Chapter 9
Elara
Elara approached the door to the great hall. She had spent months hoping for this moment, a lifetime preparing for it, and a week dreading it. Today marked her first official council meeting. Her heart pounded in her ears as she steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.
To distract the council from her anxiety, she wore an uncharacteristically gaudy dress, studded with colorful gemstones and paired with her ugliest, most extravagant tiara.
She looked like a walking rainbow—ridiculous, but dazzling.
The perfect misdirection—something else for the nobles to gossip about alongside the formal announcement of the princess’s engagement to a prominent noble family.
Silas and Felix—who were escorting her to the meeting—slowed, forcing Elara to do the same. Casting her gaze across the throng of courtiers, she noticed the two gentlemen from the red parlor gliding toward her. They halted in front of her, bowing deeply.
“Lovely to see you again, Your Highness.”
“Yes—and under much better . . . circumstances. Do forgive our ghastly behavior.” The one who’d struck her took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles.
His touch made her skin prickle. She resisted the urge to pull away. To survive in this court—and have any chance at finding her family—she needed allies, no matter how unsavory.
“Of course,” she said, inclining her head. “The red parlors seem to bring out the worst of us, don’t they?” She smiled warmly.
“Indeed. Thank you, Your Highness.” With a final peck on her hand, the pair scurried off, back into the fray.
Elara looked up to find Caelan marching toward her. He dismissed her guards with a wave, then rested a rough hand on Elara’s shoulder. She tensed as he pulled her closer.
He leaned in close, whispering into her ear, his breath a feather brushing her neck. “Be careful in there, Princess. We wouldn’t want anyone to suspect there’s trouble between us.”
“Then you might want to stop manhandling me in crowded hallways,” she hissed, her voice tight with anger.
“The courtiers might have missed the coup, but they won’t miss this.
” She shook his hand off her shoulder. “I will do my best. I want them to believe in us.” Elara knew how important it was for the council to think her family strong, in control.
Caelan waited until the last of the chattering noblemen disappeared around the corner.
Then, in the sudden silence, he wrapped his hands around her waist. With a shove, he forced her back against the cold, hard wall, arms caging her.
The rich, heady scent of cedar and amber, with an underlying bite of pepper, filled her nostrils.
He leaned in, his body pressing against hers, crowding her space entirely.
Fear, raw and visceral, choked her, mingling with a sense of dizzying anticipation.
“Perfect,” he purred. “Since we both know you’re an impeccable liar.”
A shaky “Wh-what do you mean?” escaped her lips, her heart pounding against his chest.
“I saw the blood. I know I cut you here.” He traced his fingers over her throat, and Elara gulped, her eyes widening.
“I noticed during our dinner. And your hands,” he said as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand in between their faces and sneering at the smoothness of her skin.
“No one else walked away from that fight as cleanly as you did.” He gestured to some yellow-edged bruises and thin pink scratches on his own face.
“I know what you are, Serathi, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. ”
Stars above, he knows. Elara’s own skin displayed the evidence of the truth, leaving her no plausible denial.
“Caelan,” she gasped, shock stealing her breath. “Please, I can explain.”
“Don’t bother, darling,” he growled. “I guess we are just two liars tangled together. Keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”
“Listen,” she pleaded. She tried to shove back against him but only succeeded at bringing their bodies impossibly closer together.
“I have no idea how, or what exactly, I did that night. A Serathi hasn’t been born in my family for generations.
” Her fingers touched her neck. “This had never happened to me before.”
Caelan pinched her chin painfully and tilted her head upward.
Hot tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.
Her bottom lip quivered with the effort of holding back a sob.
She was completely at his mercy. He held her gaze, eyes searching.
After another moment of her squirming, he finally released her and stepped back.
“You really didn’t know, did you?” he asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.
Elara shook her head vigorously. “No.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Just you,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it that way. We can talk about it more later.” Caelan offered her his arm to escort her into the great hall.
“I need a moment,” she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself and gather her courage. Her corset bit into her flesh as she hunched forward, head down and hands braced on the thick fabric covering her knees.
“Whenever you’re ready, Princess,” he said, leaning casually against the wall.
She tried her hardest to ignore him while she composed herself. After her unshed tears evaporated and her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm, she straightened.
“I’m ready.” When he offered her his arm once more, she hesitated, then took it.
As they entered the great hall, the height of the vaulted ceiling overwhelming compared to her cramped perch in the tunnel, the Council of Magi rose from their seats.
Representatives from each noble family formed a circle around the dais at the center of the room.
Each house wore colors specific to their ancestral essence affinity—a sea of cobalt blue, amber, scarlet, and her own emerald green.
Elara’s stomach churned with a sickening anxiety, twisting itself into tight knots.
Although these nobles served her, today they could not save her.
Elara had dreamed of this moment for years, begging her father to let her attend. Now that she was here, her dream became her nightmare.
Lord Stormrider sat at the head of a curved table.
His intense gaze made her heart pound, and she offered him a tight forced smile.
She and Caelan proceeded to the center of the room, and Elara nodded at several people she recognized—her family’s strongest allies, who staunchly fought to maintain unity across a nation that often felt like it was held together with smoke.
Caelan helped her up the few steps to the platform—no easy feat given the weight of her dress—kissed her hand like a proper gentleman, and sat beside his father and representatives from other elemental houses.
That simple display stirred up hushed conversations throughout the room.
Whispers buzzed back and forth, creating a chaotic energy that caused droplets of sweat to bead at the nape of Elara’s neck.
Elara clapped her hands, the sharp sound cutting through the anticipation of the dozens of magi, her gaze locking with each one in turn. Silence fell over them, heavy and expectant.
“Welcome,” she began, her voice bold despite the fear threatening to swallow her. “I formally open this seventh Council of Magi of the gathering season. May the stars guide us.”
“May the stars guide us,” the audience recited back in unison.
“Before I hand the meeting over to Lord Stormrider, I have an announcement to make.” Elara took a steadying breath, noticing several people lean forward in their seats.
“The king has expressed his dearest wishes to bond together the Evensong and Stormrider families. Therefore, I am pleased to announce my betrothal to Captain Caelan Stormrider.”
A communal gasp echoed through the room.
Then, mercifully, the magi rose, and a thunderous applause filled the hall.
The elementalists clapped Caelan on the shoulder and shook his hand, pride evident in their expressions.
Elara noticed one magi whose amber eyes gleamed—the woman from Emberreach.
Carved into a volcano’s caverns, the subterranean city was home to the few remaining Embrathi and Tharven—gifted flamewards and stonesmiths.
Together with the Moiren and the Sylari, the four clans formed a loose alliance of elementalists.
Uniting the Stormriders with the crown would elevate the Moiren without ruffling many feathers.
The match was astute, leaving Elara feeling guilty about questioning her father’s genuine reasons—protecting her—for his initial refusal. Before she could dwell on it further, Caelan climbed up next to her and grasped her hand in his, raising them up above their heads in triumph.
He informed the magi of the approaching festivities celebrating the engagement. Elara didn’t hear a word of it over the roaring in her ears. She was nothing more than a pawn. A prop. A prize. She had waited her entire life to be presented to this audience as heir to the Serendithian throne.
I was meant to be the future queen, she thought, not a future king’s bride.
She plastered a smile on her face, bright and brittle, concentrating on staying conscious.
The energy in the room crackled and surged, a palpable wave threatening to pull her under.
She squeezed Caelan’s hand as hard as she could, forcing him to pause his speech for a split second and look at her.
The spectators likely witnessed a man gazing fondly at his fiancée.
Elara prayed that Caelan saw a desperate woman who needed out.
He finished his sentence so that none of the magi realized his speech was cut short.
He escorted Elara back to the door with a grace that exceeded her expectations.
She was nearly panting as the two of them exited the great hall.
The moment they were alone, Elara’s legs gave way, sending her crashing to the marble floor with a sharp crack and searing pain in her kneecaps.
Caelan caught her as she fell, his hands wrapping around her upper body just before her head hit the ground.
“Are you all right?” he asked, voice thick with worry.
So confusing, she thought. Elara reeled from the ever-changing turns in his demeanor.
He kneeled in front of her, positioning himself so that they were face-to-face, his hands on her shoulders.
Elara was still struggling to catch her breath. Her hands gripped bunches of her gown, her knuckles turning white, fingers threatening to tear the delicate fabric. She looked into his eyes, aware of the tears rimming her own.
“What do you think?” she spat. Shame rippled through her—she couldn’t even make it through one meeting. How was she supposed to convince the council of her strength? How could she keep her family safe?
“Don’t worry, I’ll make a suitable excuse for you,” Caelan whispered.
Elara shook her head but didn’t protest. She held Caelan’s golden eyes, staring at her with concern.
I can use that.
I can use him.
Caelan would be the key to keeping her magic hidden, freeing her family, and stopping the wedding.
Elara would play her part: the sweet solemn bride-to-be.
But she would not be idle—she would watch, listen, and learn.
She would find Caelan’s weaknesses—his insecurities, his desires.
And if there was even a flicker of decency in him, a single ember of rebellion or doubt, she would find it and stoke it until he burned for her.