Chapter 41 Blood Within the Vein
BLOOD WITHIN THE VEIN
Her father leaned close, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “Ellandria… I have to announce it tonight,” he murmured, the words tinged with worry. “Your coronation will be in two days. The people need something to hold on to.”
Panic swelled in her chest, despite knowing this moment would come. The prophecy rose in her memory, no longer distant lines cast by the fates but a relentless drumbeat beneath her ribs:
A queen will fall, her time undone,
The daughter crowned beneath red sun.
She’ll thread the Veil that none may cross,
Restore what kingdoms thought was lost.
Her fingers clenched tighter around her goblet, the rim cooling her skin even as the words burned through her. She was the daughter. She was the crown. But was she the path forward for every kingdom trembling beneath the unraveling Veil?
Eryndor turned fully toward her, his hand brushing her arm.
“You look beautiful tonight, Ellandria.” His eyes glimmered with years and grief and pride.
“When I heard whispers you were tangled in a Dravaryn Claiming, I was terrified. We all were. I still have questions, gods know I do. When I learned you were returning, I braced myself to see a ghost of your former self. But you”—his gaze held hers steady, unwavering—“ran away a girl and returned a woman. Strong, powerful, and full of purpose.”
Her vision blurred as she threw her arms around him, clinging tightly. Her father was here, alive, and back in her life. The ache she’d carried for years cracked open, flooding her with a relief she’d never dared let herself feel.
She glanced down the table, searching for Jakobav.
He wasn’t watching, though he must’ve heard every word.
His attention was fixed elsewhere, too carefully, the avoidance louder than a stare.
She tried to smooth her expression, unwilling to let him see her this raw.
“Technically,” she managed, “I have the same purpose I did when I left. But now I feel capable of achieving it.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in her father’s chest as he held her tighter. “Your stubbornness hasn’t gone anywhere.”
He straightened, lifting his goblet, and the hall hushed. “In two days’ time,” he declared, his voice striking the vaulted ceiling like a bell, “Orchid will crown its queen.”
A cheer surged through the chamber. Goblets lifted, feet stomped, voices rose in celebration. Ella lifted her chin high, though grief burned her hollow, and refused to falter.
Marisol approached with a fresh decanter, her steps light but certain. She bent to refill their goblets.
“You don’t have to do that. Sit with us,” Ella said warmly.
Her father’s mouth curved faintly. “Marisol is no longer the castle’s chief steward. She’s just helping with the banquet tonight.”
Ella turned to Marisol and said, “Really? What are you doing now?”
Marisol’s smile deepened, soft but with purpose.
“Helping where I’m needed. I stepped away from stewardship some time ago.
I’ve been working under the castle’s defense council.
” She lowered her voice as she refilled Ella’s goblet.
“Most of my time is spent restoring the old archives. Translating what remains of the ancient texts. Some of them…are becoming relevant again.”
The shift in Marisol’s tone told Ella more than the words themselves. The Veil. Maybe even restoring lost Fae scripts. Secrets waiting in dust.
Ella set down her cup. The Crown loomed closer with every minute, a responsibility she could feel gathering around her like stormlight. There was so much she didn’t know. So much she’d missed.
“I’ll need to be caught up on everything that’s happened,” she said quietly, more to herself than to either of them.
“Don’t worry about that now. Tonight, we’re celebrating.” Her father nudged the goblet toward her. “Drink. It might help.”
Jakobav leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk cutting across his face. “I’m not sure that’s wise. I’ve seen what happens when Ellandria drinks Fae wine.”
Ella sputtered into her drink, coughing, then smacked him squarely in the chest. He didn’t even flinch, only raised his brows with infuriating calm.
Marisol giggled behind the decanter.
Eryndor’s smile faltered, eyes widening as his posture stiffened.
“Forgive me,” he said after a beat, steadying his voice. “Your…friendship…may take time to get used to. Last I knew, striking the heir of Dravaryn could start a war.”
Ella laughed, reckless and unguarded.
Jakobav’s smile looked real this time. And it was devastating.
A tall, dark-skinned man with rolled sleeves paused beside her, coaxing a hibiscus into a harmless ember-bloom with a flick of his fingers. A soft rush of warmth brushed her arm, carrying the sweet-sharp scent of singed petals before fading.
“Say the word, and I’ll light his boots,” he murmured.
Ella’s grin widened, sudden and fond, as she recognized her childhood friend despite how much he’d changed—still handsome, somehow even more magnetic. She leaned to clasp him in a quick half-hug. “Permission to stand down, Demetrius.”
He tipped two fingers in salute and vanished back into the crowd.
From the corner of her eye, Ella caught Jakobav’s raised brow, the question in it impossible to miss. She pursed her lips and gave the faintest shake of her head—a silent promise of “don’t worry.”
Music rose, jubilant, filling the hall with the churn of silk skirts, stomping boots, and laughter.
Ella’s heart twisted. Her mother had loved dancing—so had she—but tonight the sound scraped raw.
Their joy felt like a betrayal of Queen Serenya.
Ella sat straighter, forcing her face into what the court needed most: hope.
“I know it’s difficult, but your return brings them light,” her father murmured, his hand warm and heavy over hers.
The musicians played louder, couples whirled faster, and Ella forced herself to watch. Surely nothing could feel worse than this performance while her bones still rattled with sorrow.
And then the doors opened.
Caelen Verelith entered the great hall with a glide of silk, his expression holding the same golden arrogance she remembered all too well.
He walked straight toward her and paused, offering a deep, unnecessary bow.
This was another childhood friend, once almost something more.
Why the formality? And gods, he looked different.
He’d grown into his features, carried himself with a style that finally fit.
“Ellandria,” he murmured, voice meant for her alone—smooth, gentle. “You look radiant tonight.”
Then he turned toward her father with the smile that courtiers used to climb thrones. “Your Majesty. What a triumph tonight is. Orchid is blessed by your leadership, truly.”
Eryndor offered a small smile, wary but gracious.
Caelen shifted back to Ella, lowering his voice until only she could hear. “When I heard the news of your return…I was so relieved. Orchid needs stability. And you need someone…who understands what you’ve been raised for.”
Ella’s spine stiffened. Jakobav drifted behind her, his demeanor stoic, as unmovable as a guard refusing to leave his post.
Caelen glanced at him, polite curiosity masking what looked a little bit like contempt. “And you brought a guest,” he said pleasantly. “Dravaryn’s heir, no less. How diplomatic of you, Ellandria.”
Jakobav took a step forward and smiled without warmth. “Diplomacy isn’t what brought me here.”
“Mm,” Caelen hummed, still casual, still smiling. “So I gathered.”
He smoothed a hand through his light brown, slicked-back hair and, with a slow inhale, stepped closer—too close—his breath brushing her jaw as if he had a right to be there. The sour trace of wine clung to him.
“You and I have unfinished plans we need to discuss,” he murmured. “Your mother agreed that Orchid needed a united front. A mating ceremony to solidify it. You at my side.”
Ella’s blood chilled.
He lifted her hand to kiss it, but she tugged free, ducking as if to retrieve something from the floor. She smoothed her dress, and he coughed into his hand, covering what he clearly viewed as a breach of etiquette.
“When did you speak to my mother, Caelen?” Her voice was even but her skin prickled with alarm.
She looked toward her father, wanting to ask if he knew anything about it, but he was deep in conversation with a nobleman she recognized by face, though his name escaped her.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss, Ellandria. If you need someone to speak with, I am yours, whenever you’re ready. I’m always around.”
She couldn’t do this. It was too much. Caelen had been one of her closest friends when they were little. But something about him no longer matched the boy she remembered.
She offered a noncommittal reply, and she wasn’t even sure what she’d said.
“Congratulations on the upcoming coronation, by the way,” he added, composure neatly restored.
Ella met his eyes but couldn’t bring herself to smile.
She would give anything not to have an impending coronation, for her mother to remain on the throne, yet she still found herself offering the mannered response.
“Thank you. It… means a great deal to Orchid.” She tipped her chin, polite but distant.
“And as you can imagine, there is much I need to review. Decisions that must be made. I’ve been gone longer than I should have, and I intend to understand everything that has happened in my absence. ”
It was the most diplomatic way she could say “I don’t have time for you” without igniting even more gossip than she already had.
Bringing the enemy home to meet the family and all that.