Chapter 5 – Rowan
ROWAN
“Isee you and the general have been working on your relationship.” Fel sighs while slumping down in his chair, exhaustion written all over his face.
“He’s a dick!” I bite out.
Next to me, Riven coughs sharply to hide his own snicker.
But only amusement dances in our eldest brother’s tired eyes. Usually, he’s the most rigid of the three of us.
“I see the new governess is earning her keep,” Fel teases lightly.
“That has yet to be seen,” Riven laughs, giving me a playful shove. “Ro’s vocabulary has certainly grown more diverse, but there are far more creative names she could have called him.”
I return his playful shove with a more forceful version of my own, and Riven has to grip the arm of his chair to keep from falling out.
“Let me guess what lessons you were avoiding tonight,” Fel laughs, and I shoot him a warning glare—giving Riven one more shove for good measure. “Dancing, posture…”
“Manners, perhaps?” Riven tacks on.
“I would never!” I reply, painting a look of shock and indignation upon my face, feigning innocence while pushing aside the nightmarish memories of posture lessons. Hours and hours and hours of maintaining the proper way to sit, stand, and curtsy.
Ridiculous.
The fact that the boys don’t have to attend such lessons irks me to no end.
Fel and Riven’s laughter fill the room, and the sound warms my chest.
Gods, I’ve missed this. It feels like ages since the three of us have been together.
Fel had been called away to new duties with the Sitaran army, spending more time at Aurielle with our father.
Riven, too, had been gone more and more for training.
Our father has been grooming each of us for our future roles since the day we were born.
Remembering this could be one of the last times the three of us are together like this has my heart tightening painfully in my chest.
Shaking off the tears that threaten to form, my attention narrows on my oldest brother. “And how is the Crown Prince of Sitara, Felipe Benedict Valrose?” I tease in the mocking tone of the court herald. “Rumor has it he is just perfect in every way.”
Fel rolls his eyes at the reference to the never-ending headlines about him in the village papers. “Oh, you know, same as usual. The ever uptight, pretentious, god-king-heir,” he replies with an embellished flourish of his hand.
I smile. As much as Riven and I like to poke fun at him, he really is the best of the three of us. Born to be king, he embodies the role wholeheartedly and without complaint, though I can see a difference in him.
Smile fading, I sit up a little straighter, turning to face him so I can see his eyes. “No, but seriously, how are you, Fel?”
To the rest of Sitara, Fel might be the heir, but to Riven and me, he’ll always just be our stinky older brother. And as stoic as he might appear, I know his duties weigh more heavily on him than he’d ever admit.
I don’t miss the small, almost sad smile when he looks down at his boots, or the flash of grief in his eyes that's gone nearly as quickly as it appeared. Two contradictions. His eyes, a warm amber gold unlike the dark green belonging to Riven and me, betray his true feelings.
Fel takes a deep breath, lifting his head to meet my gaze. “Starving. Shall we find something to eat?” He stands, his back stiff as he extends an arm out to me. The dutiful prince once more.
I don’t take it. Fel is here for a reason. His sudden appearance, and so soon after our father’s announcement last night—my engagement—is not a coincidence.
“You have news.” I stare him down, daring him to try evading me again.
Riven is silent beside me; he too held in rapt attention as we watch our brother uncomfortably rake his hand through his hair. It’s longer than I’ve ever seen it. He’s long overdue for a trim; the reddish-brown locks are close to falling into his eyes just like Riven’s.
Fel gives me a knowing look. “I thought we could discuss over dinner.” He gestures to the door but still avoids my gaze.
I take one small step in his direction before stopping, slowly shaking my head. “No.”
Fel stiffens.
This time, it’s Riven who speaks. “You’re a shit liar, Fel. Always have been. Come on, out with it—while we’re alone.”
It’s true the guards have all resumed their posts outside of the closed double doors across from us. And recently, it's become so rare for the three of us to be together—and to be alone. You might think it was our father’s new mission in life to keep us apart.
There had always been assasination attempts, but after our mother was killed in a demon attack, Father sent the three of us away—to Rosecliff, where we could be kept safe.
Rosecliff sits so far on the edge of Sitara’s territory that it is practically in Daekhar. Buried deep within the Wyldewood forest, the castle itself is an impenetrable fortress. After thousands of years, the walls have never been breached by fae armies, demons, or monsters alike.
But for the last year, aside from a few impromptu visits, Fel has been splitting most of his time between the military and the Starlight Court in Sitara’s capital. Father’s been preparing him for his role as heir just as he has Riven and me.
Except Father still prefers to keep the two of us far away from court.
The three of us stand in silence for a long moment. We know each other so well, Fel can’t hide anything from me, any more than I could hide something from him. Patiently, I wait for it to come out as he stares hard at the ground. Not wanting to say… whatever it is… yet.
“He’s moved it up,” he finally breathes out, his jaw tense.
“The wedding,” he confirms when I just stare at him.
I sigh in defeat. There goes my two weeks.
Riven lets loose a growl next to me, and there’s a sharp bite of anger to his tongue when he speaks up. “We only just received word of the engagement last night. There’s supposed to be a period of courting.”
“There’s growing tension on the border,” Fel offers weakly, as if some kind of explanation. “I was already on my way here when Father sent a falcon with the news.”
“With Kovaria?” I pry, seeing as Fel dragged a Kovarian prisoner back with him.
“No. But that’s an additional concern now, thanks to Theo.” Fel runs a hand down his face. “No, the King of Miselys appears to be amassing soldiers along the east border as we speak.”
That explains why Father left so quickly after his announcement last night.
Riven gives a start at his words, and his eyes find mine immediately. “Do they mean to attack?” A war with Miselys would be—well, devastating. For both sides.
Fel’s jaw tenses. “Not yet.”
Miselys may not have attacked yet, but by the way Fel is acting, and the wedding getting pushed up… the situation has to be serious. Especially if it’s messing up all of Father’s carefully laid plans.
“Kane and his men are en route to… collect you.” Fel’s eyes flicker to mine before exchanging a look with Riven.
I don’t flinch at the sound of my fiancé’s name.
Kane. He’s practically a stranger. I haven’t seen the male in years now…
The prince I’ll soon call my husband. I chew my cheek, taking in the news.
This is it. It’s really happening. An alliance with Skye through my hand will strengthen our kingdom, extending far greater protection to everyone I care about.
I can cry, scream, yell, but it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter because I will marry Kane.
No one will have to force me. No, I’ll do so willingly because it’s what is best for Sitara.
If marrying Kane gives us soldiers, weapons, and aid from Skye, then I know what I have to do.
“When?” My voice sounds strangely detached as I feel myself slipping back into that increasingly familiar, joyless apathy in order to cope with the overwhelming outlook of my future.
Fel eyes me warily, as if waiting for the explosion. “We’re to leave for Canton fort the day after tomorrow. Kane…” He trails off, still assessing my reaction closely, or well, in this case, my lack thereof. “Kane will meet us there and take you back to Skye, where the two of you will be wed.”
“The wedding won’t be in Sitara?” Riven demands.
Fel shakes his head, his expression grave. “There isn’t time.”
Riven and I exchange a look, and I know he and I are on the same page, one benefit of being twins, and both of us are thinking the same thing: this is certainly suspicious.
I consider it; Sitara isn’t the only kingdom at odds with Miselys. “Skye hates Miselys as much as we do.”
Fel’s jaw tightens. “More.”
The Sea Kingdom and the Iron Kingdom have long clashed with each other. King Mavros of Miselys has spent decades contesting Skye’s waters, which Skye vehemently defends. Perhaps he’s even sent his assassins to Skye too.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
The engagement. The wedding. The timing.
Sure, a union between Sitara and Skye would bolster Sitara’s forces and provide much-needed protection, but more importantly for Skye, it’s a declaration.
Or rather a warning. An all out threat to the Salt crown.
“Because of Mom?” I ask quietly, watching Riven and Fel’s faces as they too put the pieces together. “They know I have a claim?”
“Father must have told them,” Fel says grimly.
“Told them?” Riven scoffs. “Something tells me it was his selling point.”
I wrinkle my nose at the idea of them bartering over me like some prized broodmare. “Do you think he advertised all of the assassination attempts, or did he keep those close to the vest?” My bitter thoughts escape out loud.
An heir, a spare, and a daughter to sell.
My mother was a distant cousin to the Salt king himself, leaving Riven and me with a tiny drop of Miselyian royal blood running through our veins.
Not Fel, considering his mother died in childbirth years before our father married my mother.
King Mavros has never cared how distant our claim might be, given how often he’s attempted to kill us over the years.
A drop of blood is more than enough to satisfy the tethering and claim the Salt throne.
I’m quiet. My thoughts are racing too quickly for me to keep up.
My bloodline is valuable, making me especially desirable to an heir like Kane. Any child of ours would not only have a claim to the Skye line of power, but to Sitara and Miselys as well.
“So Father gets an army, and Skye finally gains an upperhand on Mavros after all these years?” Riven smiles, though it’s the bitter kind that doesn’t touch his eyes. “I’m liking this arrangement less and less.”
“But Miselys has an heir?” I ask, confused. “Mavros has a son… Cove?”
“He does, but a claim is still a claim.” Fel answers.
“Father has been pushing further east, stepping on Mavros’ toes…
If he, or Skye, were to attack… take out Cove…
” He shrugs, like talk of violating the Tethering Covenant and plotting the death of another kingdom’s heir is little more than moving pieces across a chess board.
“And of course, with the rumors circling about the Skye king’s health…
. Mavros is growing increasingly paranoid. ”
“Which explains the increase of soldiers on the border,” Riven muses coldly, and Fel nods.
Weaponizing my mother’s blood. My blood. I clench my fists.
“But the timing…” Fel’s frown deepens. “With all this unrest with Kovaria, and more and more raids along the Daekhar border, our army is stretched too far. If Mavros decides to attack,” he swallows hard, “we’ll survive…
but not without first sustaining heavy losses.
Heavy civilian losses.” His eyes find mine.
Not numbers on a battlefield, not pieces moved across a playing board, but mothers… children.
An alliance with Skye might be a threat to the Salt crown, but for good reason.
And I’m the key. If my hand can buy Sitara an army, another year of peace, another thousand lives spared, then perhaps it's a price I can bear.
“When is the wedding?” I ask.