Chapter 41
The Meeting
“Strange, isn’t it, that Blackhearts can weep? Even their tears run dark, as if their sorrow remembers what they are.”
— Jon Harvington, Golden Scholar of Lyonscliff
The dress that had been sent to the house was nothing less than a work of art.
“You’ve come quite far.”
I startled at the sound of Jocelynn’s voice.
She stood in the doorway behind me, assessing. Her lips pressed together and her hands folded in front of her.
“Thank you,” I said, turning back to the mirror. Now wasn’t the time for excuses or apologies. Now was the time to pull myself together. To be a princess, whether I knew how or not.
While the skirt was a sleek, night-sky black, the dark corset was made to appear as if slender blades held it together instead of lace. The neckline was high and modest, though sleeveless. I wore black gloves and had styled my own hair, per usual.
My cosmetics were the best I’d done yet. A sharp but short winged eyeliner paired with a shimmery silver eyeshadow. I’d used a neutral-colored gloss on my lips, and a light blush.
“Your brother has a new tiara for you, since you misplaced the last one.”
Guilt trembled through me.
“I didn’t misplace shit, they stole it.”
“Because you left the theater alone,” she fired back.
“Because I witnessed someone fleeing who had murdered people I care about, and I’m not over it. Sorry that for the past three years, I’ve not had the freedom to run where I wish or hold men accountable, but now I can at least try. Even if it makes me look crazy or immature to you.”
Her face tightened. “You’re not in the Waywards anymore,” she said gently, before leaving. A tattooed hand caught the door.
The air seemed to escape the room as we stood across from each other, his eyes admiring me from head to toe.
His shoulders lowered—his gaze soft. I closed the distance between us, reaching my arms out before being swept up in his embrace. I shouldn’t have left the theater, but that didn’t matter now.
Riven held me tightly, his heart beating wildly in his chest as if he was afraid to lose me.
Meeting my betrothed was inevitable. It was not only a duty, but an honor. We both knew it was the right thing to do, and while I would go through with it, I didn’t want to let Riven go.
He rubbed his thumb along my back. “I’m not sure I can stomach this,” he admitted quietly.
“At least I’m not the one with stomach issues this time,” I joked.
“The princess is irresistibly beautiful and funny.” He laughed, flopping both of us onto the bed.
I shrieked playfully as we landed. Our eyes were level as we lay on the mattress.
He swallowed, scanned my face solemnly, and ran his thumb down the center of my lip.
Our smiles met as he kissed me, unafraid and unruly.
He wasn’t worried about my Nature, my mistakes, or my moods.
To feel wanted was intoxicating and addictive.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to let this moment go, much less him.
I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want him to stop kissing me.
But we had to.
I could hear Xavian shouting orders in the hall. He’d be at my door soon.
Riven pressed his lips to mine once more before reluctantly pulling away.
We left the room unnoticed, just in time to load into the carriage outside. I held Singer with me like a baton. People could question it if they wanted, but I wouldn’t be caught picking fashion over safety again. My orb was chained to the bottom of my corset, dangling along for the ride.
The grand stone building awaited us. Full companies of armored men lined the gates, displaying the emblems of their respective houses across their chests and banners.
Once the carriage came to a stop, Riven opened the door and gave me one last longing glance.
Chest tight, I pulled him back in by the collar and closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Everything wrong did not matter at that moment, only him.
Still gripping his shirt, I dragged him forward and kissed him fiercely. He met me with the same desire, gripping my waist and bringing my weight onto him. A moan escaped me as he held me tighter, his needy tongue swiping against mine.
We took advantage of every second, knowing that once I met my betrothed, we might never touch again. With his hand at my back, he buried me in his embrace, letting my neck fall back as his mouth trailed behind my ear.
A knock sounded on the outside of the carriage, startling us both upright.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I nodded, holding back any sign of sorrow. I straightened my tiara, pulled my dress up, and stepped out of the carriage with my head high and face composed into calm indifference.
We followed Xavian into the House of Sterling, down several hallways, and finally through the circular stone door of the Initiation Hall. I’d never had a reason to see this area of the fortress before; most of my time having been spent on the terrace with Lady Jocelynn.
The foyer was a long and narrow room of stone columns.
Compared to the rest of the House of Sterling, it was cool and dim, with light only glimmering in from the glass-dome ceiling.
The sun was setting, pouring an orange glow delicately against the columns.
Voices chattered nearby, just through a daunting set of obsidian double doors.
Blademen stood on both sides of the entrance, ready to open the doors, but Xavian ordered them to wait. He waved for me to stand at his side and organized the rest of his council, Riven and Lady Jocelynn included, behind us in a proper formation.
Xavian studied us once more, then nodded.
He’d never looked more tense, yet he’d also never looked more powerful.
He stood tall with a silver crown atop his tied-back curls, the picture-perfect image of a king.
Maybe it was wrong to think, but Clarke wouldn’t have compared.
Xavian was fearless and strong. He hadn’t sent the Dark Natured to be imprisoned. No, he was determined to free them.
This was the first step.
The Blademen opened the doors to the packed hall. Inside was the longest, oval-shaped table I’d ever seen, with almost every seat filled.
I couldn’t meet the eyes that stared as we walked in, as many of the guests had stood in respect for Xavian’s arrival. Instead, I held Singer at my side, focusing on breathing and walking normally as we made our way to the farthest section of the table.
Once we’d crossed the silent room, Xavian sat at the end with Lord Draven next to him, as usual.
The rest of the council filed in. I took my place with Lady Jocelynn on my left and Riven on my right. With Singer situated in my lap, I nervously patted my skirt down.
There was no point in worrying. All I needed to do was be here. I didn’t have to say anything except greet my betrothed, though that wasn’t necessary either.
I hadn’t yet glanced around—to wonder which one he might be.
Xavian stood as the rest of the room took their respective seats.
Lady Jocelynn sipped from her glass. I immediately drank from my own, relieving my suddenly dry throat.
“I appreciate you all being here,” Xavian began. “I know some of your travels were long and difficult this time of year.”
As I sipped the water, I slowly searched the table of men, regretting not having paid enough attention to Lady Jocelynn’s lectures on Castivian. She’d tried teaching me about all of these people, but I had no idea who was who or which emblem represented what.
Some of the men were broad and burly, while others were slender and tall. I could tolerate the idea of marrying a few, but most seemed decidedly unappealing to share a bed with. I continued scanning around the table as Xavian gave his introductory speech.
Too old.
Looks drunk already.
There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with him.
I silently searched, one man at a time, until striking blue eyes brought me to a sharp halt. I spit my water back into my cup, my hand shaking as I tried not to interrupt Xavian’s moment. A mocking dark brow lifted directly across from me.
“What is the matter with you?” Lady Jocelynn gritted out quietly.
I whispered back. “There’s a Witchlord in here.”
Lord Ansel sat with his eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t wrap my head around why or how. My heart beat rapidly, fear colliding with confusion.
Lady Jocelynn shook her head and shushed me.
This was bad. So bad. How did Riven not see him right there? Surely he remembered the Witchlord.
“My sister and I are proud to say we will join our great house with Whimcastor Hold. With this union,” Xavian announced. “Castivian will build its newfound independence on a formidable foundation.”
I could feel the color draining from my face. There probably wouldn’t be a wedding at all, because the Witchlords had infiltrated.
Next to Ansel sat a middle-aged man dressed in a light grey and blue tunic. He nodded with pride.
“My son, Lord Ansel Whimcastor, is honored to be taking Princess Elorengail’s hand in marriage. We hope to solidify the union while we’re here, as much work will need to be done back in Whimcastor Hold. That is, if you desire troops in a timely manner, Your Grace.”
I was going to faint, or just fall over and die altogether.
Riven placed a firm hand on my thigh as he leaned over, voice low. “Breathe. Everything is okay.”
Everything is okay? Did he know Lord Ansel would be here? Had he known something pivotal and not told me again?
Furthermore, how could Lord Ansel be the heir to Whimcastor Hold? The last time I saw him, he was in proper Witchlord’s attire. He was a Witchlord. He was supposed to be across the Sea of Blades and in the Waywards.
Instead, he sat across from me, no longer making eye contact but paying attention to Xavian. The same could not be said for me. I could not listen to a single thing with Lord Ansel sitting there, clean-shaven with dark hair combed like a proper noble.
Lady Jocelynn leaned over me, smacking Riven’s hand under the table. “Pay attention,” she hissed.