Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
It had been almost a week since the king’s summer home proclamation, and since then, Ciaran had been relentless. Every decision, every command, was a reminder that I was his. And Rhydian, ever the loyal shadow, had been there, watching, but there was a distance between us now. A distance that gnawed at me more than I wanted to admit.
The crimson and gold gown shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the high windows of my chambers, its intricate embroidery catching the light as if desperate to be admired. But to me, it felt heavy, suffocating, and far too tight. The bodice clung to my ribs like a vice, the skirt pooling around me like molten chains.
“Is all of this really necessary just to go to the market?” I muttered under my breath, tugging at the bodice for the fifth time. It refused to give, much like the king who had insisted on this charade of an outing.
Behind me, Rhydian stood near the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark eyes fixed on me with that same unrelenting focus that always made my pulse stutter. He hadn’t said a word since Bertha had finished lacing me into this monstrosity of a dress, but I could feel his disapproval radiating from across the room.
“It’s what the king expects,” Rhydian said finally, his voice low and edged with something I couldn’t quite name. “You don’t have to do any of this.” Rhydian’s voice was rough, and it cut through the silence of the room like a blade. His jaw was tight, and his eyes, darker than usual, snapped to mine through the mirror.
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the room. “Shouldn’t you be hoping I obey?” I snapped. “Isn’t that what the queen wants?”
Rhydian’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening. “He’s putting you on display,” he said, the words sharp and quiet, like they weren’t meant for my ears.
My brow furrowed, heat rising in my chest. “What does it matter to you?”
His gaze darkened, the tension between us thickening. “It matters because he doesn’t care what he’s risking.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the heat in his voice. “Risking?”
“You, Elara. He’s risking you. I don’t like that he’s using you as bait,” Rhydian growled. He stood just a few steps away, but his presence felt like a storm about to break. His fists were clenched at his sides, the tendons in his forearms taut as he struggled to hold himself back. “Let me ask you something,” Rhydian said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You’ve never been on a real date, have you?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “A date?” I repeated, the word foreign on my tongue. It felt ridiculous to even think about, given everything happening. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Rhydian’s lips twitched, but the smile that flickered there was grim, sad even. “You grew up in the crypt, right?” His voice softened, the anger giving way to something more like concern. “You never had the chance to experience any of that—no walks in the gardens, no stolen moments under the stars.”
I looked away, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in my chest. He was right. My life had been anything but normal. Locked in the crypt for so many years, I’d never had the luxury of things like dates, or romance, or any of the things that other girls got to dream about. The thought of it felt so distant, so far from who I was now, I couldn’t even imagine it.
“Rhydian, what are you?—”
He stepped closer, his voice low and rough as he cut me off, his eyes burning into mine like they could see straight through me. “A real date,” he said, the words thick with something that made my heart stumble. “Do you even know what that feels like?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from me.
“It’s supposed to be simple,” he continued, his voice softening, though the edge of frustration remained. “No strategy. No lies. No courts watching your every move or kings parading you like a prize. Just two people—no crowns, no queens, no kings—sharing something real.”
His words wrapped around me like a tether, pulling me closer even as every instinct screamed to pull away. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away from him.
“And you deserve that,” he added, quieter now, the rawness in his voice cutting through the space between us. “You deserve more than games and agendas. More than him.”
He took another step closer, and the heat of him filled the air around me, overwhelming and undeniable. “If it were me—” He stopped, his jaw tightening like he was trying to hold himself back. “If it were me, Elara, it would be about you. Only you.”
“It would never be about me with you, Rhydian,” I said, my voice sharp but trembling, as if I could cut through the ache building in my chest. “Not when you serve the queen. Not when I’ll always be something you have to report on.”
His face twisted, the anguish in his expression raw enough to almost make me regret my words. Almost.
“Elara,” he said, his voice rough, low.
I shook my head, breaking eye contact as I turned away, my fingers tracing the embroidered gold patterns on the gown. I gestured to the dress, the royal colors, the weight of my new life that had pressed on me since the moment I said my vows. “This is all I am now—a wife, a pawn, a symbol. Nothing more.”
“Don’t,” Rhydian growled, and suddenly, he was in front of me again, too close, his hands trembling at his sides as though he was fighting the urge to touch me. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are more than this. More than him, more than this gown, more than a seventh wife. And if you can’t see that…”
He paused, his chest heaving, his eyes searching mine with a desperation I wasn’t ready to face. “Then I’ll keep saying it until you do. I don’t care what it costs me.”
I stared at him, the tears burning in my eyes now impossible to hold back. And the worst part was, I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t know if I could.
“Take this,” he said quietly. There was something raw in it, almost pleading. “I know you think you don’t have choices, but this? This is your choice. Keep it with you. Use it if you have to.”
My heart pounded as I stared at the blade, the weight of what he was offering settling over me. It wasn’t just protection. It was something more. A symbol, maybe, of trust. Of the fact that, despite everything—despite his loyalty to the queen, despite the game we were both trapped in—he still wanted to give me something real. A choice, even if it was just a knife in the folds of my gown.
I hesitated, my fingers trembling as they hovered over the hilt. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because I don’t trust him,” Rhydian growled, his eyes flicking toward the door as if Ciaran might walk in at any moment. “This whole parade through the market? It’s a risk. He’s using you, and I don’t like it.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in my chest like stones. He was right. I’d felt it too—the way Ciaran had been distant, calculated, the way everything seemed to be orchestrated.
I reached for the knife, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the hilt, and the sensation sent a shiver through me. “Thank you,” I whispered, the words barely audible.
Rhydian’s gaze softened, just for a second, but before he could respond, the door creaked open, and Ciaran strode into the room.
The tension in the air shifted immediately. Ciaran was dressed in his royal colors—crimson and gold to match the gown I wore—and the sight of him only made the pressure in my chest worse. His presence was always commanding, but today, it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
Ciaran’s gaze flickered briefly to Rhydian, a flash of something dark passing through his amber eyes before he looked at me. His lips curled into a smirk, though there was an edge to it, as if he had noticed the tension in the room. “You look ready to make an impression,” he said, his tone smooth as silk.
I met his gaze, my frustration bubbling up. “This dress is ridiculous,” I snapped, tugging at the bodice again. “We’re going to the market, not a royal ball.”
His smirk widened as he stepped closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. “We’re making a statement. You’re representing the royal family— my royal family.”
I could feel Rhydian bristling beside me, though he said nothing.
I shot Ciaran a glare. “What kind of statement are you trying to make?”
Ciaran’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something more serious. “I’m drawing him out.”
I shook my head, exasperated. “This is a ridiculous plan and a waste of time.”
Ciaran shrugged. He actually shrugged. Like this was just another day for him.
I glared at him, the heat of his gaze unnerving. “And what happens if he does come after me?”
“Then we deal with him.”
The tension in the room thickened, and I could feel Rhydian’s protectiveness brimming. I glanced over at him, catching the hard set of his jaw, the barely restrained anger in his eyes.
“Rhydian doesn’t like this plan,” I said pointedly, my eyes flicking between the two of them.
Ciaran’s gaze lingered on Rhydian for a moment. “I’m not concerned with what your Warden Lord likes or doesn’t like.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. “If you say so.”
Ciaran stepped back, giving me one last appraising look before he gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
With a sigh, I followed Ciaran out of the room and into the grand hallways of the castle. My dress felt heavy, the intricate embroidery of crimson and gold pressing against my skin, making it hard to forget the role I was playing today. The king’s presence loomed beside me, his every step deliberate, his amber eyes focused ahead. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his mood, but he was as unclear as ever.
The click of our shoes echoed off the marble floors as we walked, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious as we passed by the other wives gathered near the entrance to the castle. Their expressions ranged from disdain to barely concealed jealousy. Vivienne raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile as her gaze swept over me, while Lady Lyra’s lips curled into a smirk that held anything but friendliness.
Before I could say anything, Lyra stepped forward, her dark braid swaying as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re really taking her to the market?”
Ciaran didn’t slow his pace, his steps brisk and deliberate as his boots echoed against the stone floor. He barely spared Lyra a glance as he said, his tone cold and dismissive, “Stay here, Lyra. This trip doesn’t concern you.”
Lyra’s eyes flared with anger, her expression twisting into something sharp and volatile. “I demand to come with you,” she hissed, her voice dripping with indignation. She stepped forward, her posture rigid, as if daring Ciaran to challenge her. “I’m the first wife. Daughter of Lord Rendar, the warlord who supplies your armies with steel and blood. The woman who secured your borders before this girl was even out of the crypt.” Her eyes cut to me, the disdain in them burning like a brand. “And now you’re parading your new little wife in front of the people like a victory banner, while I?—”
“You’ll stay here,” Ciaran snapped, his voice sharp enough to silence her. He turned on her then, his expression hard as granite, the edge of command in his tone brooking no argument. “Your father’s steel may have built my armies, but I built this kingdom, Lyra. And I will decide when and where my wives are seen.”
Lyra froze, her lips parting as if to argue, but no sound came out. The fury in her eyes didn’t fade, though; it burned brighter, hotter, barely contained.
“Mind your place,” Ciaran said, softer now but no less cutting. “You are the first wife, yes. But this isn’t a matter of hierarchy—it’s a matter of strategy. And you… are not part of this one.”
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and for a moment, I thought she might throw caution to the wind and lash out. But Lyra was no fool. She knew the limits of her power, and though her gaze burned with the promise of vengeance, she forced herself to bow her head slightly.
“As you wish, my king,” she said through gritted teeth, though the words dripped with venom. Enjoy your little day out, seven.”
I swallowed, not daring to respond, though I could feel Lyra’s anger radiating behind me. She didn’t like being told no—especially not by Ciaran.
Before we could continue, Therynne appeared, her ink-stained fingers clutching a book to her chest. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, the lenses glinting in the sunlight filtering through the tall windows. “Wait!” she called out, her voice full of its usual excitement. “I—I need you to stop by a bookstore.”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the interruption, but Therynne continued, oblivious to the tension in the air. She fumbled with the parchment in her hands, practically shoving it into mine. “There’s a rare manuscript they’re selling, something I’ve wanted to get my hands on for ages. It’s about the magical properties of northern bloodlines, specifically from the Icespire region. Fascinating, really, did you know that the royal family of Icespire has traces of death magic, specifically ice-related?—”
“Therynne,” I interrupted gently, trying to keep my patience as her rambling continued. “I’m not sure if we’ll have time for a bookstore.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “But you must!” She pressed the book further into my hands, her fingers twitching slightly in that familiar way when she got too excited. “It’s incredibly important to my research.”
I glanced at Ciaran, who was watching Therynne with a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. “If we have time,” he said dismissively, “we’ll stop.”
Therynne blinked, her enthusiasm undeterred. “Oh, wonderful!”
Before I could answer, a soft voice cut through the conversation. “Oh, dear princess, are you not going to let me offer a blessing for your journey?”
I turned to see Selene, the sun god’s priestess, gliding toward us. She clasped her hands together, her expression one of devout sincerity. “The sun god has blessed us with such light today. It would be a shame not to ask for his protection over your… excursion.”
I forced a tight-lipped smile. “That’s not necessary, Selene. I think we’ll manage without it.”
Selene frowned, her lips pursing as she stepped closer. “It’s always best to be cautious. One never knows when danger might strike, and I would hate to see anything happen to you, Princess. A blessing could ward off the evil that lingers in the shadows.”
Vivienne let out a soft, mocking laugh from behind us. “You wouldn’t want anything terrible to happen, now would you?”
Ciaran sighed, clearly impatient. “No blessings,” he said firmly. “We’re wasting time.”
Selene’s frown deepened, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stepped back, but she said nothing more. I glanced at her neck, noticing the faint bruise in the shape of lips just beneath her collarbone. She caught me staring and gave me a look before turning away, muttering a prayer under her breath as if to spite me.
Finally, with a nod from Ciaran, we stepped outside, leaving the other wives behind. A contingent of soldiers immediately surrounded us, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. The heat of Emberfall’s ever-present sun beat down on us as we made our way toward the market, the sound of the city growing louder with every step.
The streets were already filled with people, eager to catch a glimpse of their king. The crowd’s energy was palpable, a mix of excitement and adoration that seemed to surge through the air like a wave. Ciaran walked ahead of me, his presence commanding, and though I followed him, I couldn’t shake the unease that curled in my stomach.
“What exactly is the plan here?” I muttered under my breath as we walked. “Just… wave at the people and hope the Dragon King’s spies send word?”
Ciaran glanced over his shoulder at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Something like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lovely.”
As I caught sight of the people watching us, their eyes full of awe and curiosity, I felt sick to my stomach. The tightness of the dress felt even more suffocating, and the weight of Ciaran’s plans pressed down on me like a heavy stone.
Beside me, Rhydian was silent, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the crowd with a watchful intensity. I could feel the tension radiating from him, and it only made my unease grow.
“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.
Rhydian’s jaw tightened. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.
I turned to Ciaran with a raised brow, trying to ease the tension. “Do you always travel with this many soldiers?”
He chuckled softly, brushing my elbow as he guided me forward, the casual touch sparking something within me. “I’m being cautious for your Warden Lord’s sake.”
Rhydian grunted from behind, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. “Cautious isn’t the word I’d use.”
Ciaran turned slightly, his lips curling in amusement. “What word would you use, Rhydian? Enlighten me.”
Rhydian’s dark eyes flashed, but he didn’t answer, his jaw clamped tightly as he kept his focus on the crowd.
“You’re frowning,” Ciaran noted as his gaze flicked to my hands tugging at the bodice of the crimson and gold dress. “The dress doesn’t suit you?”
“It’s not the dress,” I muttered, adjusting the tight fabric. “It’s not being able to breathe that doesn’t suit me.”
Ciaran’s laugh was rich and warm, the sound sending a ripple of surprise through me. “If it bothers you that much, you can change.”
“And put on another one just as uncomfortable? No thanks. I just want to get this over with.”
“Suit yourself.” His tone turned softer, more intimate. “But you should know, you look beautiful.”
The compliment caught me off guard, and I blinked up at him. For a moment, his eyes held mine, a hint of sincerity in his gaze that wasn’t often there. Before I could figure out how to respond, Rhydian moved closer, his large frame casting a shadow over both of us.
“She doesn’t need your approval,” Rhydian said gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.
Ciaran raised a brow at Rhydian. “And yet here I am, giving it.”
I stepped forward, breaking the moment by feigning interest in a nearby stall. My fingers grazed over a collection of intricately designed hairpins, their shimmering metals catching the light. One in particular caught my eye—a delicate blue pin, its cool surface reminding me of a similar one I hadn’t thought about in years.
Aeliana had a pin just like it. I could still see her holding it up, her eyes bright with joy before it slipped from her hands and broke into pieces. “ No use crying over broken things ,” she’d said, laughing to cover her sadness.
“You like any of these?” Ciaran’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I realized he had followed me to the stall, his gaze flicking to the pin in my hand.
I shook my head quickly, setting the pin down as if it had burned me. “It’s just a hairpin.”
“You hesitated,” he observed, stepping closer. “If you want it, take it.”
“She doesn’t need things like this,” he said quietly, though his tone was softer now.
I glanced between them, caught between the soft concern in Rhydian’s eyes and the quiet intensity in Ciaran’s. They were different in every way—one gruff and steady, the other all sharp edges and commanding presence—but they both had their own ways of trying to pull me in.
“I have no use for something like this,” I said, trying to ease the tension. I forced a small smile and stepped away from both of them, moving further into the market.
But Ciaran wasn’t done. He followed, his voice low and teasing as he caught up with me. “Why did you really come here with me today?”
“Because you insisted.”
He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t strike me as someone who does what they’re told.”
“Well, I was curious,” I admitted, looking out over the market. “Curious to see what the people here think of you.”
“And what do you think?” His voice dropped, turning more intimate.
I hesitated, feeling the weight of Rhydian’s gaze on me, though I didn’t dare look back. “I think… you’re good at making them love you,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Better than I expected.”
His smirk faltered for a moment, something more vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “It’s a necessity,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “A king is nothing without the love of his people.”
I considered his words, feeling the weight of my own responsibilities in a different light. “What makes a good seventh wife?”
“One that serves,” Ciaran replied, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. There was a heat between us, a slow, smoldering charge that made my pulse quicken.
“Right,” I said, feeling the pressure build. “One that serves you . Why doesn’t that answer surprise me?”
Ciaran’s lips curved into a teasing smile as he leaned in, just close enough for me to catch the warmth of his breath. “You misunderstand, Princess,” he purred. “I mean to serve the greater good. Serve the people. Contribute something of value.” His voice dropped lower, the words curling like smoke between us. “Therynne studies, Maris brings healing, Lyra commands armies, Isolde strategizes, and Vivienne listens to every whisper in the kingdom. Every wife brings something… important.”
I arched a brow, refusing to be drawn into his game. “And what do I bring? A nice set of manners, perhaps?”
Ciaran’s gaze slid over me, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think that’s true,” he murmured, the look in his eyes far too knowing. “You’ve more to offer than you realize.”
For a moment, the world seemed to stop as I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. The tension between us, humming just beneath the surface, was dangerous—something I couldn’t afford to indulge in.
“We should move on,” Rhydian cut in, his voice a low, rumbling warning. He stepped closer, the heat of him a grounding force against the pull of Ciaran’s words.
I tore my gaze from the king, heart racing.
Rhydian’s hand brushed the small of my back, a silent reminder of the man who stood by my side.
Ciaran chuckled, stepping back just enough to let the moment pass. “Lead the way, Rhydian. I’m sure you know what’s best for our princess.”
I sighed, caught between them, my heart pounding as I wondered whether it was Ciaran’s games or Rhydian’s silent protectiveness that unsettled me more.
As we moved deeper into the market, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being pulled in two different directions. And though I kept my distance, the blue pin glimmered in the corner of my eye, a reminder of things long past—things that couldn’t be repaired so easily.
The market buzzed with life around us as Ciaran suddenly smiled and said, “Ah, I know where we should go next.” There was a glint of something in his eyes—mischief, perhaps, or maybe just a simple joy that I wasn’t used to seeing in him. Before I could ask what he meant, he started walking, and I found myself following him, with Rhydian trailing behind and soldiers maintaining a protective circle around us.
We wound our way through the streets until we reached a quaint little dessert shop tucked away at the border of the market. It was a charming place, with vines climbing up its stone walls and brightly colored flowers blooming in pots outside the door. The shop’s sign swayed gently in the breeze, the words “Madam Elda’s Confections” painted in elegant script.
The moment we stepped inside, a sweet, comforting aroma enveloped us—sugar, vanilla, and a hint of citrus. It was the kind of scent that instantly transported you back to childhood, to memories of warm kitchens and sticky fingers. Not that I had such a childhood, but if I had to imagine, it would smell like this.
Who I assumed was the owner greeted us with a warm smile. She was a plump, cheerful woman with silver hair piled atop her head in a loose bun, and her eyes sparkled with the same mischief I’d seen in Ciaran’s earlier. “Your Majesty,” she said, her voice as warm as the oven that no doubt sat in the back of the shop, “it’s been far too long. What brings you here today?”
Ciaran smiled, a genuine one that reached his eyes. “I wanted to introduce someone special to your desserts, Madam Elda. This is Princess Aeliana of Icespire.”
Madam Elda’s eyes twinkled as she looked at me, and she gave a small curtsy. “A pleasure, Your Highness. Please, sit down, and I’ll bring out something sweet for you both.”
We followed her to a table on the back patio, a small, secluded area that overlooked the town. The view was breathtaking, with the sun shining down on the rooftops below and flowers blooming in every corner of the patio. The air was warm and filled with their floral scent mingling with the sweetness of the shop.
Ciaran and I sat across from each other, and soon Madam Elda returned with a tray of the most delicate cakes I had ever seen. They were small, almost too beautiful to eat, each one a work of art. There were tiny tarts filled with rich cream and topped with glistening berries, petite éclairs drizzled with dark chocolate, and sponge cakes layered with fruit and cream. Each cake was adorned with intricate decorations—sugar flowers, gold leaf, and tiny pearls that shimmered in the sunlight.
Ciaran reached for one of the tarts, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. “My mother used to bake these before she died,” he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “She learned the recipes from Madam Elda. They haven’t changed much. It almost tastes the same.”
I watched as his expression shifted, a flicker of something raw passing through his usually composed features.
“It’s been five years,” he continued, his gaze distant, “since the shipwreck. Both of my parents… gone.” His voice tightened, though he quickly masked the emotion, the hardness returning to his eyes. “It was supposed to be a simple journey. A visit to the eastern isles. But the storm that hit…” He trailed off, the unspoken loss hanging heavy in the air.
For a moment, he was no longer the untouchable king but a son remembering the warmth of his mother’s kitchen, the taste of something he could never truly have again.
I picked up one of the sponge cakes, examining the delicate layers before taking a bite. The flavor was exquisite—light, airy, and just sweet enough to loiter on the tongue without being overpowering.
A small crumb caught on my lip, and before I could brush it away, Ciaran reached out, his thumb gently swiping it from my skin. His touch was warm, remaining just a moment longer than necessary, and when I looked up, he was smiling softly at me, the same warm expression I’d seen him give Madam Elda.
“You’re good at putting on a show,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, but even I could hear the slight tremor in it.
His smile didn’t fade, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes now—something that looked like understanding, maybe even a little regret. “It’s not a show,” he replied quietly. “Not everything has to be.”
I looked away, focusing on the cakes in front of me, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, I didn’t know what to make of this man, this king who was so different from the one I had imagined in my mind. There was a depth to him that I hadn’t expected, a kindness that he kept hidden beneath layers of duty and responsibility.
But just as I was starting to get comfortable, Rhydian cleared his throat from where he stood behind me, and the moment shattered like glass. Ciaran pulled his hand back, the softness in his eyes replaced by the familiar mask of the king.
I managed to stutter, “I-I think we’ve done enough,” but the quiver in my voice betrayed me. “Let’s stop at the bookstore and head back.”
Ciaran didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the smile that spread across his face told me he found my reaction amusing. “Alright, Princess.”