35. Kaedryn #3
The flight is smoother than the day before, the pegasi steady in the morning currents.
Kellan rides close to Adelina’s window on a dark-winged mount, his posture rigid with purpose.
Rowan and Merritt fly flank in full armor.
Soren sits inside with us for the first hour to watch Adelina’s color, then reluctantly moves to join Rowan and Merritt when Sylas points out that staring at her like a complicated wound will not help.
Adelina sits with her satchel in her lap and her gaze on the window.
She is calm. Too calm.
When Maelin’s potion begins to work more fully, her shoulders ease by a fraction. When the carriage sways, she does not flinch as sharply. When Sylas tells her the names of the lakes below, she listens, but her responses remain quiet.
I say little. Every sentence feels like a weapon I have not yet learned to sheathe.
Still, I watch her. I watch the way she keeps her body turned slightly toward the window, never fully toward me.
I watch how she tracks every motion near the door.
I watch how her grip hardens whenever voices rise outside, even in laughter.
I watch how the bruises at her wrist show when her sleeve slips, darkened beneath the cuff, their color already changing where Maelin’s salves have touched them.
I think of her asking if she could keep her bag.
I think of the guard saying untouched status.
I think of Varek’s hand in this, reaching across the border through coded messages and hungry men, using her body as law, as leverage, as proof for whatever lie he intends to build next.
By afternoon, the castle comes into view.
Elyrion’s royal seat rises where mountain and water meet, carved into white cliffs above a vast blue lake that spills toward the distant coast. The castle is not a fortress in the northern sense, though its defenses are older and stronger than most men understand.
White stone towers grow from the mountainside, bridged by terraces and glass corridors.
Blue roofs catch the sun between banks of mist. Waterfalls pour down both sides of the cliff, feeding gardens that descend in tiered layers toward the lake.
Forest surrounds it, deep and ancient, broken only by roads, watchtowers, and the wide landing terraces built for winged arrivals.
Adelina leans closer to the window before she realizes she has moved. Her lips part slightly. The expression is not happiness or peace. But awe, perhaps.
“My mother designed the east gardens,” Sylas murmurs. “They look best at sunrise. Don’t tell her I said that. She will insist they look best at all hours because she is impossible about them.”
Adelina’s gaze remains on the castle. “It is beautiful.” Her voice is barely audible. “It’s all so big.”
I wonder if she sees beauty or only new walls. “The castle is large,” I say before I can stop myself. “You will not be expected to know it at once.”
She looks at me.
A cautious glance.
I keep my voice even. “You will be shown the rooms you may use, and if there are places restricted for security, you will be told clearly. No one will punish you for turning down the wrong corridor.”
Her face changes enough that I know I have guessed one fear correctly.
“That is good to know,” she says.
The landing horns sound. The coach begins its descent toward the upper terrace, where banners ripple in the wind and lines of guards stand waiting in Elyrian green, blue, and silver. Beyond them, courtiers gather beneath the arched entrance, arranged in precise layers of rank and curiosity.
My father will be there. My mother too.
The court will see Adelina for the first time and decide things before she speaks a word. Too pale. Too quiet. Too northern. Too delicate. Too strange. Beautiful enough to be forgiven for some of it. Foreign enough to be blamed for the rest.
Beside me, her hands tighten around the satchel. I wonder if she knows. Of course she knows. She was raised to be looked at.
The coach touches down. The pegasi slow to a graceful halt, wings folding as handlers move in. The door remains closed for one final breath, and inside that breath, none of us move.
Then I look at Adelina. She does not look back.
“Princess,” I say.
Her chin lifts slightly.
Ready again.
Resigned again.
I step out first into the bright air of my kingdom, hearing the hush ripple through the waiting court. Sylas follows. Then I turn back to the coach.
Adelina sits framed in the doorway, pale blue cloak around her shoulders, silver hair braided over one side, satchel held against her like a final piece of armor.
I offer my hand because she is stepping into my world, and if I cannot make that safe yet, I can at least make sure she does not step into it alone.
Her eyes drop to my hand. The entire terrace seems to hold its breath. For a moment, I think she will refuse. Then she places her fingers in mine. The pull beneath my ribs stirs, faint and wary.
I help her down onto Elyrian stone. The court sees a betrothed prince and princess arriving home. I feel the tremor in her hand and know the truth is far more fragile than that.
At the top of the steps, my mother starts forward before ceremony calls for it. My father does not stop her.
And Adelina, standing beside me in the heart of my kingdom, lowers into a curtsy so precise it is surrender dressed as grace.