Chapter 1 #2
Dressed in a flowing gown of deep blue with silver piping, Cassara Marovelle stood with the kind of stillness that commanded attention rather than begged for it.
Embroidered patterns of stags and ivy gleamed along her sleeves—symbols of Revendar’s noble lineage—while a silver circlet rested against her platinum hair, catching the chandelier’s glow.
The Revendarian princess broke away from her current conversation to greet him. “Prince Cedric. Or should I say, Gilded Prince? Congratulations.”
“Thank you, though it’s symbolic more than anything else,” he said with a shrug.
Cassara raised a brow. “Symbols have power, Prince Cedric. Does your Gilded Prince ceremony not have roots in tradition?”
He blinked at the question, mind churning as he sought every bit of history he knew about the ceremony. “That’s what they say. It’s meant to sanctify me as the heir, to…solidify my role.”
Cedric stalled as she continued to give him an expectant look, seeking more than the little he’d offered.
He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to forgive me.
I’m…” He hesitated, choosing his words. But if anyone would understand his current state of mind, it would be another royal child.
“I’m overwhelmed and can’t think straight right now. ”
His honesty caught her off guard. Cassara’s eyes widened, but then her expression softened. “I can’t fault you for that. Sometimes…well, this life is more demanding than anyone else knows.”
Her voice had become a whisper, the words for his ears alone.
Cedric relaxed a fraction. Truth be told, he hadn’t been given a moment of time alone with Cassara, to get to know her.
To discover if she might be compatible as a friend, if nothing else.
Perhaps that might be a possibility. It gave him hope.
“It is,” Cedric agreed. But he felt the prickle of eyes on him and knew he couldn’t remain with her much longer. The reason for Cassara’s presence at court hadn’t been announced yet, and he couldn’t appear to favor a foreign princess over his own people. He sighed. “I’ll speak more with you soon.”
Cassara nodded, though her expression was more polite than excited. “I look forward to it.”
He stepped away, casting around for a safe place to continue this farce. If Cedric had to remain at this celebration, he was doing it on his own terms. Across the hall, he glimpsed a friendly face. Darius. Heaving out a soft breath, Cedric headed toward him.
As he slipped through the crowd, he caught snippets of conversation:
“…a war brewing, I tell you. The border patrols should be doubled.”
“…filthy beggars from Revendar flooding the city. We should shut the gates before we’re overrun.”
“—His Majesty clings to the idea of alliances, but sentiment won’t stop an empire. The boy is of age now. Perhaps it’s time Lunareth had a ruler who understands strength.”
Cedric clenched his jaw. The voices melted together, whispers and grumblings twisting between the strains of a violin.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to unclench.
The petitioners in court earlier that week had included a mother and her two sons, their clothes ripped and dirty, bodies gaunt with hunger.
His father had ordered they be given food and shelter.
Their faces haunted him, and it took Cedric a moment to banish their memory.
Tonight was meant for revelry. Cedric plowed onward.
The great hall’s vaulted ceiling stifled laughter and torch smoke alike, its soaring arches adorned with garlands of moonflowers already wilting beneath the warmth.
By the time he reached the shadow of the banquet table’s carved griffins, sweat glued his linen undershirt to the hollow between his shoulder blades.
Darius waited as always, a study in effortless confidence, one boot propped against the column’s fluted base. He lifted his tankard in a salute, pulling his tunic taut across shoulders still lean from last summer’s growth spurt, but broad enough now to make Cedric’s throat dry.
“There you are, my Gilded Prince.” The tankard Darius thrust into Cedric’s hands sloshed liquid the color of a sunset. “Quite popular tonight, aren’t you?” Darius slung an arm around Cedric’s shoulders.
“I’d argue the party is more popular than I am,” Cedric said, the lie flavored with truth.
Darius smirked, tipping his tankard slightly. “Oh, but where would the fun be without its reluctant guest of honor?” He patted Cedric’s shoulder. Then his countenance shifted. “I can’t believe the Revendarian princess is still here. Shouldn’t she be running home with her tail between her legs?”
Cedric frowned, tapping his index finger against the tankard as he debated how much to tell his friend.
Darius’s mother was the royal spy mistress, and Cedric knew Lady Valcairn knew why Cassara Marovelle was in attendance.
But Darius’s comment implied that she hadn’t seen fit to enlighten her son, however.
He should know, Cedric decided. If for no other reason than to keep him from saying something that might seed future problems. “She’s here for a reason.”
“And that is…?” Darius cocked his head.
Cedric pursed his lips. “You’re going to have to keep this secret for a few more days. Can you do that?”
His friend grinned. “Oh Cedric, you have no idea how good I am at keeping secrets.” He eased closer, so close that Cedric caught a whiff of the fragrant soap Darius favored. “What is it? Are they being annexed to Lunareth, perhaps?”
“We’re to be betrothed later this week,” Cedric whispered.
Darius’s eyes widened. “Truly, Ced? We’re really going to have a marriage alliance with that kingdom? The one that can’t keep a bunch of unshaved barbarians from crossing their borders?”
The tone of disbelief and scorn instantly put Cedric on the defensive. “It would be mutually beneficial.”
“It just seems unfair, that’s all.” Darius shrugged. “You, of all people, stuck with a woman you don’t even…” He trailed off, giving Cedric an expectant look.
“My parents didn’t love each other at first, either,” Cedric reminded him. Though it was really more of a reminder for himself. In his heart, though, he knew he could never truly love Cassara. Not romantically; not the way she probably deserved. “But things have a way of working out.”
“Ever the optimist.” Darius’s expression slipped into a smile. “Well. I suppose I should be congratulating you then, shouldn’t I? Let’s drink to your future.”
Cedric’s thumbnail picked at the tankard’s pewter handle, a distraction from Darius’s close proximity. He hesitated, then pushed the drink back toward him. “Maybe another time.”
But Darius wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Ced, come on. This is special, just for your big day!”
Gods, Cedric always had a difficult time telling Darius no. He glanced inside the tankard. “What is it, dishwater?”
Darius laughed, a warm sound that made gooseflesh race across Cedric’s arms. “Hardly. It’s made of exotic fruits not found in our lands. Have you heard of pineapple?”
“Heard of it, yes. Seen one? No.” Cedric eyed the drink.
“Then you’re in for a treat. Taste.” Darius took a sip of his own, savoring the flavor with a sigh. “It’s one of several fruits. I think you’ll find it delightful.”
He sniffed the beverage first—a habit born of one too many festive surprises—but all he caught was the faintest whiff of citrus and something earthy, like sun-warmed grass.
Against his better judgment, he took a sip. The liquid hit his tongue with a deceptively innocent sweetness, like stolen summer peaches, before the tartness sparked—sharp as a lemon’s kiss, lingering just long enough to make his jaw clench. He coughed, blinking at the tankard.
“That’s…surprisingly good,” he admitted, rolling the taste on his tongue like a thought he wasn’t sure he should keep. He turned the cup as if its dull metal might reveal secrets. “Pineapple, you say?”
Darius’s grin widened, smug and devastating all at once.
“One of several fruits, yes. It’s a blend.
” His voice was smooth, a blade honed to perfection, and his eyes—gods, his beautiful eyes—gleamed with something Cedric couldn’t name.
Triumph? Amusement? Or something far more dangerous, something that coiled around Cedric’s heart like a vice and sent heat licking up the back of his neck.
Cedric swallowed another mouthful quickly, more to busy himself than out of thirst, not trusting himself to meet that gaze for too long.
His gaze flicked downward as Darius lifted his cup. Something glinted in the candlelight. A gold ring. In all his years, Cedric had never seen his friend wear a ring. The metal gleamed against Darius’s skin, its ruby centerpiece catching the light like a smoldering coal.
“You wear rings now?” Cedric teased, nudging Darius’s hand with his knuckles.
Darius glanced down at it, flexing his fingers with a lazy shrug.
“An early birthday gift from my mother,” he said, tipping his cup toward a nearby table where Lady Priscilla Valcairn sat, deep in conversation with a nobleman.
“She insisted it would suit me.” His expression turned wry.
“A symbol of responsibility or some such lecture I didn’t bother listening to. ”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounds like her. And you.”
Darius tapped the ring absently against his cup. “Doesn’t it?” He swirled his drink. “She said it was my father’s. He brought it back from Revendar on his last expedition.” His tone was light, but Cedric caught the slight edge beneath it. “He passed not long after.”
Cedric didn’t need the rest of the story. Lord Valcairn had sought out the druids of Revendar for healing, but their magic hadn’t saved him. Whether they’d failed or simply refused, Darius had never forgiven them.
Rather than dwell on it, Cedric rolled his eyes, leaning back against the pillar. “Gods help us all when you start listening to your mother’s fashion advice.”