5. Kaedryn
Kaedryn
She doesn’t know about the betrothal.
I stand opposite King Varek near the head of the long table, my hands resting lightly at my sides, my posture controlled because every person in this chamber is watching for some crack in it.
The treaty lies waiting on the table beside us, along with the engagement contract my father’s council combed through three times before we ever crossed the border.
Varek speaks with the ease of a man who believes he already knows how the evening will end. Queen Selvara stands beside him. Her smile has not shifted once since we entered the chamber.
Sylas is behind my left shoulder, the four men arrayed at my back, all of them quiet enough to seem ornamental to anyone foolish enough to underestimate them.
They know better than to speak unless I need them to, but I feel their attention as clearly as I feel my own.
They are reading the room, the doors, the queen, the king, and even the princess.
As soon as King Varek says the word wife, everything in Princess Adelina goes silent.
The color drains from her face so subtly that someone less focused would miss it.
Her lips part around a breath that does not come.
Her wings flicker, just enough that the opal light scatters and dims before she forces them steady.
I haven’t been able to tear my gaze away from her since she stepped into the room.
The portraits didn’t do her justice. Pale hair.
Fine features. Eyes too luminous to look fully real when captured in paint.
A quiet face shaped into the expression expected of a princess being offered as part of an alliance.
She is a wisp of a fae and about a foot shorter than me.
I have carried gear in battle far heavier than she is.
The gown is a weapon, and I resent how well it works. Dravaryn silver cut with southern lines, but the neckline is lower than the south would ever choose. This was chosen for me. Someone dressed her to be looked at by the man across this table and trusted the message would carry without a word.
It carries.
It also tells me exactly how little say she had in any of it.
Then I see her wings. They are summoned, fully formed behind her. The world narrows and the chamber disappears.
I have seen wings in every royal court I have visited. Dark, pale, broad, scarred, armored, fragile, powerful. Wings tell histories if a person knows how to read them. The way a person holds them can reveal what their mouth never will.
Hers are unlike any I have seen.
Silver, but not simply silver. Opal light moves beneath the surface, blue and violet and pale rose shifting through the delicate structure like moonlight trapped inside glass. They are not large, not built for intimidation. They are striking enough that no court would fail to stare.
Mine, when I call them, are black with deep blue-green undertones, structured for war, for command, for the kind of flight that carries armor and weapons and consequence. They can harden when I need them to. They are known. Understood.
Hers look older and rarer than anything Dravaryn knows how to value.
She looks like an offering.
Anger rises fast, and I nearly welcome it, because anger is easier than the truth.
I keep my face still. My shadows are harder to hold.
They gather and deepen along the walls, pooling in the corners until the nearest flames gutter and shrink, the light pulling thin where the dark leans toward her.
I close my hand at my side and draw them back, and the flames steady again.
It is done in a breath. No one outside my own men would catch it.
That is not the part that unsettles me. My power does not stir for a beautiful face.
It has never once answered a stranger uninvited. It answered her before I gave it leave.
Sylas straightens a fraction. Rowan’s attention sharpens. They felt it.
So did the queen. Selvara’s gaze moves over me, then over Adelina, and a pleased curve settles at the edge of her mouth. She thinks the prince is taken with his bride. She thinks the gown did its work.
Let her think it.
Fuck. Adelina notices too. Her eyes move to the flames, then back to me, and the fear in them changes shape. Everything has felt off since the moment she walked in.
Her hands are folded at her waist, her chin lifted just enough to satisfy royal expectation but not enough to seem proud. There is nothing clumsy in her, nothing uncertain in the visible shape of her movements, and somehow that makes the unease sharper.
Flawless can be trained. Flawless can be forced.
Her gaze lifts once, almost by accident, and finds mine.
The pull hits low in my chest, nearly taking my breath away.
Attraction is part of it, distinct and inconvenient.
I’m aware of her mouth, of the firelight on her bare shoulders, of the way the silver fabric shifts over her when she breathes, of how much some restless part of me wants to know what lies beneath it.
Desire I understand and can manage. This is something else. It hooks behind my sternum and draws taut, a line I did not place and cannot cut by looking away, and I feel like my body has signed something I never authorized. The harder I refuse it, the harder it pulls.
I know what this is.
That is the trouble. It’s not a story I can wave off.
It’s real. I have known of only two cases in my life, both in my grandparents’ generation, and I never expected to see a third, let alone feel one, here, across a treaty table, in a kingdom that is not mine, over a woman whose name I had only known on parchment until mere minutes ago.
Starbound. A celestial bond.
I don’t want to believe it, but it doesn’t change what this is.
For one brief moment, her composure falters. Her eyes widen, barely, and confusion moves through them before she lowers her gaze.
It isn’t just her reaction to being told she is to marry a complete stranger that sets my shadows on edge.
It’s the way she holds herself, the careful way she speaks.
Her words sound rehearsed because they have been practiced until they are safe.
There’s no vanity in the performance, no courtly delight in being admired, no secret little smile over the drama of a formal presentation.
She’s not playing a part because she enjoys the stage.
She is playing it because there are consequences for missing a line.
Sylas shifts slightly behind me. He sees it too.
“She did not know,” I say.
Varek’s expression remains smooth as he tightens his grip on her elbow. “My sister has been informed of all necessary matters.”
I don’t miss the way she stiffens when the king and queen touch her. Her body responds before her mind can tell her not to react. She adjusts, and there is a flash of something in her eyes.
Pain.
She hides it quickly, but not quickly enough.
“That is not what I said,” I reply, looking to the king.
The chamber tightens around my voice. I hear it. Feel it. The edge of command beneath the words, the dominance I inherited with blood and training and too many years of being obeyed when hesitation cost lives. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
Adelina’s wings draw in closer to her body.
Selvara’s smile is still in place. “The princess was told of the visit. We thought it best to spare her unnecessary distress before everything was settled. It was for her own good.”
“For her own good,” I repeat. The phrase sits foul on my tongue before I even speak it.
Adelina goes rigid, and I realize too late that those words mean something to her.
Varek’s fingers remain at her elbow. “Adelina understands her duty.”
Her gaze drops.
My anger wants action. My training demands restraint.
The treaty is in front of us. My father’s seal is on the documents.
Zerath does not become less dangerous because Dravaryn’s king is a controlling bastard, and starting a fight in this chamber will only make Adelina the first person to pay for it when I’m no longer standing beside her.
So I turn the only direction still available. “Princess Adelina,” I say, her name rolling off my tongue like I’ve been saying it my whole life.
Her eyes lift, and when they meet mine, the pull sharpens to the edge of pain.
Her eyes are not merely pale. They are silver-blue, luminous beneath lowered lashes, too watchful for someone who has been dressed to appear soft.
There is intelligence there. Fear too. And beneath both, something held so tightly I cannot name it.
I want to ask her what she was told. I want to ask why she looks as though the room is a battlefield and no one thought to give her a weapon.
“Were you told you would be signing a marriage contract tonight?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and even so I do not frighten her.
Varek’s jaw tightens. Selvara’s smile fades by a single degree.
Adelina’s face remains composed, but I see the trap close around her. If she says yes, she lies. If she says no, she contradicts her king. If she hesitates, they will call it failure. I hate that I understand the calculation too late.
She answers softly. “I was told to prepare for a diplomatic visit, Your Highness.”
Truth shaped into something survivable. The answer is so carefully made that my anger turns colder.
“I see.”
Varek’s hand slips from her elbow to the small of her back, a movement meant to guide, but Adelina’s breath catches.
“No harm was intended,” Selvara says.
“No.” I look at the queen now. “Only surprise.”
Her eyes narrow.
Good. Let her understand that I’m not fooled.
Varek’s voice cuts in, smooth and firm. “The contract and treaty have been prepared. Once signed, both the alliance and the betrothal will be formally recognized.”
Of course he wants the ink on paper before anyone examines the method too closely.
Adelina stands frozen between us, hands folded before her, wings held in a perfect arc that must be exhausting if she is not used to holding them so long. She is trying to become the calmest thing in the room. Trying to appease everyone at once.
The sight loosens something in my chest against my will.
I recognize it. Intelligence forced into silence. Courage so practiced it has been mistaken for compliance. She’s a woman who learned how to survive without letting anyone call it strength.
“Before she signs,” I say, “she will know what binds her.”
Varek’s smile thins. “The terms have been approved by both crowns.”
“She is one of the parties bound by them.”
“My sister trusts the crown.” The statement is aimed at her as much as me.
I glance at Adelina. Her expression does not change, but the pulse at her throat beats too fast. The rose stain on her lips makes them look softer than the rest of her, and for one unwelcome second I remember the way they parted when Varek named her my future wife.
Focus!
“This is not a question of trust,” I say. “It’s a question of clarity.”
Selvara’s hand drifts along Adelina’s wing, barely touching the shining edge.
Adelina’s wings tremble. My patience thins, and the shadows draw in close around my feet. “Don’t,” I growl.
The room goes utterly quiet. Selvara stills, Varek’s nostrils flare, and Adelina takes a small breath, her eyes darting between the three of us.
I keep my gaze on the queen. “Her wings are not a court ornament.”
I know it the moment the words leave my mouth that I have revealed concern, emotion that can be used against me later. Sylas will have thoughts about that later. The men will have more.
Selvara removes her hand with a graceful smile. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Adelina’s throat works once. She is afraid, not only of them now.
Of me.
I can see the change, and it settles badly in my chest. I’m defending her, and I can’t help but wonder if my defense has become another blade in the room.
Still, I won’t apologize for stopping that touch.
I turn to the documents before I say something worse.
“The treaty affirms military cooperation between Elyrion and Dravaryn against external threat, including border support if Zerath advances beyond the eastern trade routes. It grants shared passage for armed envoys under declared seal, restricted access to northern and southern supply roads, and a three-year review of trade tariffs on metalwork, medicinal herbs, and winter grain.”
Varek’s expression is controlled.
Good. He can choke on it.
“The engagement contract binds Princess Adelina Leora of Dravaryn to me by formal betrothal. The wedding will take place in Elyrion after the appropriate rites are observed and after both courts complete the public announcements. Until then, she retains her title as princess of Dravaryn. After marriage, she is to be recognized as Crown Princess of Elyrion and afforded all protections and rights of my house.”
I look at her as I say the last part. She is listening. She follows every word, her gaze moving once to the contract, then to me.
“No harm is to come to her under either crown’s authority without formal cause, witness, and written record,” I finish.
Varek laughs lightly. “Surely we need not make this sound so grim.”
I don’t look away from Adelina. “We need to make it clear.”
Her fingers press into each other so tightly the knuckles pale.
I have not reassured her. I have made the cage more visible. But at least now she knows its shape.
“Do you have any questions?” I ask her.
The room seems to hold its breath. Adelina looks from me to her brother.
There it is again. The leash, invisible to most, but obvious to me.
“No, Your Highness,” she says. “Thank you.”
Thank you.
For giving her the terms of a life she did not choose in a room where refusal would destroy her.
My jaw tightens.
Varek signs first.
It’s his privilege as host and king, and he takes it with the satisfaction of a man who believes the difficult portion is finished. His signature cuts across the parchment in dark, slanted strokes.
Selvara watches Adelina while he does it. Not the contract. Not me.
Adelina.
Then the quill comes to me. I sign the treaty because Elyrion’s safety is why I’m here. My name settles beneath my father’s authorization, each line familiar, practiced, final. Then I sign the engagement contract. The ink looks too black against the pale parchment.
Kaedryn Arvand of Elyrion.
I lift the quill and turn to Adelina. “Princess.”
She steps forward at once. I soften my hand before offering it, aware suddenly of how every movement can be mistaken for force in this room. She takes the quill. Our fingers brush.
The pull snaps hot through my chest. It surges through me with enough force that my wings nearly answer though I have not called them, a dark pressure rising between my shoulder blades before I push it down.
Adelina’s breath catches, and her wings flare by a fraction, opal light rippling through every delicate line.
She feels it. Her eyes fly to mine.