47. Kaedryn #3
“There will be no large court tonight. Only my parents, Sylas, Maelin, Soren, two legal witnesses, a Maralisian representative, and the Dravaryn envoy already bound to the treaty proceedings. The rest of my personal guard and several members of the royal guard will be stationed throughout.”
Her shoulders ease by a fraction at the smaller list.
“And the rehearsal will just be the wedding party, attendants, and ceremonial steward. No full court.”
She nods. A quiet, obedient nod. I want her to argue. I hate that if she did, I might still refuse.
“Do you have any questions?”
Her lips part. For one heartbeat, I think something real will come out. Then she lowers her eyes. “No, Your Highness. I am prepared.”
Not ready. Not willing. Prepared. I hear the difference because Sylas made sure I would.
My eyes drop to her wrist again. The shadow bracelet rests there, cool and dark and damning.
“After tonight,” I say, though I do not know what promise I mean to make until it is already leaving me, “we will discuss the restrictions.”
Her fingers still. Hope does not show on her face. She’s resigned. My mind flashes briefly to the temple road, to watching the hope and fight drain from her.
“There is no need,” she replies, barely above a breath. “I understand them.”
“No.”
Her shoulders draw in. I’m fucking this up again.
I lower my voice. “No. I do not think you do.”
At that, her eyes lift all the way to mine. For the first time in a week, something sharp appears there. Hurt, perhaps. Or the last edge of a blade she has not yet surrendered. Her nostrils flare and her lips purse.
“I understand that I am not trusted.” The words are quiet.
My jaw tightens. “You walked toward a trap wearing your brother’s bracelet.”
“I didn’t have a choice!” she snaps, and I see a fire in her eyes that I have never seen before.
My hands curl. “You did not tell me. You chose not to.” I instantly regret my words.
Linnea’s eyes widen. Mirelle bites her lip. Adelina’s face drains of what little color it had, and I know I have been cruel the moment the words leave my mouth. I do not take them back because some part of me still believes them. Because fear has teeth, and mine are sunk too deep into this.
Adelina lowers her eyes. “Yes, Your Highness.”
There it is. The retreat. The hollowing. Sylas’s accusation echoes until I nearly flinch from it.
I draw a slow breath. “I do not know how to help you if you will not speak to me,” I say.
Her mouth trembles once before she controls it. “And I do not know how to speak when every answer hurts.” The words are small. Almost too soft. But they are hers.
I stare at her, and every defense I have built cracks straight through. Then she lowers her gaze again, and her breathing changes. “F-forgive me, Your Highness,” she stutters.
I take one step closer. She goes still. I stop. “There will be no punishment for what you just said.”
She looks almost confused. I despise the world that made that sentence necessary.
“No punishment,” I repeat. “No correction. No order. You spoke truth.”
Her fingers tighten over the bracelet. “Truth does not change consequences.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But it should change me.”
That reaches her. Only enough to make her look at me. Only enough to make the silence between us feel alive for one dangerous second.
Then the moment breaks.
From the doorway, Sylas clears his throat with absolutely no subtlety. “Everyone is waiting, and Father is running out of things to distract the witnesses.”
Adelina lowers her eyes at once. The mask returns. I want to curse my brother. I also want to thank him. Instead, I offer Adelina my arm. She looks at it. Then at the shadow bracelet.
I see the comparison form in her mind. Her brother’s bracelet. Mine. One man’s command replaced by another’s. My arm remains between us like another question I have no right to ask. Then I lower it.
Her eyes flick up, startled.
“You do not have to take my arm tonight,” I say.
The words cost more than they should. Sylas goes quiet behind me. Adelina stares at me.
I continue, each word measured because if I make this sound like generosity, I will hate myself. “It would present unity. It would make the witnesses more comfortable. It would serve the alliance.”
Her throat moves.
“But you do not have to.”
A long silence follows. Rain taps against the windows. Linnea stands very still near the dressing room door. Sylas waits in the sitting room, suddenly and blessedly silent.
Adelina looks down at her bare hand, then at mine. She does not take my arm. She folds both hands in front of her, shadow bracelet visible against her wrist.
“I would like to walk beside you.”
Something raw and painful shifts under my ribs. I incline my head. “Then you will.” We leave her rooms that way.
No touch. No public claim. No visible unity for the men waiting to judge whether Varek’s reach still coils around her throat.
Only Adelina walking beside me, small and pale and impossibly composed, with my shadow on her wrist and the first true sentence she has given me in days still burning through my chest.
“I do not know how to speak when every answer hurts.”
I have spent years believing silence is either discipline or deceit. Tonight, for the first time, I understand it may also be a battlefield.