Chapter 3
STAR
The house smells like too many flowers. Some overenthusiastic decorator has stuffed every hall with Akuran lilies and crisp sunbloom stalks, their scents mingling into a cloying perfume that clings to the back of my throat like syrup.
I try not to gag as I pass yet another arrangement teetering in a crystal vase.
Wynona’s doing, no doubt. Or maybe Sneed’s.
His shadow has been slinking behind me all morning, reminding me in that smug whisper-voice of his how “important first impressions are.”
Like I don’t already know that.
My mother flutters in and out of the room like a heat-drunk hummingbird, ordering servants about with the energy of a woman half her age and twice as terrifying.
She’s got her hair done up in Earth-style curls today, emerald velvet sweeping the floors behind her like she’s on her way to a ball and not a political exchange of heirs.
Every time she opens her mouth, it’s about “the Feldspar boy” or “duty to Chamberland”.
I nod when I’m supposed to. Smile on cue.
Say “Yes, Mother” so many times my tongue starts to feel fake in my mouth.
But all I can think about is how my boots squeak on the polished floor, and how I’d rather be ankle-deep in mud with CynJyn shooting at soda cans than dressed up like some porcelain doll waiting for the package to arrive.
Speaking of—CynJyn’s voice cuts through the madness like a fresh breeze.
“Hey,” she says, ducking past a frazzled footman holding a tray of candied meat ribbons. “What if we fake a fuel leak? Just a little one. Shuttle malfunctions right as it’s docking. No one gets hurt, but he gets stranded in orbit for... oh, I dunno, forever?”
I smirk despite myself. “Tempting.”
She leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I could reroute the secondary intake valves. Make it look like a coolant bubble hit the pressure regulator. Real spacey technical shit. You know. Tragic accident.”
I snort and wave her off. “He’s not the enemy, Cyn. He’s just… a stranger.”
And that, right there, is the worst part.
I don’t even know him. Not really. Kaspian Feldspar.
Twenty-five, well-bred, gallant, raised on some marble-drenched mountain estate where people probably say “harrumph” without irony.
I’ve read his file. Seen the vid portraits.
He’s handsome in a generically noble kind of way. All angles and politeness.
But I’ve never heard him laugh. Never watched his eyes light up when I make a bad joke. Never played chess with him until dawn, both of us drunk on spiced fruit wine and sarcasm.
He doesn’t know me. Not the real me.
And I don’t want to marry a stranger.
Still, I let the dressers cinch me into the formal Akuran gown—dark green silk with metallic thread that catches the light like falling stars.
The bodice is tight, cruel even, designed to make me stand taller, look more regal.
I hate how it fits. Like armor, but the kind that doesn’t protect anything.
Outside, the landing platform gleams beneath the afternoon sun.
I stand at the center of my family—Mom radiant and regal, Dad with his easy, booming grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes today.
CynJyn is conspicuously absent, no doubt hiding behind a pylon somewhere with a half-eaten data pad snack and her smug anti-establishment smirk.
Then there’s Rayek.
Behind me. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his body even through the layers of silk and air. He doesn’t speak. He never does at times like this. But I know he’s watching. Not the ship. Not the guests. Me.
I want to turn. Just glance at him. Something small. But I can’t.
Because if I turn around, I might see something in his face I’m not allowed to want.
Or worse—I might see nothing at all.
The noble cruiser lands with a theatrical hiss of steam and a chorus of hydraulics.
The docking platform vibrates beneath my heels, a soft, subtle tremor that sets my nerves jittering.
For a second, I consider bolting. Just turning on my heel, grabbing CynJyn, and making a run for the stables like a feral child.
But then the ramp lowers, and I square my shoulders.
Here we go.
Kaspian Feldspar emerges like he’s stepping out of a dream—or maybe one of those over-staged recruitment holos. Tall. Composed. Dressed in midnight-blue diplomatic garb lined with silver trim. His hair is neat, eyes bright, chin proud. He looks every bit the noble heir he’s supposed to be.
But when his gaze meets mine, his smile flickers.
Not much. Just a stutter at the corners of his mouth, like maybe his stomach’s doing backflips too.
He masks it fast, tacking on a polite, respectful grin as he descends the ramp and greets my father with a firm, measured handshake.
They trade words I don’t catch. All I hear is the wind picking up through the nearby trees and the wild drumming of my pulse in my ears.
“Lady Star,” Kaspian says as he finally turns to me, bowing just enough to acknowledge my status without groveling. “It’s an honor.”
“Kaspian,” I reply, dipping into a half-curtsy that feels like it belongs to someone else. “I thought you got taller.”
His mouth twitches—an almost-smile, then fully formed, laced with something like humor. “I left the stilts on the ship.”
It’s so unexpected, I let out an honest laugh.
Not one of those courtly titters, but a real, involuntary burst. And gods, that’s somehow worse than if he’d shown up arrogant or insufferable.
He’s charming. Nervous, maybe. A little too practiced, but there’s sincerity there. I was prepared to loathe him.
But what the hell do I do with... not awful?
The introductions go on. My mom says all the right things, positively glowing with pleased energy.
My dad cracks some joke about hunting holo-boars and proposes a welcome feast. Kaspian, ever the diplomat, agrees with all the grace you’d expect from someone raised in a castle with fifty servants and a formal etiquette instructor.
Meanwhile, Rayek stands just behind me—silent, immovable, and scalding.
I can feel him. Not just his presence, but the weight of it. Like gravity. Like heat off a reactor core. His gaze doesn’t touch me, but I know it’s there, hovering just shy of my skin, burning a line across my spine.
I try to turn—just a glance, a flick of acknowledgment—but his head shifts, just slightly, and I see it. That blankness. He’s switched himself off. Walled up behind duty and silence and those unreadable gold eyes.
He doesn’t see me.
No, he looks through me. Past me. Like I’m not even here.
And Sneed, that absolute bastard, makes sure to hover just enough to keep Rayek physically removed.
When I pivot for an excuse to catch his eye, Sneed steers me subtly away with some trivial question about protocol or menu options, playing the dutiful servant with eerie precision.
Every time I move, Sneed’s already anticipating it. Blocking it. A polite saboteur.
By the time the formalities wind down and we’re all escorted back inside to tour the estate, I’ve got a smile locked on my face so tight my cheeks ache.
Kaspian walks beside me, a courteous arm hovering near my lower back, but never touching.
Respectful. Distant. He asks questions about the estate gardens, the architectural history of the west wing, my opinions on spaceport expansion.
I answer like a proper noblewoman, playing the role I was born into.
All the while, Rayek trails behind with the other guards, stone-faced, unreadable. Not once does he look my way.
Later, when the crowd disperses and I finally manage to shake off the pressure of the official welcome, I escape into the atrium behind the solarium. The stained glass ceiling bathes everything in soft hues of violet and amber, and the air smells like warm moss and old sun.
CynJyn is already there, legs draped over the back of a curved marble bench, crunching a stim snack with exaggerated slowness.
“Told you he wouldn’t have horns,” she says without looking up.
I flop down beside her, the layers of my gown hissing against the stone. “He made me laugh.”
CynJyn raises an eyebrow. “Oh no.”
“Yeah. He made a joke. I laughed. That’s... problematic.”
She tosses the empty stim wrapper into a nearby pot like she’s flicking off an annoyance. “So, what’s the verdict? Gonna marry him and live out the dream? Throw wine parties in the winter palace? Watch your kids duel for inheritance?”
I rub my face with both hands. “He’s fine. Like, good fine. Polished and nice. Not a monster. That’s the problem.”
CynJyn leans back, letting her head fall dramatically over the edge of the bench. “Ugh, that’s the worst. Nothing kills rebellion like decency.”
We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the distant clink of silverware being polished and the faint humming of service droids prepping for the feast.
Then she asks it, quiet and direct.
“Do you love him?”
I don’t answer.
Not because I don’t know.
But because I do.
And he’s not the one I love.
The garden looks like a dream of someone iced in silver. Lanterns hang from the cypresses in long chains, casting soft halos over the gravel paths and the white stone balustrades. A quartet plays on a raised dais—strings that sound like rain across glass.
The air is thick with night-blooming spiceflower and the buttery smell of warm pastries. It’s pretty in that suffocating way pretty can be, the kind that makes your chest feel tight because nothing this polished can possibly be real.
“Lady Star,” Kaspian says, offering his hand. His sleeve is cut sharp enough to slice fruit; the midnight-blue fabric glints with those faint silver threads again, like he’s wearing a constellation. “May I?”
“Guess that depends,” I say, placing my fingers in his palm. His skin is cool, carefully perfumed. “Are you any good?”
“Terrible,” he admits with a crooked smile. “But I’m very confident about it.”