12. Chapter 12 #2
Elderflower Blanc . One of her favorites. Smooth as silk, kissed with white peach and wild honey, leaving a whisper of spice curling on her tongue. It was the sort of wine that tasted like sunlight bottled in glass.
Esme hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left the terrace. Kaelin knew Esme since they were both younglings, back when Esme’s idea of amusement was mocking anyone uglier or poorer than herself. Now, she’d traded childish cruelty for polished vanity.
Kaelin regarded her over the rim of her glass, noting her wide, wine-glazed eyes and the gown the color of apricot that left little to the imagination.
It clung tight over her hips, scandalously low at the bodice, every inch a declaration that subtlety was for other nobles.
A flowered fae noble, as ripe and perfumed as the vineyards they loved to visit.
Marriage was the only war Esme ever intended to win.
“Brightbane,” Esme breathed, a dreamy smile curving her lips, her gaze lingering on Lucan Brightbane.
The fae heir hailed from the eastern reaches of Lytharien, where the soil breathed richness and the grapes grew fat beneath the warmth of the autumn sun.
His family’s vineyards alone could fill half the royal cellars.
Kaelin followed Esme’s line of sight, more out of habit than interest to watch Lucan shoulder past a smaller figure on the track. The figure stumbled but didn’t fall.
Red hair caught the light like a flame.
Kaelin’s head tilted, a flicker of recognition sparking through her.
The human criminal Talen had seen fit to rescue from the butchering block, though Kaelin could hardly fathom why.
Kaelin’s lip curled ever so slightly at the memory.
The girl had stood in the throne room reeking of sweat and grime, a smudge of dirt streaked like war paint across her cheek.
Kaelin had endured every word of the interrogation only by reminding herself she could return to her throne afterward, where the stench of human filth didn’t cling to the air.
Esme wrinkled her nose. “What’s her name again?”
“Ren Harper,” Kaelin answered smoothly, bringing the rim of her glass back to her lips. She took another measured sip, watching the human steady herself, then surge forward with a burst of resolve.
Ren ran alongside the fae soldiers, refusing to yield even as her steps faltered. Kaelin counted three more laps. Ren came in last, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. Kaelin thought she might bend over and vomit all over the training grass.
Esme sighed. “Why did your brother bring her again?”
Kaelin’s gaze lingered on the human, noting the defiance in her stance, the spark that refused to dim even as the fae soldiers openly watched her, laughing and trading remarks about how weak she was, making it abundantly clear she didn’t belong here.
“That is what I intend to find out. My dear brother sometimes has questionable judgment," Kaelin responded.
Esme laughed. “Sometimes? Have you forgotten the goat debacle?”
Kaelin’s smile vanished, her expression darkening. She turned away before Esme could pursue the subject. “Come,” she said, her tone clipped. “Let's finish our walk.”
Below them, the fae soldiers paired off for sparring, voices raised in challenge. Kaelin’s eyes flicked back to the mortal girl standing amidst them, wondering if she was even aware of the looks from the other fae or simply too stubborn to care.
The morning sun had begun its slow climb, gilding the gardens in gold. Esme’s voice trilled beside Kaelin, lilting and constant, like a bird that did not understand the beauty of silence.
“Lord Therian might be at the Harvest Gala this year,” Esme droned, fanning herself despite the mild air. “And did you see how Commander Ivan looked at me? Honestly, I think he means to court me. Though of course, he’s not quite as handsome as Lucan – ”
Kaelin made a polite hum of acknowledgment, the sort she’d perfected after years of court banquets and hollow conversation.
Her gaze drifted toward the vineyards beyond the palace walls, the neat rows of autumn leaves blazing crimson and gold.
Esme’s words became a melody she didn’t have to listen to.
Just had to tolerate.
“ – and if not Virel, then perhaps one of the Brightbane cousins,” Esme prattled on. “They’ve a new estate in the eastern hills, and I heard – oh .”
The sound escaped Esme like a gasp, and Kaelin followed her gaze to the sparring grounds below.
Ren Harper stood across from one of Lucan’s companions, a tall, broad-shouldered fae male with dark hair pulled from his angular features into a topknot. The circle of onlookers gave them room, murmuring in anticipation. The fae lifted his practice blade lazily.
The first clash was swift. Ren’s form wasn’t elegant, but it was fierce. She struck with precision, ducked when she should have been flattened, and when the fae male summoned a flicker of water from the air, she barely managed to twist away before it struck her shoulder.
Kaelin’s lips tightened. Using magic when sparing hand to hang combat was against the rules and generally looked down upon.
“Is he – ” Esme began, but Kaelin silenced her with a quiet flick of her hand.
The spar wore on. The fae used his element sparingly, masking it behind sweeps of motion — a splash to blind, a ripple of water to unbalance. Yet every time Ren stumbled, she forced herself upright again.
When he knocked her to one knee, she rose.
When he sent a wave of water slapping across her chest, she staggered but swung again.
It was reckless. It was madness.
It was… relentless.
Kaelin found herself leaning forward. The mortal should have yielded long ago. The match could have ended with just a simple phrase. Why keep fighting when defeat was inevitable?
Esme clucked her tongue. “Doesn’t she know when to quit?”
Kaelin didn’t answer. Her nails pressed into her palm, the cool bite of her rings grounding her as she watched Ren fall again, hard this time. The crowd murmured, a few laughs rippling through them.
Ren pushed up on trembling arms. Her hand slipped, caught, and still she dragged herself upright.
The fae male frowned now, irritation cutting through his arrogance.
He lunged forward, blade flashing, but Ren met him mid-strike.
It wasn’t graceful; it wasn’t even clean. But it landed against his blade.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then Ren swayed, her knees buckling. The male caught her out of reflex, muttering something that didn’t reach Kaelin’s ears before dropping her to the ground.
“Enough,” one of the instructors barked. “She yields.”
But Ren hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t said a word.
Her head lolled to the side, eyes half-closed, her lips pale .
Kaelin exhaled slowly as a healer hurried to the mortal’s side, hands glowing faintly with restorative magic. Around them, the soldiers began to disperse, some snickering, others shaking their heads.
Esme sighed. “Well, that’s one way to embarrass herself.”
Kaelin’s eyes lingered on the mortal girl, as if some unseen thread held her fast, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the faint tremor in her fingers.
She should have stayed down. She should have yielded.
And yet, something about that sheer, stubborn defiance lodged itself in Kaelin’s chest and refused to let go.
Kaelin bristled. “Come,” she said to Esme. “We’ve seen enough.”
“Clearly,” Esme muttered. “Still, it was nice watching them spar. I do appreciate a good pair of biceps.”
As they walked deeper into the gardens, Kaelin found herself glancing back. Just once.
Ren still lay on the sparring grounds, the healer’s magic glinting over her skin like dew in sunlight.