Chapter 35
Castien was behaving strangely. Wren could not pinpoint why.
This betrothal was his idea. And she had told him on several occasions over the course of the past few days that he could put a stop to it at any time.
Each conversation they had, he told her he wanted to continue, but still she felt something off within him.
That was the real trouble. Wren felt. The sensations were brief but confusing.
Just yesterday while signing their betrothal announcements, she’d caught him staring at her when she felt that deep warmth she’d come to associate with him.
But when she lifted her gaze, a cold despondency shocked her before he cut off his emotions entirely.
It drew her to the brink of frustration.
She almost had an outburst over it, but she wasn’t quite ready to divulge her Curse to him.
If he thought her dishonest, he might not wish to be attached to her—deceitfully or otherwise.
He would never want you if he knew the truth. You belong to me.
The monster’s voice made Wren’s throat tight.
She’d hoped that bringing Heron’s killers to justice would stop the darkness from clouding her mind.
Her hopes were dashed when she found herself plagued with terrors every night since Castien’s proposal.
They all told her the same thing: she was impure, stained, and broken. No one could love a girl like that.
“I found it!” Blossom announced, sidling up to where Wren sat at her vanity. She held the emerald sash with a triumphant smile.
“Wonderful,” Wren said with a smile that felt more like a grimace.
Blossom frowned. “What’s wrong, my lady? Tonight is cause for celebration, is it not?”
Wren tried to smooth her expression.
“I am nervous, that is all, dear Blossom.”
She stood and gestured to her waist. Blossom stepped behind her and tied the emerald ribbon into a bow.
The accessory had been a gift from Heron, but it was also the color Castien requested she wear to dinner this evening.
Their announcements had gone out to the students of highest station, as well as a few professors and the headmaster herself.
It was customary on the Lucent Enclave for a high-ranking couple to announce their betrothal by way of letter.
Tonight they would walk into the dining room as a couple.
As such, Castien requested that she wear one of the colors of his crest in order to show a united front.
“I understand,” Blossom said as she stepped back. “But you look beautiful, and your attachment to Prince Valengard is quite advantageous. You will be the envy of every woman on the island and perhaps the most feared as well, given your betrothed’s reputation with a sword.”
Blossom’s tone was light, but her words settled on Wren’s shoulders like a weight. She did not want to be envied. She wished to be ignored. Left alone to her own devices.
This will buy your freedom. Wren nodded at her reflection.
She could manage being watched if it meant one day she wouldn’t have to see anyone at all.
A smile graced her lips at the thought of being mistress of her own home.
No one to force her to do anything she did not wish to do.
No one to take from her. Yes, that was worth this sacrifice.
“Thank you, Blossom. That is very kind of you.” Wren smoothed her hands down her bodice. “Is everything in place? I believe he is to call soon.”
Blossom circled Wren with a careful eye before stopping in front of her.
“You are perfection, my lady!”
Good. Castien was her friend, and he deserved for his false bride to be perfect, even if they wouldn’t be betrothed more than three years before she disappeared.
She would make him proud. One day he might even speak fondly of her to his true wife.
A sharp pain dug into her chest at the thought.
When she spent time with Castien, it felt as though they had always been and always would be friends.
That would not be the case if she disappeared.
Perhaps he could come visit her, but she suspected such an occurrence would be rare given his duties as a future monarch.
And if he were married … his wife would not want him visiting a woman that wasn’t her.
Wren rubbed her chest with a frown. What was this feeling? Blossom’s bubbly excitement juxtaposed it, and Wren wished the maid possessed her usual anxiety so that it wouldn’t make Wren’s pain as noticeable.
A knock sounded at the door, making her drop her hand.
She glanced in the mirror once more with her heart in her throat.
Blossom had woven Wren’s hair into an elegant arrangement pinned with emeralds.
A few pale curls framed her face, which was brought to life by the soft pink rouge Blossom had applied.
The sash wrapped around her waist was further complemented by the emerald-and-gold necklace she wore.
The gold was sculpted to resemble vines, and the emeralds were cut into leaves.
It was the perfect representation of her homeland unifying with Castien’s.
And the image was made further complete by his dagger hanging from the belt at her waist.
“Good evening, Prince Valengard,” Blossom spoke, drawing Wren’s gaze from her mirror.
She turned to face Castien. He wore his usual academy uniform, except he swapped the black coat for an emerald one. A gold fox pin on his lapel glinted in the firelight. His dark eyes roved over her. She felt a flood of warmth that she was still not accustomed to. The affection stole her breath.
“You look exquisite,” Castien said as he walked toward her.
Blossom let out a soft giggle as she swept out of the room. Wren shook her head, her face heating.
“Do you deny it?” Castien asked. “I will refute you at every turn if you try.”
A girlish giggle that matched Blossom’s bubbled out of Wren. Castien had the strangest ability to make her feel so light.
“Careful, my dearest Castien, you’re starting to sound like your cousin,” she teased.
He smiled, and the full force of it stole Wren’s breath.
Tides, she had not noticed how handsome he was.
Faced with disaster at every turn, she’d scarcely had time to truly look at him.
With his dark hair, fathomless eyes, and enrapturing smile, he looked as though he belonged in a storybook.
As if he had emerged from the pages, ink stained but perfect.
“If it makes you laugh like that, I will take to mimicking him,” Castien said, still wearing his dashing smile.
Wren shook her head. “Please refrain. I prefer you to be yourself.”
“Good, because I think such a performance would be tiresome.”
She laughed again. Everything about her was encased in a gentle warmth. As if she were drinking a cup of tea that never got cold by a fire that never went out.
He only feels this way because he doesn’t know.
Wren pushed the monster’s voice from her mind. It was easier with Castien present. His affection toward her numbed the sharp cold her past brought on.
“I don’t think anyone but Finn could be that way all the time,” Wren agreed.
Castien’s smiling eyes fell to her vanity.
“Is that mine?” He reached for the sealed letter that lay next to her comb. She snatched it up before he could.
“I planned on giving it to you after dinner,” she replied.
His lips tipped up into a playful smirk.
“And if I wish to have it sooner?”
“You’ll have to be disappointed,” she said with an equally jovial expression.
Castien’s eyes shimmered with mischief. It was the only warning Wren got before he lunged at her. She gasped and took a quick step backward, then a few more when he followed her. An idea occurred to her, and she unsheathed the dagger at her waist, holding it between them.
Castien’s eyebrows rose.
“A few days training and you’re challenging me?” he questioned, his eyes dancing.
Wren spun the dagger in response while tucking the letter into the sash at her waist with her other hand.
Castien laughed, the sound filling the room.
She wondered if she had ever been this happy before.
Even with Heron, every moment seemed colored by some pressure or grief hanging over them.
With his murderers gone and her betrothal to Castien secured, Wren had a moment to simply be.
“Very well, dearest,” Castien said as he removed his jacket. Wren’s heart sped up. He threw it over the back of her vanity chair. “If it is a challenge you want …”
Castien gestured for Wren to attack. Her brow furrowed.
“You are not going to take out your dagger?” she asked.
His smirk grew more devious.
“I have no need for one.”
Her lips parted in indignation.
“This is why I call you my pompous prince,” she said as she lunged toward him with her dagger.
He chuckled as he dodged with ease.
“As long as you call me yours, I will never complain.”
Her stomach swooped at his words, though she pretended otherwise.
“You will not distract me with sweet words.”
They circled one another in front of her bed. She could feel his amusement and affection like soft silk brushing against her skin.
“I won’t need distractions to defeat you, only the right moment.”
“Such a moment will not come,” Wren shot back.
Castien’s answering smile sent a thrill up Wren’s spine.
She lunged for him again to no avail, so instead of waiting, she stepped toward him again.
The blade came close to his thigh before his hand caught her wrist. She tried to pull away, but he twisted her arm around so her back was to his chest. His lips found her ear.
“You were too eager,” he murmured. “I know the feeling, but patience is your friend in a battle.”
His right hand gripped her wrist firmly but not painfully.
Their proximity was dizzying. What was this feeling that clouded her senses so intensely?
She ought to be upset that he had bested her so soon after her taunting, but she found it difficult to concentrate.
Castien splayed his left hand over her abdomen, making her suck in a sharp breath.
It was too much. She couldn’t tell where his feelings began and hers ended.
“Cas—”
He slipped the paper out of her sash and held it in front of her face.
“I’ll be taking this,” he teased.
His breath was warm against her skin. She found she quite liked the feeling. When he released her wrist and she was able to step away, an inexplicable longing to stay put formed within her. Wren rebelled against the feeling and put distance between them before turning to face him.
Castien’s gaze was soft and relaxed. Wren wished she could be looked at in that manner all the time. Perhaps it would make facing the mirror easier.
“We’re late for dinner,” she said, for fear of confessing something else.
Castien’s expression tightened ever so slightly.
A twinge of something—anxiety? Regret?—plucked at Wren’s senses.
He crossed the room and pulled on his jacket once more.
When he held his arm out, she got the sense that he had donned not just the article of clothing, but his royal position, as well.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Did I upset you?” Wren asked quietly. It was a risk to let him know she sensed something off, but she could tell him she read his expression.
Castien met her gaze.
“No, dearest. I am merely wishing we could be alone for the evening rather than face the pack of cryptura awaiting to devour us at dinner.”
She let out a soft laugh at his metaphor.
“There is still time to call for Blossom or Heathford to bring our meals here,” she suggested.
He bestowed her with a wry grin.
“Tempting, but it is for the best that we face our peers. Image is important. We must present a strong one.”
Wren dipped her chin. Growing up as the daughter of a duke, she understood such things. She could play the part.
“At least we are together,” she said in an attempt to lift his spirits.
Judging by the warmth spreading in her chest, it had worked.
“Yes, that makes this all worthwhile.”