Chapter Forty-Three #2
Then Queen Verina of Messanya enters, adorned in an elaborate, pearl-white gown, flowing like a cresting wave.
She carries herself with the grace of an aria’s final note, half of her platinum hair pinned high, the rest hanging in coiling tendrils.
When her eyes sweep the room, they land briefly on Dante, and though her expression softens, I can’t tell if it’s approval or something else entirely.
Finally, the triarchs of Mersos arrive. The two kings and solitary queen wear forest green trimmed in rust red, their eyes keen and assessing.
While the other rulers absorb the scene, King Gallor meanders toward the nearest serving tray, lifting a goblet to inspect the vintage like a merchant examining a harvest. Queen Shaylin places a hand on his arm to pull his attention back to the celebration, but King Birchus only chuckles under his breath.
“They’re inspecting the food,” I murmur to Nadya.
She grins. “Of course they are.”
I sweep my gaze across the assembly, feeling the weight of their presence settle. Allies, strangers, potential enemies. A part of me wonders what it would have been like if the fae of Alphemra had come?
The question sneaks unbidden into my thoughts.
Although they are known for ignoring invitations to such things, I don’t even know if King Silas considered reaching out to them.
The fae keep their distance, their mountain-shrouded courts steeped in secrecy.
But still… I imagine them shimmering like specters beneath these chandeliers, their beauty otherworldly, their power a palpable hum beneath the music.
I shake the thought away, just as Nadya leans closer. “This is surreal. Almost all the nobles of Terre Ferique in one place.”
My eyes go to the king, knowing he’s about to make his speech. “Very surreal.”
As most of the guests take their places at various tables around the edges of the ballroom, Princess Orida separates from her family, making her way toward Dante.
I stiffen, wondering if she’s approaching him to flirt and throw her hat in the ring as a potential match.
Her smile is modest, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.
Dante has always been a handsome man, and his height and build no doubt contribute to his appeal.
But now that he’s a prince, there’s an added quality I’m sure our guests find magnetic.
I’ve always found him appealing, even without the title. Which makes me question what Princess Orida actually sees in him.
She curtseys before the king and queen, her lids lowered slightly as she gazes at Dante.
“Your Majesties, Your Highness.” She straightens.
Aside from the way she stares at Dante, there is nothing flirtatious about her posture or movements.
She carries herself as a Podrosan princess, not a Bastosi queen.
“I wanted to personally offer my heartfelt felicitations, Prince Dante. It is a well-deserved recognition.”
Dante inclines his head. “It’s very kind of you to say, Princess Orida.”
“Perhaps, during the course of the evening, we could find a moment to talk. Or maybe even have a dance.” She smiles sweetly, her face full of hope.
Dante hesitates only for a second, but he keeps his expression polite. “I will keep that in mind.”
She seems thrilled at his response, nodding before gathering her skirts and heading toward the table where her family sits.
Princess Rosemary is the next to approach. She studies Dante as if inspecting how well her favorite tree has grown. “Prince Dante, you have my congratulations.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He inclines his head, and his fingers twitch at his side.
I recall the conversation she had with him at the feast, how she commented on his fertility, and I wonder if she’s thinking about putting her theory to the test as soon as possible.
She turns to the king and queen and curtseys. “Mersos thanks you for your hospitality, Your Majesties.”
After she joins her family at their tables, the king leads Dante to our table. The queen, Nadya, and I follow his lead and take our places.
The hall hums with quiet opulence. Servants move in graceful lines, setting down gleaming platters of roasted game, bowls of jewel-toned fruits, and loaves still steaming from the oven.
The scents of sage, citrus, and slow-braised meat drift through the air, mingling with the faint tang of spiced wine.
Candlelight glints off polished silver and crystal, scattering golden flickers across the long table.
A quartet of musicians plucks a gentle melody on harp, violins, and lute, the notes threading through the warm murmur of voices as the guests settle into their seats.
The clinking of cutlery quiets, the low hum of conversation tapering off as King Silas rises from his seat at the head of the table. A goblet of deep-red wine glints in his hand, catching the golden candlelight as he lifts it slightly.
“My friends,” he begins, his voice carrying easily over the long table, “welcome. It is no small thing to travel the lengths of the realms, and I thank each of you for making the journey to Ivystone for this most significant occasion.”
He pauses to sweep the room with his gaze, slow and deliberate.
“You honor not only our kingdom, but my son, with your presence. You have seen in Dante what I have always seen—strength, capability, and the will to lead—and you have returned home to speak in his favor, granting him your acceptance. For that, you have my deepest gratitude.”
The guests raise their goblets in polite acknowledgment. I keep my hands in my lap, my eyes on the polished table, because I can already feel the queen across the way stiffen.
The king’s gaze turns to Dante, pride swelling in his voice.
“Dante, you have proven yourself in more ways than one. You have fought for the safety of this kingdom, you have endured trials most men would not survive, and you have done so without complaint, without hesitation. You have earned your place beside me, and I know you will carry forward my legacy with honor.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Queen Eleanor’s faint wince, the subtle downward twitch of her mouth.
He speaks the words ‘my son’ so easily, so warmly, and yet Torbin’s name hasn’t left his lips in weeks.
It’s as though the memory of her child has already been brushed aside, replaced.
Even knowing what Torbin became, I sympathize with the queen, because her maternal feelings are still valid.
“I have no doubt,” the king continues, “that Dante will go on to accomplish even greater things than I have. And with that in mind”—he straightens, his voice sharpening with a note of formality—“I have another announcement.”
A ripple of curiosity moves through the guests.
“It is my pleasure to share that Dante will take Princess Celeste of Delasurvia as his betrothed.”
My heart stutters. The words hang in the air, their weight settling over the room. All eyes shift toward us. I notice how Princess Orida’s face falls and how Princess Rosemary grinds her teeth.
The king’s expression softens by a fraction. “The late King Axel was my friend. I know he would have been glad to see our kingdoms joined in such a way. His daughter has proven herself a formidable protector of her people, a capable commander, and a worthy future queen.”
Even if I doubt he believes half of what he’s saying, the words still land with their intended weight.
“I am confident their union will stand as a symbol of lasting alliance between Hedera and Delasurvia—a unification of strength, prosperity, and peace.”
He raises his goblet high. “To Dante and Celeste.”
The hall echoes with voices repeating the toast, goblets lifted, wine swirling like blood in crystal.
I know not everyone is pleased to hear this announcement, but in this moment, I don’t really care.
Dante glances at me from across the table, and for a heartbeat, the noise fades to nothing but the sound of my own pulse.
He’s not with me because it’s the king’s wish. He’s with me because he wants to be.
Halfway through our meal, King Harold of Podrosa and King Gallor of Mersos approach, their smiles polite but measured. They offer their congratulations—first to the king, then to Dante, and, finally, to me—but there’s a glint in the Podrosan king’s eye that makes my skin tighten.
“It is a fine match,” King Harold says, his voice smooth, almost friendly. “I only wonder if the… arrangements could have been open to discussion. A union with Podrosa, for example, might have been of equal benefit. Perhaps more so, given our similar leadership.”
He knows I can hear him, but this is not a man who cares what women think, so I’m not surprised he is so blatant with his thoughts in front of me.
The air sharpens. King Silas’s smile holds, but the faint tick in his jaw betrays him.
I school my features, keeping my voice light. “It’s true that alliances with Podrosa have always been strong. I’m sure they will remain so.”
Dante’s jaw remains hardened, but his tone stays pleasant. “Indeed. And with the realms’ approval of my claim, I believe all our kingdoms will only grow stronger together.”
The Mersos king murmurs his agreement, but the Podrosan king’s lingering glance makes it clear he’s not entirely mollified.
Before the tension can stretch thinner, the musicians shift into a livelier song, strings swelling beneath a bright cascade of flute.
“If Your Majesties will excuse us,” Dante says smoothly, as if the conversation had been nothing but cordial. “I believe my bride-to-be could use a dance.”
Without waiting for anyone’s reply, his hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady, and he guides me away from the cluster of royals.
I clench my teeth, pushing down my anger, forcing my breaths to remain even.
Because no one will ruin this night for me.
My pulse stirs as Dante leads me into the center of the floor, the sweep of his arm wrapping around my waist in a way that feels both protective and possessive.
The open display of affection causes my breath to hitch.
We don’t have to hide anymore. This is not only allowed, it also shows the kingdom that their prince accepts me as his betrothed.
The orchestra swells around us, the lilting melody threading through the air, a song meant for lovers.
All eyes are on us, but for a heartbeat, I can almost forget the watching crowd.
Because Dante and I have never danced before. I’ve never seen him at a ball. Even during the ball the queen threw when I first arrived, Dante didn’t step foot in the ballroom.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” I tease, feeling at ease in his arms.
The corner of his lips quirks up. “With all the moves I’ve shown you, did you doubt me?”
We move in time with the music, his steps sure and confident, mine following as though I’ve been dancing with him for years. He spins me, and I catch the faintest smirk curving his mouth.
“This isn’t just a dance,” I murmur.
“No,” he says, drawing me close enough that I can feel the steady beat of his heart against mine. “It’s us, showing them.”
“You might enjoy showing me off a little too much.” I raise a brow.
“Of course I do,” he replies with no hesitation. “They should know exactly who my first choice is. Or rather, my only choice.”
My cheeks warm. “Careful, Dante. You’re going to make me forget we’re making a political statement.”
His fingers flex at my waist, a subtle pull that draws me half an inch closer. “I can think of worse things than you forgetting yourself.”
I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest. And yet, as I look at him—at how poised he is, how effortlessly he moves through this world he always swore he wanted nothing to do with—I can’t help but wonder.
“How are you handling this so well?” I ask, searching his face. “I thought you despised court life.”
His lips twitch, though there’s something deeper behind his expression. “I do.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’ve already decided where my loyalties belong.” His voice is softer now, but no less certain.
Something in my breath stutters.
His fingers flex against my waist as he pulls me slightly closer, his next words slipping between us like a vow.
“There is only one person in this world I would ever kneel to.” His gaze locks on to mine, unwavering. “And she’s in my arms right now.”
Warmth spreads through me, and. I bite back a smile. “Your Highness, if you’re trying to make me swoon, it might be working.”