Chapter 8
Evie
I’d picked a black robe, cinched at the waist with a plain leather girdle. Formal enough for a magisters’ dinner, but simple enough not to draw notice. I had no wish to stand out tonight. I’d eat, smile when required, and slip back to my chambers to sleep off the day.
The great hall stretched from the audience hall to the far end of the castle, its high arches dividing the space like ribs of a mythical beast. Banners hung between them—the majestic golden eagle of Hauvia, the delicate white lily of Lutessia, and the fierce black boar of Bretannia, each catching the torchlight so they shimmered like jewels.
At the far end, near the great hearth, our table awaited.
Servants had set it with candles and spring flowers—tulips and lilacs—their scent softening the smoke in the air.
The oak chairs stood neatly in a row, polished and waiting.
Seven in total, four on one side, three on the other.
So, all magisters would be present tonight.
And, as always, I was too early.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long.
Selena arrived first, clad in a fitted blue robe trimmed with silver thread.
The slit along her thigh flashed pale skin as she moved delicately, like everything she did.
Maybe I should’ve worn something like that.
Next to her, I looked like something the tailor had forgotten to finish.
Behind her came the last magister I had yet to meet, Elwin Alfaren, high elf and Magister of the Treasury.
Lo had once joked that he didn’t just oversee the Crown’s gold, he was the Crown’s gold.
His long, wavy blond hair gleamed like coin, his narrow amber eyes sharp and unreadable.
When they landed on me, I couldn’t tell whether he approved or condemned, only that he’d already decided.
His robe was black, lined with burgundy silk that whispered when he walked.
“Evie, early as always,” Selena said, voice smooth as honeyed wine. “Please have a seat here.” She gestured to the chair in the middle of three. “You’ll be right next to me.”
She said it like it was a game and we’d have fun playing it.
“And next to Kael,” she added lightly.
And that was when I froze.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near Kael. Not after the way he’d looked at me earlier, like I was something fragile he might break just to see how I’d shatter.
My stomach tightened. Gods, why couldn’t I have just sat at the far end, as far away as geometrically possible from these two? Now I had to be the center of attention.
Now I’d have to spend the whole dinner pretending not to notice every breath, every word, every time his sleeve brushed the tablecloth too close to mine.
Why couldn’t I have Lo by my side to help me get through this dinner?
Everyone else soon took their seats, each place chosen by Selena’s careful hand. Everyone except Kael, who left an empty chair next to me.
Across the table, the other magisters looked far less severe than they had during the assembly.
They smiled, even laughed. Their talk drifted toward ordinary things, Isolde’s brother moving south to “chase the sun,” as she said, and understandably so.
Jorren’s new ring he’d bought at the market and said to come from Sud, my hometown.
He peered at me when he said it, likely guessing my origin.
They spoke of the revived Academy Ball. Elwin reminisced about the music, the conjured food, the chandelier of dancing lights hung high in the banquet hall. The last ball he could remember, and the mention alone brought a rare light to their faces. All fond memories, it seemed.
I’d met many elves during my academy years, some born in Vanhaui, others from foreign lands, all blessed with talent and confidence. Elwin seemed much the same.
And Lo had been right—the wine was flowing freely.
What was I doing during all this? Drinking, naturally.
When Kael finally entered, I had my lips on the silver chalice and nearly choked when I saw him. I set it down too quickly and tried to look composed.
He wore the same dark tunic as before, a dagger at his belt. He barely glanced my way, just long enough to burn me to ashes before turning to greet the others.
This was going to be a long night.
The wine, however, was excellent. A servant poured me another glass.
Dinner began with a salad of wild greens and sharp vinaigrette. I ate quietly, listening to Thalen boast about how the castle’s food put the barracks to shame.
Even the salads, apparently.
“So, Magister Corvo, you are not originally from Vanhaui, correct?” Jorren asked, fixing me with a look that felt like the start of a test.
I cleared my throat. “That’s right. I’m from Bravoure. Specifically, the city of Sud.”
He smiled. “Ah, the fair city of Sud, with its bright markets, its colours, and… its beautiful women.” His smile lingered in a way that made me unsure whether to smile back or look away. “Do you see your family often?”
A question that stung more than it should have.
“Twice a year, maybe. At the solstices. It’s a great celebration; I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Did you see them at all while we were shut behind our walls?” he pressed, his tone soft, perhaps even kind, though with Jorren it was hard to tell.
“Unfortunately not.”
Silence followed. Had I just killed the mood?
I dared a glance toward Kael. He was watching Jorren with that cold, unblinking stare that could turn men to stone.
The servants brought the next course, roasted pheasant with peas and potatoes, and I had to admit it was the finest meal I’d tasted in ages.
And I was from Sud. I knew what good food was.
By the time the main course was cleared, the candles had burned halfway down. The hall glowed in soft gold light, turning their faces warm and revealing their cheeks rosy with wine, making them look merrier than they were.
Jorren and Isolde had fallen into an argument, this one about tariffs on magical artifacts, and their bickering covered my silence nicely. I was content to fade into the background, fork idly nudging stray peas across my plate.
Kael had barely spoken all night, but I could feel him.
Each time I dared to speak, his attention brushed me. A glance, a flicker of blue lightning that made my skin prickle. He never commented, never interrupted. Just watched.
And somehow, that was worse.
Was it disapproval I saw in his eyes? Or pity?
It was more confusing than any lecture on planar shifting.
Selena craved his attention, that much was clear. She leaned toward him whenever she spoke, tilting her head just enough to catch his gaze. Close enough to me like I was invisible, as if I were a ghost seated between them. I could smell her perfume. Lilies…
Was there something between them?
The thought shot through my mind like an arrow loosed too soon. I barely had time to chase it before servants came around with another round of wine. I accepted, promising myself this would be the third and last glass tonight.
Kael rose without warning, his chair scraping across the floor. He gave a short grunt, as if the noise around him had finally worn thin, and stepped away from the table. Probably to breathe. Or brood. Or whatever men like him did in garderobes.
The thought made me lightheaded, and not from the wine, I swear. I caught myself smiling at the absurdity of it. Am I really thinking about Kael Forloren in a garderobe?
The moment he left, the air lightened. Laughter returned, easy and careless.
Jorren’s voice carried loud and warm with drink, and somehow I found myself laughing with him, trading stories about Sud merchants who couldn’t speak without their hands.
Isolde didn’t seem to find it amusing. Elwin gave polite nods.
Thalen frowned into his cup as if he was trying to intimidate the wine.
And somewhere between that laughter, I realized I was starting to relax. They were warming to me—or at least tolerating me—and for the first time since I’d joined the Court, I thought maybe I could belong here.
Selena’s voice pulled me back. “You’re doing very well for your first month,” she said with a smile too perfect to be genuine.
Her lips stretched, her tone was smooth, but her eyes didn’t shine. They gleamed sharp as glass.
“Thank you,” I managed.
Her lips curved slightly. “In time, you’ll learn how the Court moves. It… takes adjustment.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was praise or a warning. Her glance flicked to my plate, or maybe to my cup. The heat rushed up my neck, sharper than the wine.
Before I could gather a reply, she rose from her seat in one graceful motion. “The stars are bright tonight,” she announced. “First clear sky in months. Who’s coming to look?”
The table stirred with eager voices, but I stayed frozen, her words still echoing.
What had she meant by adjustments? Did she find me too loud? Too soft? Too eager to please?
She must have noticed my missteps, my awkwardness, my clumsy attempts to belong. She must have seen every flaw I tried to hide.
Shame rose, my insecurities quick to claim the moment.
Gods, why had I come to this dinner?
“You’re not joining, Evie?” she asked, her tone slicing clean through my thoughts.
I shook my head and forced a smile. “Too cold for me. And I’ve still got food to finish.” A lie, of course. I wasn’t planning to eat those peas I’d trapped in the corner of my plate.
“Very well.” Her smile lingered.
She drifted toward the balcony, her blue robe flowing behind her like spilled moonlight. One by one, the others followed. Elwin with quiet grace, Jorren and Isolde still arguing about tariffs, Thalen smiling at something only he found funny.
The noise faded. The air thinned.
And I was alone.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the evening slip from my shoulders.
“Did you scare them away?”
Kael’s voice cut through the quiet, low and rough, like thunder rolling too close.
He stood by the hearth, one shoulder against the stone, firelight tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes fixed on me, unblinking.
“They… went stargazing,” I managed. My voice sounded smaller than I meant it to.
“Hm.”
He moved around the table, not walked, but pounced, before sinking into his seat next to me and draining the last of his wine. Only then did he look at me properly.
“And you didn’t join them?” he asked.
“I couldn’t leave the food alone,” I answered.
Maybe it was the wine, but I held his gaze. A teasing smile found its way to my lips, one I’d perfected with Lo, or at least tried.
His eyes darkened.
“Don’t smile like that.”
Four words. Heavy as a curse. The sound of them struck deep, vibrating through my chest.
For a heartbeat, I wondered if I’d imagined it. But I hadn’t. The echo of his command left no room for doubt.
My smile vanished. My lips went cold.
I had to hold my ground or I’d crumble like a sieged tower. I lifted my chin, mustering what courage the wine could lend me.
“Why? Because you never smile?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His stare sharpened. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curled, and I realized too late what I’d done.
He smiled. My smile. Except on him, it wasn’t jest. It was a warning.
This cold and perfect smile complemented his sharp jaw, a curse sheathed in charm. Candlelight caught in his eyes, making them glimmer like lightning trapped in blue glass.
A chuckle ran down his throat. He must have seen the look on my face.
“See? I do smile,” he said, the corner of his mouth still curved. “You just need to earn it.”
He let the words hang. The smile stayed, slight and merciless, as if he’d laid a blade flat against my throat and waited to see how I would breathe.
Heat crawled up my neck. I reached for my chalice to buy a moment, found it empty, and set it down too hard. The ring of silver on oak sounded like a bell for fools.
He watched every small flinch. It felt like being tracked.
“What do I earn it with?” I asked, softer than I meant. “Obedience or insolence?”
Again, defiant words slipping out of my mouth, unfiltered.
I regretted every syllable the moment I saw those dark clouds rise behind his eyes.
He didn’t answer. Not right away. The hall was quiet, the fire low, the candles dimmed to a soft amber glow that painted him in gold and shadow.
His gaze dipped, deliberate, almost to my mouth, almost to my throat, then returned to my eyes as if nothing had moved at all.
“Obedience will do,” he said at last, his voice low enough to feel, not hear.
My pulse stuttered. The air itself seemed to tighten between us.
I told myself it was the wine that made my hands tremble.
Certainly not the strange, burning coil of something I didn’t want to name, twisting low in my belly.
What is wrong with me?