33. Adelina
Adelina
Ihave learned two things about Elyrion.
The first is that the South is beautiful.
The second is that beauty does not make a cage less frightening.
The flying coach descends through a break in the clouds, drawn by four white pegasi whose wings beat in slow, powerful strokes that make the air itself seem to bend around us.
I have spent most of the journey trying not to stare, because staring feels too much like wonder, and wonder feels dangerous.
But it is impossible not to look when the world below us opens into green.
Real green.
Not the dark, stubborn pines of Dravaryn, not the frost-covered moss in the cracks of my garden wall, nor the narrow life I coaxed from frozen soil with careful fingers and quiet hope.
This is green in every direction. Forests spilling down the mountainsides.
Terraced fields cut into hills. Vines climbing white stone walls.
A river shining silver-blue beneath us, winding through the valley with such clarity that, even from above, I can see pale rocks glimmering beneath the surface.
Elyrion feels alive in a way my homeland did not.
The sun has set when the royal estate comes into view.
It sits on a rise above a deep lake, its white stone walls folded into the mountainside, grown from it.
Green roofs catch the moonlight. Balconies overlook the water.
Cypress and flowering trees line the approach, their branches moving in a wind that carries rain, pine, and something sweet I cannot name.
Waterfalls spill from the cliffs beyond the estate, faint white ribbons against dark rock.
I press my fingers more tightly around the strap of my satchel.
Across from me, Prince Kaedryn watches the estate through the opposite window in silence, his face unreadable.
Sylas, seated beside him, has carried the conversation, pointing out landmarks, naming the rivers, telling me which roads lead to the capital and which passes are used in winter.
I answer when I can. I ask a few questions because the pegasi fascinate me despite everything, and because if I don’t speak at all, someone may decide my silence is another failure.
But Kaedryn’s silence sits between us like a drawn blade.
He looks at me sometimes.
I feel it when he does. The pull beneath my ribs has been quiet since the dining cabin incident.
It still stirs when he shifts, when the pegasi dip and I reach for balance and he moves to catch me before remembering he should not.
But it has changed. Muted, perhaps. Wary.
It, too, has decided closeness is not the same as safety.
The coach lands on a broad stone terrace with a jolt so gentle I barely feel it.
The pegasi fold their wings one by one, feathers settling with a soft rush.
Grooms in green, blue, and silver livery hurry forward, speaking to the animals in low, affectionate voices.
One pegasus turns its head, dark eye bright and intelligent, and nudges the nearest groom’s shoulder hard enough to make him laugh.
The sound startles me.
Laughter from a servant. Open. Unafraid. No one reprimands him. No one looks around to see who heard.
The door opens, letting in cool mountain air. Not cold like Dravaryn. Cool enough to raise a shiver along my arms, but soft, touched with rain instead of ice.
Kaedryn steps down first. For a moment, I think he will offer his hand. He turns back, and his eyes meet mine. Something moves through his expression, gone too quickly for me to understand.
Then he steps aside.
A groom offers his hand instead. I take it because refusing would draw attention, and because perhaps this is better. A prince who does not touch me is a prince who cannot decide how hard to hold.
Still, my chest aches as my boots touch Elyrian stone.
The estate doors open before us, revealing a wide entrance hall filled with warm light.
The ceiling rises high overhead, its beams carved with leaves and roses.
A fountain murmurs in the center of the hall, water spilling over pale stone lilies into a shallow pool where real petals float.
Servants stand in neat lines, but their faces are not the blank masks Dravaryn servants wear.
They look curious. Careful, yes, but not hollowed out by fear.
That makes me more aware of myself.
Mud may have been cleaned from my hem, but I can still feel the road in me. The ship. The Varrow. The bruises fading beneath my gown. The place in the dining cabin where I dropped to my knees and begged the man in front of me to forgive me for nearly dying wrong.
Kaedryn speaks to the steward, his voice low and formal. “The princess will be shown to the east guest suite. A healer is to remain available. Supper will be sent up.”
The princess. Not Adelina. Not my betrothed.
The title should be normal. It is safer than my name. More proper. Less intimate.
The steward bows. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Kaedryn’s gaze flicks briefly toward me. “You will remain in your rooms unless accompanied.”
The words land quiet and calm. Still, the hall seems to close around me.
You will remain in your rooms.
I know that sentence. I know the clean authority beneath it, the way walls become a prison.
“Yes, Your Highness,” I say.
Displeasure flickers across his face.
I have learned, in the short time since waking on his ship, that my obedience angers him almost as much as my disobedience. I’m not sure how to survive a man whose rules change like the wind.
Sylas shifts slightly beside him. “It is only for tonight,” he says, a little too smoothly. “The estate is secure, but we arrived late, and everyone is tired.”
I nod because nodding is safe. “Of course.”
Kaedryn says nothing else. He turns away with the steward and begins discussing guards, routes, and departure times, handing me off with the luggage.
Soren follows partway, speaking with Maelin about potions and the lingering effects of the Varrow drain.
Rowan, Kellan, and Merritt move with the guards to inspect the estate perimeter. Sylas remains.
And I stay where I am.
Sylas offers me an easier smile than before. “I can walk you to the suite, if you’d like.”
“I do not wish to be a bother.”
His smile fades into sadness. “You are not a bother.”
I look down before that can reach too far inside me.
A housekeeper steps forward, a middle-aged woman with warm brown hair and kind eyes. “This way, Your Highness.”
I follow her. The east guest suite is larger than the inn room and smaller than my chambers in Dravaryn, though it feels strange to compare them. My old suite was a prison wearing luxury. This room is gentler, but I haven’t discovered what it’s pretending to be.
There is a sitting room with pale green walls, a fire already burning, and windows overlooking the lake below.
The bedchamber opens through an arched doorway, its bed dressed in cream linens and a quilt embroidered with vines.
There is a bathing room with copper fixtures, a small dressing room, and a balcony with carved stone railings.
Beyond the glass doors, rain threads through the evening air and the lake lies dark beneath the mountain.
Someone has placed flowers on the table. Fresh ones. Blue, white, and soft gold.
I stop when I see them.
The housekeeper notices. “From the estate gardens, Your Highness. I can have them removed if they trouble you.”
“No,” I say too quickly.
She pauses.
I lower my voice. “No. They are lovely.”
Her face warms. “There is a garden below the east terrace. It is not as grand as the castle gardens, but it is peaceful. When you are rested, perhaps you might enjoy it.”
I nod and remain quiet and still.
Sylas, standing just inside the door, catches the silence. “The estate is safe. Private. Kaedryn meant you should not wander alone tonight because we are still close to northern routes, not because you are confined.”
The correction is gentle. It should help. It does not, not fully. Because if the order can be explained kindly after it is given, it can still be enforced unkindly when someone decides I have misunderstood again.
“I understand,” I say.
Sylas looks like he wants to argue with that but chooses not to.
The housekeeper shows me the bathing room, the wardrobe where a few fresh gowns have already been placed, the bell cord I may pull if I require assistance. She says require like it costs nothing. Where I come from, need is a weakness, and asking for help invites consequences.
Maelin arrives with another restorative potion and a small jar of salve for bruising, both of which she places on the dressing table rather than into my hand. “You can take them before bed,” she says. “Or now, if you prefer.”
My gaze flicks to Sylas before I can stop it.
“I will step out,” he says immediately. “Maelin will stay until you dismiss her, or she can leave now. Your choice.”
Your choice. The words press strangely against the inside of my chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods and leaves, closing the door behind him.
“I can clean up on my own,” I murmur before finding a nightgown from the wardrobe.
I make quick work of the bath. The strange weakness from the Varrow lingers in the hollows of my body.
The deeper pain from Varek’s magic has receded again, but I do not trust it will last. Still, warm water loosens the tightness in my limbs, and the southern herbs someone poured into the bath smell of lavender, pine, and something citrus that reminds me this is not my brother’s castle.
No one enters without asking.
No one comments on my silence.
When I exit the bathing chamber, Maelin rises from a chair. She says nothing and gives me the second potion and the salve for the tenderness along my ribs. I drink because my body hurts and because a tiny part of me is tired of refusing help simply because help can become a trap.
“You should rest,” she says.
I nod.