34. Kaedryn
Kaedryn
Breakfast is served in a room built to impress visiting nobles. I notice the calculation of the space. The polished dark table long enough to host a treaty delegation. The silver Elyrion crest worked into the backs of the chairs. The fresh flowers placed at exact intervals between dishes.
Everything about the room says order.
Everything beneath my skin says it is false.
I sit at the head of the table. Sylas is two chairs down, stirring honey into his tea as if the fate of the realm depends on the precise number of turns.
Rowan stands near the sideboard instead of eating, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the terrace beyond the glass.
Merritt and Kellan speak quietly by the door, their voices too low for the servants moving along the wall to hear.
Soren sits opposite me with a full plate before him.
Halfway down the table, Estate Captain Alric sits too stiffly, too composed, and too careful not to draw attention.
We are less than a day from Elyrion’s castle.
Less than a day from my father’s court, my mother’s questions, and the formal arrival of the northern princess who tried to flee me across half the realm and now sleeps somewhere above us with bruises she will not admit to, fear she tries to hide, and silence that feels less like defiance.
I did not sleep.
Sylas came to my room after midnight, the line of his mouth wrong before he said a word. He had brought Adelina tea and honey cakes, he told me, because someone should. Somewhere in the quiet she had let something slip.
“My brother did not strike me at first.”
Sylas repeated it exactly, careful not to set it down wrong. He had asked what came before the striking. She had gone silent.
I lay awake the rest of the night with her words turning over in my head.
“My brother did not strike me at first.”
Not at first, which means there was a time before the pain that taught her to kneel and apologize and call it surviving.
For days I read her silence as defiance, then as fear.
I did not allow myself to recognize it as training or conditioning, until Sylas said those words aloud, and now I can’t stop.
I delivered her back to the man who abused her, and it’s very likely he hurt her before he gave her back to me. I keep arriving at that and finding no floor beneath it. I promised her she wouldn’t be hurt, and she was.
“You are staring at the captain like you expect him to confess to something over eggs,” Sylas says.
I don’t look at my brother. “Does he have something to confess?” I ask.
Alric’s cup clicks against its saucer, and he nearly drops it.
Sylas glances toward him, then back to me. “Well, now I’m curious.”
Soren finally lifts his own cup, pauses, and sets it down without drinking. “The princess should be checked before we travel.”
The quiet at the table changes. Alric’s gaze flicks up, then down again.
“Was she checked last night?” I ask.
“Briefly,” Soren answers. “Maelin said her pulse was uneven when she settled. She also said the princess slept poorly even after the draught.”
I set my knife down. “Maelin told you that, but didn’t inform me?”
“She told me because I asked.”
Across from me, Sylas stops stirring his tea. That alone is enough to sharpen my attention.
“What else?” I ask.
Soren’s mouth tightens. “She’s hiding pain. Maelin said she refused help dressing, so she couldn’t examine anything beyond what she saw on the ship.”
“She hides everything,” I reply.
“Yes. Which makes it more dangerous.” His voice remains calm, but there is a healer’s impatience under it now. “Her movement last night was too guarded. She is protecting her ribs, her shoulders, and possibly her wing roots. She needs to travel today, but we are risking collapse.”
Alric clears his throat. “Your Highness, if the princess is unwell, my household healer can attend her before departure. It may save time.”
“No.”
Alric goes stiff.
I turn my gaze on him fully. “Our royal healers will attend her.”
His face pales. “Of course. I only meant to offer assistance.”
“Noted,” I reply.
Sylas exhales into his tea. “A flawless example of southern diplomacy.”
“Prince Kaedryn,” Soren says before I can respond to my brother.
“What?”
“Maelin should go check on her.”
I look toward the ceiling, though there is nothing to see except carved beams and the faint glimmer of warding sigils set into the wood.
Somewhere above us, Adelina is in the suite we chose because it had the strongest locks, the clearest sightlines, and the least household traffic.
Kellan checked the balcony himself. Rowan inspected the servant passage and sealed the interior bolt.
“She may refuse,” I say.
Soren’s brows lift slightly. “Then Maelin will respect that.”
“She’s probably waiting for instructions. The girl is terrified to move without permission,” Sylas adds.
My voice drops. “Not here, Sylas.”
Sylas sets his cup down. “You know it’s true.” He smiles without humor when I glare at him. “There it is.”
I should be annoyed. I am annoyed. But beneath it is something colder and less useful, a restless pressure building under my ribs at the thought of Adelina waking alone in a strange estate, sitting perfectly still on the edge of a bed because no one has told her what she is allowed to do.
“I need to know if she can travel,” I say.
“Then send Maelin,” Sylas answers. “Do not send a command through the healer.”
Soren starts to rise. I stand before he takes a full step. “I will send Maelin.”
Sylas’s eyes narrow. “That sounds dangerously close to you going yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Good, because she’s not ready for your hovering before breakfast.”
I look to Kellan. “Have Maelin come here.”
Kellan bows and leaves at once. The room settles again, but it does not return to normal. The servants move too quietly. Alric keeps his eyes lowered. Rowan’s hand rests near the dagger at his belt. Merritt watches Alric with the same grim patience he wears before drawing blood from unwilling men.
Maelin enters a few minutes later, dressed for travel in a dark green gown cut for movement, her healer’s satchel already strapped across her body. Her hair is braided tight, her expression calm, and her eyes sharp enough to suggest she already knows she will not enjoy whatever I am about to say.
“You sent for me, Your Highness?”
“Check on Princess Adelina, please.”
Her gaze does not move from mine. “Is there a concern?”
“There are several.”
Soren steps closer. “She needs to travel today, but not if there are residual effects from the Varrow drain that could cause collapse.”
Maelin nods once. “I was planning to check on her after she woke.”
“Do it now,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen.
I hear myself a second too late. “Please,” I add, and the word feels like dragging a blade over stone. “Before preparations begin.”
Sylas makes a small approving sound. I consider throwing a knife at him.
Maelin either misses the exchange or politely chooses to ignore it. “I can check on her. I will ask permission before examining her.”
“She may say she is fine,” I respond.
“She almost certainly will.”
“And if she lies?” I ask.
“Then I will not accuse her of lying,” Maelin says. “I will ask better questions.”
Soren’s mouth twitches faintly. Maelin adjusts the strap of her satchel and turns toward the door.
“No household servants go in with you,” I say.
“I did not plan to bring any.”
“No estate guard enters,” I add.
This time, Alric’s knuckles whiten around his cup. My gaze cuts to him. He releases it.
Maelin follows the movement with her eyes, and her expression shifts, not enough for most to notice, but enough for me. Then she leaves.
Kellan steps aside for her, and I almost follow before I catch myself. My body moves half an inch, no more, but Sylas notices because my brother has made an art of noticing the worst possible things.
“Relax,” he says quietly.
I give him a look.
He leans back, though there is no humor left in his face. “If you go up now, she will not know whether the healer is there to care for her or deliver your will.”
That is true. I sit. The chair feels like a cage.
Maelin’s footsteps fade beyond the breakfast room doors. Conversation does not resume. Rowan remains near the sideboard. Merritt watches Alric. Kellan stands by the door, all but forcing himself through the walls by will alone, following Maelin without disobeying the order I never gave.
Alric clears his throat again. “Your Highness, regarding the northern message we received last evening…”
Every eye in the room shifts to him.
I go very still. “What northern message?”
The color leaves his face. He realizes his mistake too late.
Merritt turns slowly. “You received a message from Dravaryn and did not report it?”
Alric swallows. “I intended to. With the Varrow attack, the late arrival, and the princess requiring rest, I thought it best to wait until now.”
My shadows move beneath the table.
Sylas sets his cup down with a soft click. “Well then, out with it before my brother decides you’re more trouble than you are worth.”
Alric’s gaze darts toward the doorway and then back to me. “It was marked as administrative. Concerning the transfer requirements for the princess.”
The air in the room changes.
Transfer requirements.
“Where is it?” I ask.
“In my study.”
“Get it. Now!” I demand.
He rises too quickly. “Of course.”
“Rowan,” I call.
Rowan steps away from the sideboard. “I will escort him.”
Alric’s mouth opens to protest, but he thinks better of it and starts for the door with Rowan behind him.
They are nearly out when the scream comes. Muffled. Cut off.
Then a second sound tears through the manor, sharp enough to rip every man in the room to his feet.
“Guards!” Maelin shouts.
The room erupts.