Chapter Forty-Two
ChApter
Forty-Two
Ezra’s lesson room is warm when Nadya and I arrive, the scent of old paper and melted candlewax thick in the air.
The temperature is a welcome change from the chill that lingers around the castle grounds.
The days are getting shorter and colder, and Nadya and I have had to grab our shawls more often.
Ezra looks up from his desk as we enter, his expression alert, as though he’s been waiting for us all morning.
“You’re just in time,” he says, standing.
A thick, worn book rests in his hands, the leather cover cracked and faded, like it’s been passed through too many hands to count.
“The Magister of Podrosa came through for me.”
I eye the book. “He sent you something?”
Ezra nods. “He said he would send anything he came across that might prove useful. This arrived yesterday morning by horse messenger. I spent most of the night reading it.”
Nadya steps beside me, leaning closer to the desk. “What is it?”
“A collection of lesser-known accounts—oral histories, personal recollections, and disputed reports.” Ezra lifts the book slightly, his fingers brushing the edges like he’s holding something sacred. “But one story stood out.”
We settle into the chairs facing his desk, the fire at the side of the lesson room crackling low. Nadya crosses her legs, already engrossed. I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.
Ezra opens the book and begins. “Centuries ago, there was a female fae born with a rare gift—she could pass through solid matter. Stone, iron, even glass. A magic that rendered most walls and locks meaningless.”
“I’ve never heard of such a power,” Nadya murmurs.
Ezra nods. “She was careful with her ability. Her family taught her to keep it hidden, especially once the kingdoms started tracking magical bloodlines. But she was eventually discovered by a male fae who had his own ability. One that allowed him to siphon magic from others and use it himself.”
I straighten. “A siphon fae. That’s rare.”
Ezra gives a tight nod. “Yes. It is. But this fae wasn’t content with power for the sake of order.
He was greedy. He wanted gold, dominion.
He learned of the treasure vault in Hedera—one that held the ancient king’s personal fortune.
It had been sealed with warding magic so complex, in lieu of entering in the conventional manner, only someone with the ability to pass through solid matter could reach it. ”
“He tried to steal her power,” I say, already guessing the rest.
“He abducted her,” Ezra confirms. “Commandeered a ship and took off to Hedera from Alphemra. He would siphon from her every so often during their journey so she couldn’t escape. But she devised a plan. Before he took her to the vault, she hid her magic.”
Nadya nods. “Clever thinking.”
“Where did she hide it?” I ask.
“In a necklace she wore. An amulet,” Ezra says. “She channeled her magic into it. It meant rendering herself powerless, but it was a chance she was willing to take. She dropped it where he wouldn’t notice, just before they reached the vault.”
I glance down at my dagger, where my mother hid our magic.
“When they arrived at the vault, he tried to siphon the power as he’d done before—but it was gone. Useless. Without it, he couldn’t pass through the wards. And when he realized she’d tricked him, he turned on her.”
Nadya’s eyes widen. “What happened?”
“They fought, but she escaped,” Ezra says. “Ran all the way to the castle and begged the guards for help. Told them everything. The male fae was arrested on charges of trespassing and attempted theft from the crown.”
“And her magic?” I ask.
“She searched for the necklace and found it again. Then she returned home to Alphemra.” Ezra closes the book, but gently, like he’s trying not to break the spell his story has cast. “She performed a ritual to draw the magic back into her. At first, her body rejected it. It caused sickness, imbalance. Her magic came back in bursts. Wild and painful.”
“Like me,” I whisper.
He gives me a steady look. “Yes. It was as if the magic wasn’t settling in where it was supposed to.
Like it was a puzzle piece that wasn’t turned in the right direction.
But the ancient fae performed a ritual that was able to direct the magic, to get it to shift in the correct way that wouldn’t hurt her. ”
Nadya leans forward. “What’s the ritual?”
Ezra sighs. “That’s the part I’m still working through. The account gives some details, but not everything. There are pieces missing, because it’s a recounting of what happened, not a recipe book.”
My fingers curl against the arm of the chair. “Do you think you’ll be able to figure it out?”
Ezra’s expression softens. “I wouldn’t have told you this story if I didn’t believe there was a chance.”
Nadya’s face lights up. “That sounds hopeful.”
Ezra smiles faintly. “I may have to reach out to Alphemra. There’s no guarantee they will cooperate, but maybe they’ll take it into consideration in order to help one of their own.”
I breathe deeply, giving him a nod.
He turns to Nadya. “In the meantime, we should work on training your magic as well. You might have to share your knowledge from your great-aunt’s book. If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure,” Nadya says. “If there’s anyone I trust with helping me out with this, it’s you.”
A knock sounds at the door, interrupting us. It swings open, and Sir Holden steps inside, his cheeks slightly red from the cold air outside.
“Forgive the interruption,” he says, shoulders squared. “But, Princess Celeste—the king requests your presence in the council chamber.”
I blink. “The council chamber?”
Holden nods once. “Yes. He said to bring you there directly.”
Ezra’s brow lifts, his mouth parting slightly. “He’s never allowed you inside before.”
“No,” I murmur, rising to my feet. “He hasn’t.”
Not officially. Not like this.
The only time I’ve stood within that chamber was the day Dante and I forced our way in—an intrusion Farvis made very clear would not be tolerated again. Every other time, when I asked for entry, I was turned away.
Whatever this is… it isn’t ordinary.
I stand and lift my chin. “Well. Let’s see what’s changed.”
“Good luck,” Nadya says. “I’ll see you later.”
“I really hope so,” I murmur.
Sir Holden waits just outside the lesson room, offering a polite incline of his head before turning to lead me through the quiet, echoing halls of Ivystone.
With every step, I feel apprehension settling deeper into my chest. My boots tap softly against the stone floors, and I force myself to breathe slowly.
I don’t know why I’ve been summoned, only that the council chamber isn’t a place I’m normally permitted to enter.
I’ve spent months cloaked in mourning and forced obedience, passed over like a shadow in the corner of every conversation.
But I am the heir to the Delasurvian throne. I am commander of the royal regiment—even if I’m currently on hiatus. I have faced carnivorous monsters with jagged teeth and claws, and I’ve walked away breathing. So whatever this is, I will not let them see me small.
My spine straightens as we near the double doors carved with curling vines and old kingdom sigils, the bronze handles gleaming despite the grey light that filters through the tall windows overhead. Two guards push the doors open without a word. They’ve been expecting me.
It’s been so long since I’ve been in the council chambers that I’ve forgotten what the place looked like.
The space is cool and bright. Arched windows line the far wall, casting thin lines of pale light across the long marble table in the center of the room.
Maps are unfurled in places, flanked by scrolls, inkpots, and quills.
A low fire crackles behind the king’s seat.
King Silas sits at the head of the table, his posture severe and immovable, as always.
Farvis stands just behind him with a roll of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, face pinched with duty.
And to the king’s right is Dante. His arms rest on the table, fingers laced, his expression unreadable until his gaze meets mine.
“Celeste,” the king says, not rising. “You’re aware of why you’ve been summoned?”
I step closer to the table, clasping my hands behind my back. “No, Your Majesty.”
“We’ve received word from the realms.” His voice is brusque, every syllable sharpened by power. “Each of the courts we visited during our tour has responded.”
I glance toward Dante, and his mouth lifts—just barely, a flicker of something quiet and proud. My heart thuds, a breath catching in my throat.
“Every realm,” the king continues, “has accepted Dante’s claim to legitimacy.”
My gaze snaps back to him. “Then congratulations are in order,” I say, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “That’s incredible news.”
But the king shakes his head once, lifting a hand, as if to halt the celebration. “Not yet. You see, there is one realm left whose approval is required to make the claim official.”
Farvis steps forward with parchment and quill, the motion practiced, precise.
I look between him and the king.
“Delasurvia is the final vote we need. And the laws, though ancient, remain clear. Majority must be achieved, and your kingdom’s voice tips the scale.”
Dante looks at me, and I catch the rise and fall of his chest as his storm-grey eyes flash.
I draw a steady breath, then take a step toward the table, letting my stance reflect the gravitas of my title. “Then I accept,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Delasurvia supports Lord Stregasi’s claim.”
Farvis lays the parchment on the table and offers the quill. I skim the words, making sure there’s nothing hidden in the ink, before signing my name with careful, clean strokes.
As I place the quill down, the king speaks again. “The queen is already arranging a celebration ball to honor Dante’s new title. The other monarchs will be invited back for the event, and I expect they’ll attend. The realms will want to congratulate the new prince in person.”
My eyes flick to Dante again, and he gives the faintest nod, as if thanking me—not just for the approval, but for everything else. For standing by him. For always coming through. For trusting him.
But the king isn’t finished.
“And during this celebration,” he says, settling deeper into his chair, “once the guests have arrived, I will formally announce your betrothal.”
My breath catches. I didn’t expect the announcement to come so soon.
“We’ve waited long enough,” the king continues. “If I don’t make it public soon, you’ll likely do something stupid and risky and get yourself killed.”
The comment is sharp but not entirely cruel—more matter-of-fact than mocking.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
I glance toward Dante again. There’s pride in his look. A flicker of gratitude. A thousand emotions tangled between us.
This is happening.
“I appreciate your swift cooperation,” the king says. “You’re dismissed. We men have preparations to tend to.”
Farvis begins collecting the parchment, and the king turns his attention to something else already being laid out on the table. It’s clear the moment is over.
I promptly turn to leave.
But as I step back into the corridor, the weight of what just transpired hits me.
Dante is a prince now.
And I’m going to be his bride.
Not just in whispers or private moments—but in the eyes of every kingdom in Terre Ferique.
Everything has shifted.
And this time, no one can stand in our way.