Chapter 37
The Carriage
“Light or dark, Nature’s wasted on violence alone.”
— King Xavian Steele
While she may have saved me from the bladebreather, Lady Jocelynn had no such mercy with my brother. She immediately informed him of what had happened at Moonhill, with special emphasis on how she would never, ever return, no matter the circumstances.
Xavian wanted to march up to Moonhill himself and wipe out the bladebreathers, as if that would be an easy feat.
After a long and exhausting argument, it finally ended with a firm “no” to using them in the coming war. To say the whole affair was disappointing was an understatement. Our kingdom’s own crest, the beast we proudly displayed on our flags—treated as a blight.
I had attempted to convince myself that the trip to Moonhill was a nightmare, and that the queen of the bladebreathers never tried to end my life on that field, but that was not the case.
It had happened, and the chances of me ever being a rider like Amzee or even seeing more people become riders was unlikely.
But nothing was impossible. Maybe Valeska would die before I was too old to climb onto a bladebreather’s back.
Riven would arrive soon, and surprisingly, I was looking forward to an evening out. I’d spent hours perfecting my cosmetics, being intentional with every color, brushstroke, and angle.
A light violet shimmer swept over my eyelids, and a touch of clear sparkles dusted my cheeks and nose. My lips were glossy, and my hair was tied into a voluminous bun with delicate, loose strands framing my face and spilling down my back.
I marveled at the woman in the reflection. It wasn’t long ago that I couldn’t stand to look at myself in a mirror. The Castivian black gown hugged my frame down to my navel, and from there, the skirt fell to the floor in heavy layers.
A firm knock pounded on my bedroom door.
I took one last look at my face before opening it.
Xavian stood in the hallway, balancing a black tiara on the end of his pointer finger. It had crystals embedded all along the front, like stars on a clear summer night.
“You have to wear this.”
I shifted awkwardly. “You don’t wear a crown. Why do I have to?”
He unceremoniously plopped it on my head with no regard for whether it was straight or messed up my hair. I took hold of it, walking back to the mirror to adjust it properly.
“Because I haven’t attended a public event as a prestigious guest since becoming king. Lady Jocelynn has spread the word far and wide that the Princess of Castivian is attending. So, Princess, wear your tiara, and don’t let anyone rip it off your head. It’s expensive and new.”
I would be the first in history to wear it. The first Princess of Castivian.
It was surreal… and maybe not undeserved.
The bastard daughter.
People would say it, if they were not already.
The world had said it about Xavian, but he was used to it.
His whole life he’d grown up in Clarke’s shadow.
At least he was respected as a warrior and leader.
I was nothing more than Clarke’s bastard sister.
If I didn’t have the King's Mark, no one would even believe that much.
I tensed my hands on the vanity, staring back at someone I hardly recognized.
The tiara was beautiful. If someone else were wearing it, I would surely know they were regal. I supposed that was the point.
In the reflection, I made eye contact with my brother, who still stood in the doorway. “Lady Jocelynn did say appearances for such matters are important.”
“Jocelynn is usually right about these things,” he mumbled, as if she had given him the same speech.
She had emphasized multiple times in the past day how wealthy some of the attendees would be, and how the men and materials they could provide would be invaluable. If all I had to do was dress up, it was the least I could do. Or so I kept telling myself.
My smile fell flat. “Xavian?”
“What?” he snipped, as if he had somewhere better to be. He was grouchy today, even for… well, him.
Maybe he wasn’t the best person for moral support, but he was the only one who might understand the immense pressure closing in on me.
“I know you’re still upset about the bladebreather incident, but…” I stopped myself, shaking my head. Why were vulnerable moments such torment? Why could I not just get my words out?
“What is it?” he pressed.
It was like a wall was blocking my speech.
“Tell me.”
I swallowed. “I’m worried I’m not doing enough.
I keep trying to find a purpose, like yesterday in Moonhill, but every single time, I fail.
I’m afraid I’m going to fail again tonight.
” I stared back at myself as I spoke, searching through seas of black oblivion in my own eyes, hoping to find a spark of light.
“That’s ridiculous.” He plopped onto my bed, dark curls falling around his face.
"Thanks for the advice, Your Highness," I said, narrowing my eyes.
He scoffed dramatically. “You crossed the Sea of Blades to deliver the deed, nearly died every damn day, and you are doing your duty by accepting a betrothal. By this time next year, Castivian may have another heir, and you’ll have contributed more than anyone else could for this kingdom.
Get a grip on your pride. Act like you represent lands worth fighting for. We are the last of the Lyons blood.”
“But what about my actual purpose? Just being an heir can’t be my entire life?”
Yes, I was getting married. I’d already resolved not to bother the man beyond fulfilling our marital duties. Like most men, he surely had plenty of mistresses and other affairs to keep him occupied. I only hoped he would leave me alone, apart from producing an heir.
One child. For now.
Xavian sighed and rubbed his head. “Some people get so caught up trying to find their purpose, they forget to actually live. Don't let that happen to you, Elora.”
He didn't understand what I was saying at all.
Thankfully, a knock thudded downstairs. I glanced at Singer and the Orb on the nightstand, then back in the mirror. They would clash entirely with the elegant outfit.
I left them safe where they belonged and followed Xavian down the stairs, holding my dress and trying to keep the tiara from slipping right off.
Xavian answered the door with a sharp eye, cracking it wide.
My breath hitched.
Riven stood tall in a black, lavish jacket and pants that hugged his muscular build. Heat flashed through my core. His hair was slicked back, offering a full view of his tan, freckled skin and soft eyes.
“Don’t make me fucking kill you later,” Xavian mumbled.
“You should come with,” Riven taunted, noticing Xavian’s loose white shirt and baggy pants.
“Ha. I have correspondences to tend to, and a brothel calling my name—but thank you for the invitation.” Xavian flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on a pillow.
I clasped my hands together and smiled at Riven. “Well, there’s nowhere to hide in Hell. Let’s leave the king be.”
Xavian winced at the formality, but did not argue. Referring to him as my brother, or even by his first name aloud, was still foreign. He’d once been merely a noble to me, so far out of reach from my circle. Now the famed figure was my own twin. It was an adjustment, to say the least.
More importantly than formalities and titles, Xavian was exhausted. He had been working day and night on plans and preparations for the meeting. The last thing he would want to do is come to the theater to listen to Lady Jocelynn talk. He was exposed to enough of that already.
The carriage waiting outside was stunning.
Shiny and black, with large wheels and a sizable cab. Swirls had been carved along the side, just below iron-twisted designs of bladebreather wings. There were no horses or reins. Only two men in fine clothing sitting on the front bench.
Riven smirked. “Have you never seen Lady Jocelynn’s carriages? Your brother has one similar.”
I shook my head. “How does it move? Where are the horses?”
“Don't need them.”
Riven opened the door for me, his pupils dilating as he glanced down at my dress.
I gathered the skirt once more, climbing inside, where the bench seats were cushioned with dark emerald velvet pillows, and heavy black curtains framed the windows. Riven slid in across from me, trying to hold back a smile.
“What?”
He shrugged. “Just you.”
“What about me?”
“How absurdly beautiful you are.”
I tilted my head down, hiding the heat rising to my face. “Oh. Thank you.”
The carriage took off. I scooted closer to the window, pulling back the curtain.
“Are we being pushed?”
Riven laughed. “No. It’s the Stonesenders, Jon and Morgan, at the front. They’re taking turns wielding their Nature. The wind they create propels us forward, and they’ve got a lever in between them to take turns steering. Swapping back and forth keeps them from burning out.”
“Your brother invented it, actually,” he continued. “He first learned how to infuse armor and weapons with different Natures, then he moved on to other inventions. He’s gotten quite experimental over the years.”
I’d known Xavian spent a lot of time training, planning, and throwing daggers at people. I knew nothing of his inventions, nor experimenting. I didn’t even realize he had weapons infused with Nature. “I would never have thought of such a clever way to use a Stonesender’s Nature,” I said.
That’s why it was so easy for Xavian to brush me off about finding my purpose. He was good at everything.
I let go of the curtain and situated myself in my seat. Riven’s legs were comfortably sprawled in front of him, and he had an elbow propped on the window. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and make an heir right then and there. As a bastard myself, I was perfectly fine keeping the tradition going.
“Have you ever been to one of Lady Jocelynn’s shows?” I asked, containing myself.
“I have not.”
“Then why were you so adamant on judging it?”
“Because she’s boasted about it enough times at the dinner table for me to know she doesn’t discuss politics or injustices on a regular schedule.”
Dinner table.
The years before the existence of the Waywards, when Riven lived in Castivian, they’d all had normal lives. Eating dinner together and attending council meetings that had nothing to do with war.
I tried imagining it. Xavian, Riven, Lady Jocelynn, and the rest of the council. At dinner parties, simply enjoying life away from the mother kingdom. They were all willing to give up that peace for the greater good.
The carriage ride was smooth. The outside world got louder the further into the capital we went.
Beyond the taverns, port, and brothels, we rode down streets with two-story townhouses and manors with so much property space, there were front yards.
There were restaurants with people eating on the roof under the starlit sky, shops that had closed for the evening, and jovial music coming from the window of a lounge.
Riven leaned forward. “That’s where your dresses come from,” he said, his face close to my shoulder as he pointed to a boutique showcasing various extravagant gowns.
I should visit it myself sometime. The tailor and his husband were always kind when they came to the house, as I’d needed to be measured twice now. I’d never considered asking where they operated.
The walkways were clean, and the shrubbery was maintained. There were no drunks stumbling about the streets, and the people walking on the sidewalks wore fine clothing. Something told me this side of town didn’t have to worry about the nighttime riff raff.
“That’s Lady Jocelynn’s home.” Riven nodded towards a black manor, with a wide yard and iron fencing. It was elegant, simple, and so… her. With skinny arched windows, a grand double door, and crows sitting on the roof.
“Do she and Lord Draven not live in the Silver Circle?”
“His home is in the Silver Circle,” Riven said. “Lady Jocelynn insisted on having her own residence near the theater. She bounces between both.”
That was certainly peculiar but also exciting to hear, given I had my own marriage to endure soon. Which house did her children live in? Or was it both as well?
When he said she lived close to the theater, he meant it, as a moment later the carriage slowed.
The massive building was white and silver, a stark contrast to the carriage. Grand pearlescent stairs led to the door where crowds poured in. I swallowed, my stomach knotting.
“What’s wrong?” Riven asked quietly, placing a hand on my knee. A chill ran down my spine.
The people going into the theater wore regal gowns, expensive jewelry, and tailored suits.
“They all have expectations I don’t know how to meet.”
I was in no shape for fancy conversations with the wealthy, even after tea with Lady Jocelynn every day. The last thing I wanted was for my stupid mouth to ruin the favor of the rich.
Riven leaned closer and brushed his thumb along my cheek. “You are perfect. They’re lucky to lay their eyes on you.”
I smiled sheepishly, shaking my head. “I’m not worried about my appearance. I’ve disguised the street rat in me. I’m concerned about conversations, and what they’ll think of me.”
He laughed and sat up, cracking open the door. “Bladebreathers do not seek validation from mice.”
With a smoke already out of his pocket, he held out his hand. I caught a glimpse of the knife tucked away inside his jacket. “Ready?” he asked.
I took his hand and held my tiara in place as I ducked out of the carriage. I’d crossed the Sea of Blades, killed a warlock, escaped the Sapphires, and survived a bladebreather attack. I would not cower to a theater.