36. Adelina
Adelina
The queen of Elyrion steps toward me before anyone tells her she should.
That is the first thing I notice.
Not her crown, though it rests in her dark hair like a delicate cage of gold and green stones. Not her gown, though it moves around her like water over leaves. Not even her face, though she is beautiful in a softer way than Selvara, older and warmer and impossible to mistake for anything but royal.
She does not wait.
The court has arranged itself across the landing terrace in clean lines of color and rank, green, blue, and silver against the carved stone.
The castle rises behind them, tall and bright beneath the afternoon sun, all white cliffs, arched windows, flowering balconies, and banners snapping in the wind that smells of rain and lake water.
Everyone is watching. Everyone has come to see the northern princess delivered into the South.
I should be looking at my future father-in-law. King Rhaegar stands at the top of the steps, stern and dark-haired, his face cut in the same hard lines as his son’s, only tempered by age instead of softened by it. His gaze is sharp enough to feel like a hand at my throat. Assessing, not cruel.
Queen Elowyn comes down the first three steps with her hands extended slightly, not reaching for me yet, but offering the shape of welcome.
Behind me, the pegasi shift in their harnesses, feathers rustling softly.
Prince Kaedryn stands at my side, his hand still lightly holding mine from where he helped me down, and the contact feels strange now that so many people can see it.
I lower into a curtsy before the queen reaches me. The movement is precise. My body knows how to make fear look like grace. “Your Majesty,” I say, keeping my head bowed.
The courtyard goes very quiet. For one breath, no one moves.
Then Queen Elowyn’s voice comes above me, warm and low. “Rise, Princess Adelina.”
I obey.
Her eyes search my face, and for a terrifying moment, I think she sees too much.
It can’t be bruises or marks. Those are hidden beneath the soft blue gown Maelin chose, beneath the cloak I keep around my shoulders despite the mild southern air.
But her expression changes when she looks at me.
Some small, quiet ache enters it and disappears quickly behind courtesy.
“Welcome to Elyrion,” she says. “We are honored to receive you.”
Honored. I do not know what to do with that.
“The honor is mine, Your Majesty,” I reply.
Kaedryn’s fingers press around mine for half a second, then release. Perhaps he dislikes the answer. Perhaps he dislikes the title. Perhaps he dislikes me.
I fold my hand back around the strap of my satchel as soon as I am free.
The king descends more slowly. When he reaches us, I lower again, because I do know this part.
Kings receive curtsies. Queens receive curtsies.
Princes do not receive kneeling unless they demand it, and apparently southern princes become angry when a woman does what every lesson in her body insists she should do.
“Princess Adelina,” King Rhaegar says. “Elyrion welcomes you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I reply.
His gaze moves once to Kaedryn, then back to me. Something crosses Kaedryn’s face.
Queen Elowyn steps closer. “You have had a difficult journey. There will be time for formalities later. Maelin will take you to your chambers so you may rest before dinner.”
My heart stutters.
Rest.
Chambers.
Taken.
The words are harmless here. They sound harmless. But my body has survived too long by mistrusting harmless things.
I glance once toward Kaedryn. He is watching me with that controlled, unreadable expression that has become its own kind of wall. I think he might say something, but he only looks away toward his father, whatever happens next already delegated to someone else.
The queen’s gaze warms when it returns to me. “Your belongings will be sent up. You may keep that with you, of course.” She nods to the satchel in my hands.
My fingers close around the strap before I can stop them. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
A small line appears between her brows, there and gone.
Maelin appears beside me, and with her are two young women in Elyrian green, neither of them dressed like high court ladies.
Attendants, perhaps. They are close to my age, one with deep brown curls pinned loosely at her neck, the other with straight black hair braided down her back and quick, intelligent eyes.
Queen Elowyn turns slightly. “This is Linnea and Mirelle. They will attend you while you are here. If either does not suit you, you may tell me or Maelin, and we will make another arrangement.”
She says it like attendants are not assigned and endured. As if my preference is allowed to have a voice.
Both women curtsy. “Your Highness,” they say together.
I incline my head. “Thank you.”
The queen gestures toward the castle doors. “Come. Let us get you settled.”
I do not ask whether she means to come herself. She simply does.
The court parts as we move through it. I feel their eyes on my hair, my face, my cloak, my hands gripping the satchel.
I hear murmurs too low to understand and decide I’m grateful.
Kaedryn does not walk beside me. He remains behind with his father, Sylas, and the others, speaking in low voices before they turn toward another entrance.
He does not look back.
Good. Distance is safer.
Still, something in my chest folds in on itself.
The castle interior is brighter than Dravaryn’s, though no less grand.
Sunlight spills through high windows instead of being swallowed by black stone.
The walls are pale, veined with green, blue, and silver.
Vines climb the inner courtyard pillars, real vines, not carvings, their leaves glossy and alive.
Water runs through narrow channels built into the floor edges, murmuring softly as we pass.
Everywhere, there is movement, but not the frightened kind.
Servants cross corridors with trays and flowers.
Guards stand at attention without looking as though they are waiting to be punished for breathing. Somewhere far below, I hear laughter.
I keep my back straight. I do not let myself look too long at anything. Wonder makes me careless. Queen Elowyn walks at my side, not ahead of me. Maelin remains slightly behind with the attendants. No one takes my arm. No one guides me by the back. No one touches me at all.
“Your chambers are in the eastern wing, not the crown prince’s wing until after the wedding,” Maelin explains before the question can form.
“These are guest chambers reserved for high-ranking royal women, with a private sitting room, bedchamber, bathing room, dressing room, and access to the east balcony garden.”
The doors open into light. I stop on the threshold.
The room is beautiful.
It’s different from any Dravaryn chamber, where every object is chosen to make the person inside appear smaller than the arrangement around her.
This beauty is warmer. Softer. Cream walls.
Green velvet chairs. Open windows with gauzy curtains moving in the breeze.
Shelves with books already waiting. A writing desk near a window.
A bowl of fresh fruit on a side table. Flowers everywhere, not overwhelming, just enough to make the air sweet.
Beyond the sitting room, the bedchamber is visible through an arched doorway.
The bed is wide and draped in pale linen, the coverlet embroidered with tiny vines and silver stars.
A balcony door stands open to a small terrace filled with potted plants and white stone railings overlooking the gardens below.
The gardens.
I see them only in pieces from here, descending in terraces toward the lake, but even that glimpse is enough to make my breath catch. Trees heavy with blooms. Pools bright with floating flowers. Curving paths. Lantern posts shaped like lilies. Beds of color so vivid they almost hurt.
My satchel creaks softly beneath my grip.
Queen Elowyn sees where I’m looking. “We thought the eastern rooms might suit you,” she says. “They receive morning light, and they are near the quieter gardens.”
Near the gardens.
Something small and foolish stirs inside me. I smother it.
“They are lovely, Your Majesty.”
“They are yours to use,” she says.
I do not trust it yet. Still, I say, “Thank you.”
Linnea and Mirelle begin unpacking the small trunks brought from Dravaryn, setting things in the dressing room. I clutch my satchel until Queen Elowyn glances at it again.
“You may set that wherever you like. No one will disturb it.”
I swallow. I cross to the chair nearest the bedchamber door and place the satchel there, still within sight, close enough that I can reach it if I need to. No one comments.
Maelin comes forward. “The dinner tonight will be small. Family only, with Sylas and the prince’s closest men. If you feel unwell, we can bring a tray here instead.”
Family only. The phrase makes me think of Dravaryn’s breakfast chamber and Varek’s hand closing around mine for the crowd.
“I can attend dinner,” I say.
Queen Elowyn studies me. “You do not have to prove anything tonight.”
How do I answer that? Everything is proof.
Silence proves obedience or guilt, depending on who is listening. Appetite proves health or greed. Eye contact proves confidence or disrespect. A curtsy proves manners, unless someone decides it proves fear. Every movement in a castle means something to someone.
“Dinner is expected,” I say finally.
The queen’s face opens with something painfully close to understanding. “Perhaps. But expectation is not the same as demand.”
Again, I have no answer.
Linnea steps from the dressing room with three gowns draped over her arms. “Your Majesty, these were brought from the south wing wardrobe. We were not sure which Her Highness might prefer.”