Forty-Six
ChApter
Dante
The corridors of Ivystone are unusually still as I make my way toward Celeste’s rooms, the echoes of my boots lost against the thick tapestries that line the stone walls.
Early sunlight filters through the arched windows, slanting long, golden beams across the floor, but even the light feels subdued this morning. Another sign that winter is on its way.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to smooth the nerves that have coiled tight in my chest since I woke.
Last night was amazing. Like every time with Celeste is.
If someone were to have told me a year ago that I would be in love with this woman, that I would be betrothed to her and fated to spend the rest of my life able to hold her, I would have thought that person had lost their mind.
But now, I can’t imagine my life without her.
Still, I had to give her the choice. Though I feel like I know what her answer will be, I need to be completely sure it’s what she wants. I can’t just assume because of the way she kisses me, the way she looks at me, the way she melts into my arms, the way her body responds to me.
I told her to take her time. I know I said I didn’t need an answer right away.
But gods, I want her answer now.
I need to hear it from her own lips, see it in her own eyes. I need to know she’s choosing me—not because duty demands it, but because she wants to.
I almost went to her last night. I went to my room after our night of incredible passion, only to pace it for an hour, wondering if I was being stupid.
I went as far as stepping outside my door, the urge to return to her room so strong, it was pressing in on my heart, but I couldn’t do that to her. I told her she could sleep on it, and it would have been unfair if I went back on my word. That’s not how a successful marriage works.
But now, it’s the next day, and hopefully, she’ll have had plenty of time to think it over. My heart races, hope swelling in my chest as I head to her room.
I reach her door and knock once, twice, lightly enough not to wake her if she’s still sleeping. I wonder for a moment if she slept soundly or if she tossed and turned all night like I did. I wait, shifting from one foot to the other, but there is no answer.
I frown and knock again, a little harder this time. Still no answer.
And Sir Holden is not at his post. Is it even his post anymore?
Perhaps Celeste has already gone down to breakfast. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to sleep and was up with the dawn, starving.
I force myself to turn away, unwilling to start the day by acting like a desperate fool. I’m a prince now, and I’ll be expected to act like one. Especially while the nobles from the other realms are still in Ivystone Citadel. The thought makes me square my shoulders as I head to the dining hall.
Celeste is probably halfway through her breakfast, gossiping with Nadya about which of the kings was the most misogynistic. Hopefully not in front of Silas, though Celeste is brave enough to do just that without batting an eye. I love that about her. She’s not afraid to stand up to him.
Is she waiting for me to arrive? Is she constantly looking at the door, wondering when I’ll step through it? Is she anxious for my arrival so she can give me her answer?
Or is the answer I’m expecting not the one she’s ready to give me?
Maybe she’s avoiding me because she wants to delay crushing my heart.
Unease prickles beneath my skin as I make my way through the corridors. Each step echoes louder than it should. Each turn feels too empty.
When I reach the grand dining hall, the tension in my spine unspools just slightly at the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread drifting through the air.
She’s here. She must be.
I step inside—and immediately scan the room.
Some of the kings and queens from the other realms are seated at the long table, already helping themselves to the fresh fruit, eggs, and sausages. I put on my princely face, steel myself for empty pleasantries. But as my gaze passes over the faces gathered, I don’t see Celeste.
The queen sits at her place, her back rigid, her gaze lowered to the goblet in her hands when she isn’t conversing with Queen Shaylin.
Across from her, King Silas eats methodically, his knife carving into a slab of meat with mechanical precision as he nods along to something King Birchus is saying.
The coldness between my father and the queen is palpable, an invisible wall erected between them, thick enough to suffocate the entire hall.
Celeste’s chair remains empty.
My stomach knots.
The present royals greet me, wishing me a pleasant good morning, but I can only nod in response. My mind is reeling, my fingers itching to do something, anything that will help me figure out where Celeste is.
King Gallor lifts his goblet, his tone carrying easily over the table. “You disappeared last night, right in the middle of the lovely ball,” he says with a knowing gleam in his eye.
Before I can form a response, Queen Nemesia adds lightly, “Princess Celeste was also nowhere to be found.” She arches a brow, her jeweled fingers drumming against the table, as though she’s amused at the implication.
“Ah,” Gallor says, his smile sharp as he leans back in his chair, “young love. To be able to find each other after so much sorrow… it is one of life’s great gifts.”
Laughter ripples down the table, a few heads nodding in agreement.
I force the corners of my mouth upward, a shallow echo of their amusement, but inside, my chest is tight. My pulse hammers in my ears.
“Sit,” King Silas says, looking up at me.
I reluctantly obey, settling stiffly into the seat to his right. The air feels heavy around us, weighted with things unspoken. I tear a hunk of bread from the basket in front of me and chew without tasting it, my eyes flicking to the door with every sound.
She’s just late.
She’ll come sweeping in, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from sleep or from hurrying, the usual sparkle in her eyes when our gazes meet.
That confident stride that always has me buckling to her will.
We’ll exchange longing looks, and she’ll lick those luscious lips of hers, getting me instantly hard and making me think about how her greedy mouth was wrapped around my cock last night.
I clear my throat, pouring myself some steaming kahva to sip on until she gets here.
Any moment now.
Silas glances at me. “Something troubling you, boy?”
I school my features into neutrality, swallowing down the tightness in my throat. “Nothing, Your Majesty.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He simply grunts and returns to his meal, carving another bloody piece of meat with a flick of his wrist.
I force myself to sit through it, each passing second scraping against my nerves. Every moment that ticks by without her arrival feels like another stone piling on my chest. My stomach is too taut with nerves for me to eat. I pour myself another cup of kahva and tap my finger on the rim as I wait.
The door opens, and Princess Orida enters the room. My shoulders slump. She’s not Celeste. She will never be Celeste. I don’t even bother offering a polite smile because the truth is I don’t give a fuck about any of these people. Not really. The only person I care about is not here.
After what feels like an eternity, I push my chair back and march out of the room. To hell with civil conventions.
My strides are quicker now, carrying me back through the corridors. A bead of sweat trails down my back despite the chill. I shove it away. Overthinking it will only make it worse.
Maybe she’s with Nadya.
I reach her rooms again and let out a sigh of relief when I see Sir Holden approaching.
“Good morning,” I greet him.
He inclines his head. “Your Highness.”
I’m still not used to the title. “I’m looking for Princess Celeste. Is she—?” I point to the door, not finishing my question.
“She should be,” he answers. “I only stepped away for a moment to relieve myself. If she’s not here, she’s probably at breakfast.”
I shake my head. “I just came from the dining hall. She wasn’t there.”
I don’t wait for him to respond; I knock on her door, hoping she’s just sleeping heavily. Still nothing.
Heart hammering, I turn to Sir Holden.
He gives me a nod and raps on the door quickly before twisting the handle and pushing the door open. “Your Highness?” he calls out.
I step past him, but the room is empty.
The bed is untouched, the covers neatly folded at the corners. Her brush lies on the vanity, a few strands of dark hair still caught in its bristles.
I move to the adjoining door, the one that connects her chambers to Nadya’s. I knock once, then push through.
Also empty.
My brows scrunch together, and a strange feeling coils in my stomach.
I try not to panic. I asked her to think about whether she really wanted to be betrothed to me, and what if her answer wasn’t just no, but a definitive never? What if she left because she would rather be alone in Delasurvia than be with me?
And of course Nadya would go with her.
Is that what happened?
Fuck!
A small piece of my heart crumples at the thought.
I turn back to Celeste’s room, taking in the sight of all her things. Strange. If they fled, they left everything behind.
Which means either they left in a hurry, or they didn’t leave of their own accord.
A sour twist writhes in my gut.
No. No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t run—not like this. Not without a word. Not after everything.
Still, the seeds of doubt root deep.
Maybe she couldn’t bear it. Maybe she decided marrying into this damned court was too high a price. Maybe she—
No.
I slam the thought down.
“Should I be worried?” Sir Holden asks me, scanning the room.
For a moment, I’m not sure what to say. Fear of embarrassment—and fear of facing that truth—keeps me from telling him she might have left, that she might have rejected me.
But there’s still one more place to check.