space between us.
"I'm no one special," I said, the lie burning my tongue. "I don't have any power that could end a war."
"The mage disagrees. Come on," she set the tome down, then ushered me out of the library with haste. "Your castle tour awaits."
I followed her quietly, her earlier words ringing in my head. Though shadows coursed through my veins like liquid night, I couldn't believe they'd turn the tides of war. What could darkness offer except more destruction?
Sweet, naive Luella, holding fast to dreams of peace while the king's appetite for power twisted like a serpent in the dark. Her people's salvation would mean another's destruction.
The prophecy's mention of shadows and flame sent a chill of recognition across my skin, but I shoved that truth into the darkest corners of my mind, focusing instead on fortifying the walls around my heart before facing my mate again.