Chapter Forty-Three
ChApter
Forty-Three
The halls hum with distant music as Sir Holden leads Nadya and me toward the ballroom. The soft rustle of silk accompanies our steps, the air thick with the scent of candlewax and distant perfume.
I take a slow breath, my fingers skimming the smooth, emerald fabric of my gown.
The deep green catches the light with every movement, the gold embroidery at the bodice shimmering like ivy bathed in sunlight.
Next to me, Nadya wears a paler shade—a delicate green kissed by silver thread, airy and soft, whereas mine feels heavier, richer, a queen’s color.
A symbol of what I am becoming. What I am stepping into.
Beyond the arched doors, laughter and music weave through the grand hall, the familiar melody of strings and flutes swirling through the air. I have seen this ballroom before, walked these very steps during the welcome ball when I first arrived in Hedera.
That night, I had been a foreign princess, a guest in a court that did not yet belong to me.
Tonight, it is different.
Tonight marks the beginning of forever.
A forever with Dante.
My stomach twists. Not with dread, but with something softer, something uncertain. This was not a marriage we chose. Not one we sat beside each other and planned, whispering promises of a future we’d shaped ourselves. It was decided for us. A fate woven by duty and politics, not love.
And yet… I’m not going into it with any regrets. Except for the fact that it’s all happening so quickly, it doesn’t feel forced.
I brace myself at the threshold. The king has kept Dante busy nearly every hour for the past week.
I haven’t seen him on his balcony, and there were no secret nights spent together in his room or mine.
But he has to be here, in the ballroom, because this is his celebration.
There’s a fluttering in my stomach from the thought of finally seeing him after what seems like forever.
The moment I step through the doors, the moment my eyes find him, the rest of the world fades away, and something fills my soul. Something that’s been missing all this time away from him. I feel… complete.
“Somehow,” Nadya whispers beside me, “he looks like an actual prince.”
I can’t help but grin. “Yes. It suits him.”
Dante stands beside the king, his dark tunic edged with gold patterns of ivy, his falchion strapped at his side.
His presence is effortless, commanding, his posture one of quiet strength.
His smile seems to come easily, and I can imagine it’s because the hard part is over.
He survived the trials, and he won the acceptance of the other realms.
Still, I know he hates these gatherings. I know he’d much rather be hidden in the shadows, not forced to talk to anyone.
I’d love to be sitting somewhere in the shadows with him, hidden away from prying eyes. Just him and me and the warmth of our bodies…
As if sensing me before even turning, his head lifts—his gaze sweeping the ballroom—until it locks on to mine.
A slow breath fills my lungs, but it’s not enough to steady me against the force of what rushes through me.
It is not a flicker of warmth. It is not a soft, budding feeling.
It is breathtaking.
A surge of something bright, something overwhelming, something I cannot name but do not need to.
Because in that moment, I know.
I know that, chosen or not, planned or not—this is where I belong.
The moment I step toward Dante, the king’s gaze shifts to me. His expression remains composed, his smile carefully set in place for the watching courtiers. A ruler at ease. A father welcoming his future daughter-in-law.
A ruse.
A lie.
I lower my chin in deference, the proper display of respect, even as every muscle in my body tenses at the sight of him.
“Your Majesty,” I say smoothly. “Prince Dante.”
Prince.
I smile at the sound of the word.
Dante’s eyes are still on me, something unreadable flickering in their depths, before he inclines his head. “Princess Celeste.”
King Silas steps closer, just enough that the words he speaks next are meant only for the two of us. “You’ve done well, Celeste.” His voice is low, measured. “I trust you will continue to do so.”
I keep my posture straight, my expression neutral. Do not react. Do not let him see what he does to you. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
His smile remains, his eyes never leaving mine. “You must understand, my dear, that your standing—your entire future—is a gift. And gifts can be taken away.”
The meaning coils between us like a snake ready to strike.
“I have been generous to Delasurvia,” he continues, his voice barely above the hum of the ballroom.
“Your people enjoy the benefits of my rule, the security of my alliance. And Dante—” He glances at his son, then back to me, his smile sharpening.
“His love for you is apparent. But love, as you know, is not indestructible. If you are to remain in my good graces, Princess, if you are to keep the luxury of the life I have allowed you, you will be loyal. To Hedera. To me.”
I want to tear the smugness from his face.
I want to spit the truth back at him, that I do not belong to him, that my life, my future, my heart are not things he can manipulate.
But I cannot.
Not here.
I must swallow my hate, let it burn quietly in the hollow of my chest, because this is the best way to keep Delasurvia safe.
I meet his gaze, steel beneath my carefully controlled features. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
The king smiles wider. A perfect performance for any watching eyes.
Beside me, Dante exhales softly through his nose.
“Look sharp,” King Silas says. “Our guests are arriving.”
Music hums from a small ensemble tucked in the corner, the melody airy yet charged, as if the strings themselves sense the shift tonight carries. The king ushers Dante over to a distinct area near the entrance, and the queen follows along, eventually taking her place beside her husband.
I had been so transfixed by seeing Dante that I hadn’t really taken a moment to admire the ballroom.
It glows under a canopy of chandeliers, their crystals dripping like frozen rain, scattering light across the polished floors and silk-draped walls.
Nadya reappears at my side, and it takes me a second to realize that she had momentarily slipped away.
“Where did you go?” I nudge her with my elbow.
“Lady Stacia told me the other realms’ rulers had arrived, so I had to take a peek. You should see how many carriages are lined up outside of the castle.”
The doors at the opposite end of the hall open with ceremony, and all in the Hederan court stare in wonder as the Podrosan delegation strides in.
King Harold leads them, towering and as rigid as an iron gate, his crimson cloak clasped at his shoulder with a medallion of the black thorns circling a silver sword.
His expression is chiseled from stone, the faintest nod of acknowledgment his only greeting.
At his side, Queen Agatha glides forward, her dark-brown hair coiled as tight as wire, her lips pressed into a diplomatic curve that never quite touches her eyes.
Their daughter, Princess Orida, moves just behind them, impeccable as ever in a deep-red gown trimmed with black lace, her golden hair plaited into a long braid down her back. She surveys the room until her eyes land on Dante. I can see her cheeks redden as she inclines her head to him.
It’s not jealousy that makes me uneasy. She doesn’t yet know that Dante is betrothed to me, but that’s about to change with the Silas’s announcement.
I actually feel compassion for her. I’m not sure if the announcement will cause her heartbreak, but if she has already started making plans based on a future with him, it will surely hit her hard.
Lady Marette follows, a soft smile lighting her face despite the small, swaddled bundle in her arms—her newborn son, no doubt, born since our visit to Podrosa. The lord at her side—whom I presume is her husband—keeps a careful hand at her back.
Then comes Lord Marcos, and I almost wish I hadn’t looked.
His eyes catch mine across the distance, and his face changes when he sees me.
I see the hope in his eyes, especially as he takes in my gown and acknowledges that I’m not in mourning anymore.
Again, my stomach twists with sympathy, knowing that I will fundamentally be rejecting him once more.
He wears a black doublet embroidered with crimson threads, his clothes matching those of his parents, who walk beside him. I force myself to look away.
A pair of Ironshield soldiers flank the rear of their group, their presence a reminder that Podrosa never arrives without a measure of power on display.
Next, the Bastos queens emerge, a vision of elegance and inscrutability.
Queen Ambra, bronze-skinned and draped in shimmering, purple silk, smiles with the ease of a serpent coiled on a warm stone.
At her side, Queen Eosla matches her stride, her hair an even brighter blue than it was when we left the Baharat Palace.
Their smiles are impeccable, but with them comes the faint sense of secrecy, as if they know something we don’t, and they can’t wait for us to find out.
Or maybe it’s simply their torrid desires giving them an air of mystery.
I breathe a sigh of relief that at least their nipples aren’t on display for everyone to see.
This is Dante’s day, and he could do without the Bastos queens stealing attention away.
I catch Nadya watching them with keen interest. Her Bastos blood, particularly the sorceress element, has become her new obsession.