Chapter 21
Caelan
The staff set the table with the finest flatware in the palace, and bouquets of flowers filled the air with their sweet scent.
A warm glow illuminated the dining room as candlelight flickered from the arms of gilded candelabras, casting long dancing shadows across the walls and ceiling.
Caelan paced behind his chair, running his hands through his unruly blond hair.
The thought of his first dinner here, a tense affair with his father where every glance between him and Elara had crackled with animosity, made him shudder.
Are we still enemies? He hoped not. Despite his best efforts—and hers, which were considerable—the two of them were drawn together. Their bond transcended the camaraderie of training partners or the formality of a politically motivated union.
Caelan stopped his pacing for long enough to pick out a tiny fruit tart and pop it into his mouth, savoring its sweetness.
He cared for Elara, trusted her. Together, they had overcome his arrogance and her ignorance.
If someone had asked him when he first arrived in Valoria what his thoughts of the princess were, he would’ve told them she was a spoiled, naive girl—or worse, a liar.
Now, after their weeks of training and joint pretending, she had proven him wrong.
Not only did her beauty take his breath away, but the strength in her eyes showed a spirit that had endured much—just like he had.
The selflessness with which she sacrificed for her family made his palms sweat.
Despite insurmountable odds, the pair found solace in each other.
His feelings for her exceeded any he’d previously experienced, even those for Sera.
Elara was now his reason to keep fighting, to escape his father’s scheming once and for all.
He straightened his coat, the velvet trim catching on his calluses, and picked at an imaginary fleck of dirt on the blue suede.
Elara appeared in the doorway, her emerald-green dress shimmering in the buttery light.
The silver embroidery, a pattern of climbing vines swirling around her dress, highlighted the gray flecks in her bright blue eyes.
Her dark hair fell in loose curls around her face and down her back, a circlet dripping diamonds onto her forehead.
Her long skirts swished across the carpet as she glided over to him, smiling, her eyes sparkling and cheeks pink.
Caelan swallowed hard and strode over to her seat and pulled out the chair for her. She sat in it, expertly folding the fabric of her gown out of her way, and reached for her crystal wine goblet. The purple liquid deepened the flush on her cheeks as she drank.
She’s nervous, he realized, placing his hand on top of hers.
“Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me,” Caelan said. He took his seat across from her and lifted his goblet toward her in a silent toast before they both took another long drink.
The camaraderie of their recent training couldn’t quell the butterflies in his stomach—he felt more nervous than ever.
From Elara’s rapid breathing, he guessed she did too.
This was their first proper date. He finally felt ready—the moment had arrived when he could tell her how much she meant to him, the words a weight on his chest. The wine he had in his goblet, and the few drinks he’d had prior to this dinner, gave him the courage he needed.
But before he could speak, Elara cleared her throat.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.
He nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“I met someone.”
“Oh.” His heart fell into his stomach.
“Not like that!” She shook her head, a small smile playing on her full lips. Her face became serious once more. “Her name is Lysandra. She’s a new . . . friend. She showed me this incredible tapestry . . .” Elara trailed off, eyes flicking to the staff.
Caelan sat up straighter in his chair. He tapped his knife against his glass three times, and all the attendants in the room turned toward him.
“Excuse us. I’d like to have a private conversation with my future wife,” he said. In moments, the room emptied save for the couple. “Please, go on.”
Elara’s shoulders relaxed, as if she’d been holding her breath awaiting privacy.
“It’s in the library. It tells the story of the Shattering.
I never knew the war’s effect on the landscape.
Lysandra helped me find this journal too.
It details the druids and their connection to the origin of essence.
I have only made a little progress reading it, but it seems promising.
” Her words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush of excitement.
Caelan knew all about the war. He’d basically grown up on bedtime stories about it—ones that had given him nightmares as a boy.
The way his father saw it, the Evensongs had betrayed the Stormriders, but the history books had recorded the reverse.
Heroes in their own story, the Evensongs claimed to have defeated the druids and saved humanity despite the betrayal of their closest allies.
The resulting exile left his family stranded in a strange, barren land filled with the dangerous Nimireth.
Caelan’s father had been plotting his return, and his revenge, ever since his great-grandfather had told him those same bedtime stories.
Caelan took a bite of steak, considering what she’d shared and shoving down his nerves about Elara’s new ally. “The Shattering. The war that split our families apart in the first place. It can’t be a coincidence that this friend of yours is leading us down this path. Tell me about her.”
“Remember when I told you about the raven in my vision?”
“Of course.”
“It’s her.” Elara winced, recognizing how ridiculous she sounded.
“Is she actually a bird?” he asked.
“Sometimes. I’m not sure exactly what she is. She’s a shape-shifter and communicates with me telepathically. A protector, maybe?”
Caelan fought to keep a straight face. Impossible. She has a familiar? he thought. “Then a helpful ally, to be sure. I’d love to meet her,” he said, unwilling to tell her what Lysandra really was, or what her sudden appearance might make Elara.
“So, you don’t think I’m insane?” She beamed, her flirtatious self returning.
Caelan chuckled. “Not for that reason. Trust me, I’ve seen enough magic in my time that it’ll take more than a strange animal companion to scare me off.”
“Good, since I also wanted to talk with you about our wedding night,” she said.
Caelan’s eyebrows rose at the awkward change in the subject, but he said nothing, restraining himself so that she could continue.
“I assume your father expects us to consummate the marriage?” she asked boldly.
Caelan nodded, feeling his own cheeks redden and a rush of warmth at the thought of being intimate with her.
“And you? What do you expect?” She took another gulp of her wine and a bite of something cheesy from her plate.
She sounded calm, but shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation. That makes two of us. I’d rather keep talking about war, he thought.
Caelan chose his next words carefully. It was imperative to him that she understood the true depth of his admiration for her—to show her the appropriate respect, his father’s expectations be damned.
“I . . . I want you to be comfortable,” he said.
“I don’t care what my father wants. I want to be with you.
And I want your—our—first time to be special.
To be real. If that means we wait, then we wait until we are both ready.
” His words were raw, no trace of the infamously snarky rogue or arrogant warrior—just Caelan.
His heart pounded as he awaited her response.
“Why do you even care?” she whispered, the soft sound like a dagger to his chest.
Sapphire-blue eyes met his as he reached over the table and took her hands, tiny compared to his broad calloused ones.
Caelan slowly, gently, lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm, hoping she’d see the answer to her question in his eyes. Because I love you. Her face flushed, and she didn’t pull away, so he lifted her other hand and repeated the gesture. He released her and drank deeply from his goblet.
Elara nodded, then pursed her lips. “It wouldn’t be my first time . . .”
And then he was choking on his wine, caught in a fit of coughing.
The fire of jealousy ran through his veins.
He did his best to douse those thoughts and focus on her.
He schooled his features into something resembling calm.
“My apologies. That’s, well, unexpected,” he said.
Elara opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. “But not unwelcome,” he added quickly.
“Jealous?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I’d be an idiot not to be. Who?” The image of another man touching her, holding her, flashed in his mind. He clenched his teeth.
Elara squirmed. “That’s none of your business.”
“Tell me. Who?” The question burned in him, envy tangled up with his own desire. “Please,” he added, though it came out more as a growl.
“No.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I bet I could guess.”
She rolled her eyes as he tapped his finger against his chin in mock consideration.
“Kaz? No, not him, the other one. Jalin,” he said, recalling her former guards.
Her silent blush confirmed his suspicion, and he grinned. “I saw you two together at a party, the one where you saved that poor servant girl.”
“Caelan, I—”
He held up a hand. “Please, there’s no need to explain. You are your own woman, Elara. It would be unfair of me to judge you. Do you love him?” he dared ask, bracing himself against her answer.
“No, not in that way. Not anymore.”
“Then it’s of no concern to me.” He sagged in relief.
Elara exhaled. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being less of an ass than you usually are,” she teased. “Really though, thank you. Not everyone is as . . . egalitarian with these things.”
“I have a past too, as you well know.”
“Don’t remind me!” Elara laughed as she threw a small sausage at his face, which he expertly caught with a stream of water and redirected to his plate.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she admitted.
“Good,” he said. “That’ll make it easier for me to keep impressing you.” As much as he wished it weren’t true, underneath his words of triumph lurked a trace of a deep, unending sort of shame and defeat.
“Do you think I could ever make you happy?” He thought about the countless hours they’d spent together—he’d been happy to train her, listen to her talk, or sit in comfortable silence.
“You already do,” she replied, breath hitching—as if her own words caught her off guard.
Caelan shuddered and closed his eyes, every inch of his body going taut as her words washed over him.
“Will you tell me more about your family?” he asked, needing a reprieve to regain his composure. He immediately regretted the question, if only for the pain that flickered in her eyes.
“Caelan, will you help me free them?” she whispered.
“I can try to get a letter to them,” he offered. “To let them know that you are safe—under my protection.” It was all he could do to show her how much she meant to him.
“And then?”
His eyes stayed locked on hers. “We wed,” he murmured.
She gulped. “And then?”
A muscle in Caelan’s jaw twitched. “Then we get your family back.” He held her gaze, brow furrowing before he spoke his next words carefully. “And get my father out of Valoria.”
Elara’s lips parted. “Are you sure?”
“He’s dangerous. Not just to you”—Caelan grasped Elara’s hand with his scarred one—“but for Serendith. I won’t be his puppet. Not anymore.”
Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Thank you,” she said, her sad smile melting the ice wall around his heart. Not tonight, then, but when the time was right, he would tell her how he felt.