Chapter 35
My eyes darted to the washroom door, and I considered barging in for the millionth time. The broken chair in the corner—no, I didn’t regret vandalizing the piece of furniture. The destruction had calmed my nerves for some precious seconds before they’d returned in full force.
In front of the door, some of my magic dabbed against the wooden surface again and again. “Yes, buddy, me and you both.”
Oh fuck, had I just addressed the part of my powers mutinying my command as if it were a sentient creature? Like Nayana had done before? Wasn’t it already worrisome enough that the pesky nuisance could resist my orders?
Fuck, what was happening to me lately?
And why wasn’t Naya coming out of the bathroom?
How long could it take for such a tiny thing to get ready for a ball? If she didn’t appear soon, I’d have to leave before I could examine her and the dress I’d ordered for her.
Or—what if the maid wasn’t as loyal to me as I believed, and she was secretly an assassin sent by Galrach?
No. Deep breaths, Dion. Ten minutes was still perfectly acceptable to prepare for a court function. Right?
Burying my dark assumptions in the recesses of my mind, I concentrated on picturing the gown I’d commissioned for Nayana, and a pang of longing erupted in my soul.
The fact that I couldn’t accompany her to the ball was eating me alive. She belonged on my arm, but instead, I had to deal with Danartha because my grandfather was a massive elitist piece of shit who hated my guts and wanted to keep me as miserable as possible.
Fucking Danartha.
Hm, could I get away with killing her?
Probably not, since Galrach was holding his protective hand over the female for unknown reasons.
Maybe they were fucking. Ugh, the thought alone turned my stomach.
I paced another round through the bedroom, sneered at the appalling new drapes, and kicked another chair. The splintering noise was satisfactory but not enough.
Eleven minutes. She was in the bathing chamber for—ah, twelve minutes.
The unruly tendril hadn’t gotten the memo and hurled its matter against the door over and over again.
“You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Fuck. Still not sentient.
Maybe it was a shitty distraction, but I reached into the pocket of my tunic and unfolded the creased paper.
Scowling, I was just as annoyed as yesterday when I’d received the note, but on the other hand, a petty joy danced in my stomach.
I had plans, and although they weren’t as desirable as getting rid of the problem once and for all, I’d found at least a substitute that might not get me in too deep trouble with the high and mighty king.
Skimming over the text again, I glowered at the parchment, which smelled so much like jasmine that my nose burned.
I fucking despised jasmine.
Scriosta,
With delight, I have agreed to accompany you to the winter solstice ball. All the preparations lead me to assume the event will be truly exceptional, and our shared participation in the revelry will elevate the entire function to a special experience that no one will forget too soon.
Also, to assure you that I didn’t misunderstand your intentions when His Royal Majesty inquired about my attendance on your arm instead of yourself, relaying the following message to you is of utmost importance to me.
I’m aware that after all those winters together in Alaiann, seeing me as a fixture in your life is normal for you, which is why I don’t feel insulted by your oversight—you simply couldn’t imagine us not going with each other.
Since I’m willing to be such a focal point for you and am at a stage in my life to make far-reaching decisions, you can put your soul at ease.
And you and I both know it’s only a question of time until you won’t be able to resist your yearning for an official union anymore.
You might be uncertain because of the hurdles—something you are not used to—but keep one thing in mind. We have the same goal.
Since the winter solstice symbolizes new beginnings, I’m sure you can find the courage in your heart to overcome your insecurities.
Don’t forget how well I’m acquainted with you and your every mood.
So, for your easement, I’ve already provided the information to your manservant about which solstice present I demand from you.
Also, even though this is surely unnecessary to mention, I’ll be wearing a gown in your colors, black and silver, accentuated with jewelry dominated by amethysts. Coordinate your garb accordingly. After all, this will be our night.
To a wonderful winter solstice,
Danartha,
Banriona an Solas
When I’d read the letter for the first time, I’d first scoffed, then shaken my head as nausea had wrecked my insides before fury had replaced the blood in my veins.
There was so much audacity and entitlement dripping from the single sheet of parchment, I wasn’t even sure what to be mad about first. The fact that she not only demanded a special solstice present but also implied that I would be shit at picking one out myself?
Insulting Ireas in calling him my manservant?
Assuming I wanted to color coordinate with her or accompany her to the ball in the first place?
All of that, and not forgetting the cherry on top—her insinuation I’d want to court her but was too afraid of a possible reaction to initiate the official rite.
She was delusional; there had never been any doubt, but how much so blew my mind.
Well, she was in for a rude awakening, which I swore to myself. Today, I’d crush any misapprehension of hers like an insect under my boot. Only rolling my eyes at her antics wouldn’t cut it anymore.
And of course, as usual, Danartha had taken a page out of Galrach’s book, fucked all conventions, and hadn’t addressed me with my chosen name.
Not to mention, she casually forgot to add any honorifics or titles.
Yes, I loathed them, but I despised Danartha more, so I added that oversight to my mental list of her crimes.
Another scoff broke free as my eyes halted on the silly nickname once more. Princess of Light, my ass.
Just because she was a rather strong light Wielder with useful facets didn’t mean her magic was exceptional.
Usually, our kind got awarded honorific names for accomplishments, reputation, or inheritance, but Danartha’s designation was none of those.
Given that she already considered herself my bride, her picking the term princess dragged a sour taste to my tongue.
Until her letter, I’d guessed she was jealous of the many monikers I’d collected during my life and that she, to boost her fragile ego, had added one of her own choosing to her name.
Pathetic. Now, I couldn’t unsee the double meaning anymore.
So, all in all, no one could be truly surprised by the pettiness brewing in me.
At least distracting myself had worked. For—two minutes.
Sighing, I glanced at the smoky tendril, which had given up barreling into the door and was instead focusing all its attention on staring down the unwelcome obstacle in its way, tip raised, visibly vibrating with vexation.
How much we seemed to be cut from the same cloth was scary.
Ugh, that settled it. Nothing good would come from driving myself crazy, and so I sauntered over to my wardrobe and, with my lips curling up, opened the piece of furniture.
My fingers brushed over the garments until I found what I’d been searching for.
Made from crimson silk with gold embroidery and tailored to perfection, the dress tunic was unlike anything else I owned.
Some decades ago, the position of royal clothier had become vacant—the previous had mistaken me for a pincushion one too many times—and one of the seamstresses who’d applied had left the fancy attire as a sample.
Her craft had been exceptional, but her color choices hadn’t amused Galrach. Still, I’d kept the piece.
During her sweep of the bedroom, Nayana had found the ensemble among my clothes and not so subtly hinted at her curiosity to see me in crimson.
I would do her the favor tonight and, at the same time, extend a giant middle finger not only to Danartha but also to the High King. Fuck potential punishment.
The deep red silk felt soft under the pads of my fingers, and I couldn’t stop preening as I imagined Nayana’s expression when she’d discover that her gown matched my garb to perfection, both in color and style.
Yes, this was the second middle finger to my grandfather, whose skin was thinner than usual at my minor acts of defiance, but Nayana’s joy was worth any predictable fallout for me.
With a last glance at the closed door to the master bathing chamber, I exited the bedroom and headed to the second bathroom at the other end of my quarters to get ready myself.
Half an hour later, I’d changed, and a strange sense of satisfaction gripped me when I observed my reflection.
My loose hair spilled like an inky curtain over my back, and I had to admit the color of my attire didn’t look too bad. The crimson harmonized astonishingly well with my eyes. But so did black—and dressing dark had the additional advantage that bloodstains didn’t show.
As much as I hated it, the ball was an official High Court function that I attended as the heir of this whole shithole. And because of that, there were certain protocols I was forced to adhere to.
But with every rule, there were options.
Still, I glared at the delicate and elegant circlet—I refused to call the trinket a crown—curving gracefully around my head.
Contrary to the heavy, large, and ostentatious piece my grandfather loved to torture me with, this one appeared more organic and natural, with rounded points and subtle arches.
Unadorned, slightly askew, and in simple gold, the ornament nestled into my hair and disappeared in places under my locks.
Didn’t change that I hated this travesty so much.