45. Adelina
Adelina
Kaedryn’s been gone for four days.
My new life in the Elyrian castle has settled into a rhythm. I understand enough to know when the household wakes, when the lower fountains begin their morning spill down the terraces, when Linnea brings tea and Mirelle opens the balcony curtains, when Maelin comes with tonics and too-careful eyes.
I haven’t explored the castle much, aside from the garden.
I try to go out every morning to visit my orchids.
Except from the one I bloomed that evening with Kaedryn, I have let them take root on their own, using my magic just to support and encourage their growth.
But they are green and vibrant. I spend the rest of my time in the garden, my fingers in the soil as I learn the feel of unfamiliar plants and recognize those I already know.
I spend the rest of my days reading and preparing.
In a little over a week, I am to wed the shadow prince.
A part of me feels like I’ve given up, that I’ve betrayed Freya and all the others who risked their lives to try to get me to Maralis.
I haven’t tried to look for an escape. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
If I found a way out of this castle, where would I go?
Instead I’ve forced myself to survive.
By afternoon, rain falls over Elyrion in silver sheets.
It softens everything beyond the balcony doors, turning the gardens into blurred green and white, the lake into a sheet of moving glass.
Linnea has gone to fetch a book Queen Elowyn recommended, and Mirelle is in the dressing room sorting ribbons for a gown I haven’t chosen.
I sit near the hearth with Freya’s shawl draped across my knees, staring at the same paragraph in a book on southern wedding customs until the words no longer hold meaning.
A knock comes at the outer door.
Mirelle steps forward, brows drawing together. “I’ll see who it is, Your Highness.”
I nod. The voices in the sitting room are low. When she returns, she carries a long silverwood box in both hands.
The black wax seal on the latch turns my blood cold.
Dravaryn.
My fingers fist in Freya’s shawl.
Mirelle’s face is pale. “A courier from the northern embassy delivered this. It bears King Varek’s personal seal. The steward said diplomatic correspondence bearing a sovereign seal could not be opened without royal authorization.”
The seal itself is a weapon against me. Nothing from my brother can be safe just because someone outside these rooms decided no blade was hidden beneath the wood. But that seal guaranteed I would get it without much interference.
“Should I call Queen Elowyn or Prince Sylas?” Mirelle asks.
If I call the queen or prince, the box becomes a matter of Elyrion. If it becomes a matter of Elyrion, Kaedryn will know when he returns. If Kaedryn knows, he’ll demand answers I can’t give. And if my brother sent this, then he sent it knowing exactly how I’d fear everyone’s help.
“No,” I say. “Set it there.”
Mirelle hesitates, but she obeys, placing the box on the low table near the hearth. “Would you like me to stay?”
I should say yes. Instead, I say, “No. Thank you.”
She frowns and bites her lip, but she curtsies and withdraws to the dressing room, leaving the door open.
I stare at the box until the rain becomes the only sound in the world. Then I stand. My legs feel numb beneath me. The silverwood gleams in the firelight, too beautiful for what it carries. A folded note rests beneath the wax, my name written across the front in my brother’s precise hand.
Princess Adelina Leora of Dravaryn.
I break the seal. The first line is brief.
Your conduct remains watched.
My breath stops. My brother has no reason to hide. He knew this would get to me, and there is no audience for him to charm.
Freya is alive. So are Marra and Vera. Their continued comfort depends entirely upon your obedience.
The room tilts.
Freya. Marra. Vera.
My fingers grip the paper until it crinkles. They’re alive. Or they were when he wrote this. Alive enough for him to name them. Alive enough to threaten.
A sob catches in my throat. I read on.
At the ninth bell, you will go alone to the lower moon gate beyond the eastern garden stair.
You will wear the bracelet enclosed, so my messenger knows you came willingly.
You will speak to no one. You will alert no guard, healer, queen, prince, servant, or attendant.
If you disobey, Freya will lose a hand for the first offense.
Marra and Vera will suffer for the second.
I will send you proof of what your defiance costs.
Do not test me, Adelina. You know I do not make idle promises.
My vision blurs. I blink hard. The last line feels like a knife pressed to my skin.
The box waits beneath the letter. I open it with shaking hands. Inside lies a bracelet of northern silver, black diamonds, and small moonstones set between interlocking knots. Beautiful. Elegant. Selvara’s taste sits in every curve of it.
Beneath the bracelet is a pressed ice orchid sealed between two thin panes of glass. It’s from my garden.
My chest feels tight. Someone entered my garden. Someone cut what I grew. Someone pressed it flat and dead and sent it across the sea so I’d understand.
He can touch what I love. He can touch all of it.
Freya. Marra. Vera. My garden. Me.
The paper trembles in my hand. Mirelle says something softly from the dressing room, but I don’t hear the words. I only hear the blood in my ears and my brother’s voice inside my head.
You will obey.
The ninth bell.
My eyes go to the clock on the mantel. Less than an hour. Less than an hour to decide whether I’ll let Freya lose a hand because I’m too afraid to walk into another trap.
It’s a trap. Of course it’s a trap. My brother wouldn’t send a messenger into Elyrion merely to speak.
He wants something. Proof that I’ll still obey.
A chance to reach me, to make the South look careless, to show that even in Kaedryn’s castle, I still belong to Dravaryn if Varek chooses to pull the thread.
But if I don’t go, Freya, Marra, and Vera pay. The women who braided my hair, who helped Freya keep me alive inside a castle built from obedience. The women who may already be suffering because I ran.
My body moves before courage can fail. I fold the note once, then again. No one can see it. No one can know. If Kaedryn sees this, he won’t let me go. If Queen Elowyn sees it, she’ll call guards. If a guard follows me, Freya loses a hand.
I cross to the hearth. The fire burns low, but it hasn’t gone out. I hesitate.
Evidence. Elyrion likes records. Documents. Proof. Things signed and sealed and kept safe against future lies.
But Freya’s hand matters more than proof.
I hold the note to the flame. The corner darkens, curls, then catches.
My brother’s words burn quickly, faster than I expect, the fire eating through obedience and threat and the names of the women I can’t protect.
I don’t let go until the heat licks close enough to hurt.
Then I drop the last of it into the coals and watch until the paper collapses into black ash.
Mirelle appears at the dressing room doorway. “Your Highness?”
I turn too quickly. She looks from my face to the hearth, then to the open box. I force my hands to fold. “I’m tired. I think I’ll rest before supper.”
Her eyes search mine. “Should I call Maelin?”
“No. Please stay in the sitting room. I only need quiet.”
She doesn’t believe me. But I’m still a princess, and some commands are softer than others while still remaining commands.
She curtsies. “Of course.”
When she leaves, I take the bracelet from the box. The silver is cold against my palm. I fasten it around my wrist because my brother told me to. Because Freya’s hand is worth more than my pride, and the messenger must know I came willingly.
A laugh almost breaks out of me. It would sound too much like sobbing.
I wait until a few minutes before the ninth bell.
Then I take a dark cloak from the wardrobe, wrap it around my shoulders, and open the balcony door.
The air is wet and cool, smelling of stone, rain, and crushed leaves.
The eastern terrace stretches below, lamplight glowing along the paths.
The lower moon gate lies beyond the garden stairs, half-hidden where the old wall meets the cypress walk.
I can see it from here. I can almost pretend I’m only going to the garden. Instead, I’m stepping into the rain and doing what has to be done.
The climb down the private stair is slick, but I move carefully, one hand on the wall. Every step sends a low ache through my body, the lingering soreness from Varek’s last punishment mixing with the older pain buried beneath my skin.
No guards stop me. That seems wrong, too easy. My heart pounds harder.
At the second landing, a figure moves out of the shadows. I freeze. Maybe it is the messenger. Then the figure steps into the lamplight.
Kaedryn.
Rain darkens his hair and beads along the shoulders of his black traveling cloak.
He must have only just returned. His boots are muddy, his jaw shadowed, his face pale with a cold fury that does not belong to anger alone.
His wings are not visible, but his magic is thick enough in the air that the lamps nearest him flicker blue.
I stop breathing.
His eyes drop to my wrist. The bracelet. Then to my face. Neither of us speaks. The rain fills the silence.
“Where are you going?” he asks. His voice is quiet.
I have no reply.
“Adelina!” My name is sharper this time.
I flinch but I still do not answer. His attention cuts past me to the lower garden. Then his head turns slightly, and I realize we are not alone.