17. Chapter 17
K aelin exhaled a slow breath as her handmaiden’s fingers threaded through her hair, massaging her scalp.
She had spent the past hour being pinned, laced, and polished for her Name Day celebration, and the only things she looked forward to now were the wine she would drown herself in and these blessed few minutes of silence.
Sera, the new handmaiden, moved with the kind of grace that came from surviving unnoticed.
Her russet hair was cropped close to her jaw, a deliberate cut that softened the shape of her slightly pointed ears – marks of her half-fae blood.
Too human for the fae, too fae for the humans.
Kaelin wondered briefly what it must be like to live always between worlds.
“Which scented oil would Her Highness prefer?”
Kaelin opened her eyes, half-lidded, and arched a brow. “Surprise me.”
Sera inclined her head without another word. Blessedly quiet again, she poured warm water over Kaelin’s long hair, her fingers gentle as she worked soap through the strands. Kaelin tapped her nails against her knee, eyes flickering across the room when the door opened.
Kaelin’s mother’s reflection appeared in the gilded mirror first. Queen Lyra’s curls were pinned in place, ready to be let down and brushed out, and the kohl lining her eyes and the crimson on her lips were already flawless.
She wore her evening robe, the silk sash wound tightly around her thin hips.
“Another year,” Lyra murmured, sweeping into the room. “And look at you.” She trailed her fingers along Kaelin’s shoulder. “Taking after me, thankfully. Your father likes to think himself the clever one, but it’s my beauty and wit that’s endured.”
Kaelin’s lips curved. “A beauty that terrifies half the court.”
“As it should.” Lyra took the seat beside her. Kaelin noticed not a goblet of wine in sight, just her mother’s steady hands folding in her lap. “It’s your Name Day again. That means I owe you another story.”
It had become something of a tradition between them.
After every Name Day, Lyra would share a story from Kaelin’s birth or the long months before it, as though piecing together a mosaic.
Last year, she had spoken of how restless Kaelin had been in her womb, always kicking and turning until Lyra rode horseback; only then, lulled by the steady rhythm, had Kaelin grown still.
“I labored for three days with you,” Lyra began.
“Three days, and your brother sat by your father’s side the entire time.
He tried teaching Talen chess, but your brother was far too young.
So he read to him instead, telling fairy tales of beautiful princesses and mystical beasts slayed by brave knights. ”
Her voice faltered. The candlelight caught the faint shimmer of tears that did not fall.
“After the second day, the healers grew worried. They told me to turn this way, then that way. I remember the pain like it happened yesterday. I begged the gods for strength. I was ready to let them cut me open, to take you and let me go into the veil if it meant you would live.”
Sera’s motions slowed, as if she too were listening to a sacred thing. She wrapped Kaelin’s hair in a warm towel and eased her upright.
Lyra’s gaze never wavered. “When you finally came into this world,” she whispered, “your fist was clenched. I’ll never forget it. You screamed – so fierce, so alive . And I wept with you. You were my victory that day.”
Lyra reached across the space between them and took Kaelin’s hand.
“You and your brother are my soul’s two halves.
Whatever storms come, remember this – you were born fighting.
You defied every odd before you even took your first breath.
” Her gaze softened, voice lowering as if confessing a sacred truth.
“Whether it was the gods who answered my prayers or your own will that refused to yield, I’ll never know.
But you fought, my daughter. Even then. Never forget that. ”
Kaelin pressed her lips together, the ache in her throat sharp and sudden. She turned her mother’s hand in her own, holding tight.
“I won’t,” she murmured. “You have my word.”
Lyra studied her for a long, quiet moment, her thumb tracing idle circles over Kaelin’s knuckles. Then, as if she’d merely been waiting for the right pause to strike, she said, “Tell me, my heart — who will you choose for your first dance tonight?”
Kaelin’s hand stilled beneath her mother’s.
“I have yet to decide,” Kaelin answered at last.
“Oh, but this is important, my love. The first dance sets the tone for how they’ll see you – for how they’ll see us .”
Kaelin’s jaw tightened.
Her mother tilted her head as if weighing Kaelin’s tenseness like a gemstone in her palm. “There’s the new mortal in the realm. The one Talen brought in last week.”
Kaelin’s head snapped up. “ That girl? She’s a rat.
Did you not see the way she looked at me in the throne room — with such insolence ?
Every time I speak to her, she mouths off.
She’s a fool whose mouth runs faster than her small brain.
She shouldn’t even be allowed at the celebration.
In fact,” Kaelin lifted her chin. “ I forbid her attendance. It’s my Name Day, after all.
I don’t see why she needs to be there and not rolling in the mud where she belongs. ”
Lyra’s laughter broke the tension. “Perhaps,” she allowed, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But it would look good for the crown to be seen offering such generosity. The court would whisper about your grace instead of your temper for once.”
“Maybe I prefer my temper. At least it’s honest.”
Lyra rose, her silks whispering. She cupped Kaelin’s chin, her voice lowering.
“Honesty has never ruled kingdoms, my darling. Appearances have.” She brushed her thumb along Kaelin’s jaw, studying her with a mother’s fondness and a queen’s scrutiny.
“But in the end, it is your choice. My words are merely a suggestion.” Her lips curved, the faintest ghost of a smile.
“You were born to rule, Kaelin. I only mean to remind you of the game we play.”
And with that, she pressed a kiss to Kaelin’s forehead – the briefest brush of warmth before retreating into the echoing hush of the corridor, leaving Kaelin staring at her reflection and the clenched fist resting in her lap.
Morning sunlight spilled through the half-open windows of the room where Ren slept.
She stirred with a groan, her muscles protesting as she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her head throbbed with the ache of too much wine, and the faint taste of sweetness still lingered on her tongue.
Bits and pieces of last night came rushing back in a haze.
Ren recalled her and Elira winding up at some tavern as their last stop for the night.
Elira grinning wickedly as she slammed back another glass, Ren declaring herself “Queen of the Blade” before hurling her dagger at a tavern dartboard, the two of them clambering onto tables to “prove their skills.” There had been cheers, laughter, and at some point, Elira shouting “Bow to your champion!” just before missing the board entirely.
“You’re awfully chipper for someone who was out so late last night,” Mirella’s amused voice chimed.
Ren turned her head toward the corner of the room where Mirella’s carved oak doors had swung open, the wardrobe’s polished surface glinting.
“Gods, I forgot you existed for a second.”
Mirella’s doors creaked in mock offense. “Tragic, really. My heart is shattered.”
Ren pushed herself up. “Please. You don’t have a heart.”
“True,” Mirella purred, “but if I did, it would still be far more generous than yours. Now up you get. You can’t lie in bed all day.”
Ren dragged herself to her feet, gathering her clothes and padding toward the stairwell that spiraled down beneath the tower.
Her head still throbbed, her throat dry as parchment.
She paused at a nearby basin carved from pale stone, scooping cool water into her hands and drinking deeply.
The relief was instant, the chill sliding down her throat and waking her more than Mirella’s words ever could.
As she reached the bottom of the stairwell, the air grew humid and fragrant with herbs as she neared the enchanted spring baths, a series of natural pools fed by underground streams.
They were communal, but Ren was the first there.
Steam curled over the water’s surface, faint runes etched into the stone walls glowing.
Ren slid into the nearest basin with a sigh, the heat seeping into her sore muscles.
The mineral-rich water left her skin tingling, a sensation both soothing and invigorating.
For a while, she simply let herself float, mind wandering as the faint burble of water and the distant hum of enchantment filled the chamber.
She stirred when she heard the soft padding of footsteps and saw another fae enter the bath. Ren gathered her clothes and hurried back to her room, water dripping down her arms as she scrambled to dry off.
“Tick, tock,” Mirella’s voice called as soon as Ren swung open the door. “At this rate, you’ll be late enough to make a memorable entrance. But, I don’t recall Commander Ivan appreciating memorable entrances.”
Ren cursed under her breath at the thought of the ruthless commander and tugged on her clothes in a frantic rush, muttering a hurried thanks to Mirella as she shoved on her boots and bolted for the door.
Ren yanked open the door and nearly collided with a young courier standing poised with an envelope in hand.
“Message for you,” the courier quipped curtly, holding it out as if eager to be anywhere else.
Ren blinked at the sealed letter, the royal crest pressed into the wax. Her stomach sank as she broke it open and scanned the neat, precise handwriting.