Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jack
Despite the seeds Ravin had planted in my head, when I arrived at Sylvi’s house to return her cloak, I’d had no intention of seeking her out. I merely wanted to leave it folded on the doorstep, knock once, and disappear into the night before I could do something foolish.
But when I heard movement inside the house, my feet refused to obey me. I stood frozen, as if some unseen force had rooted me to the ground, my pulse hammering like war drums against my ribs. Walk away, my mind urged, yet I remained, staring at the door like a criminal awaiting his execution.
When it finally creaked open, revealing Lyra’s wide, startled eyes and her blanched complexion upon seeing me, I let out a slow breath—half relief, half something else. Disappointment? Maybe. Though I wasn’t sure I was ready to face Sylvi. Yet some desperate, unspoken part of me had wanted to.
Gods, this female is going to be the death of me.
For years, I had mastered control over the confounding emotions that brewed whenever I was near her. But lately, that control had begun to slip and fracture. The last few weeks had been a test of restraint—one I was failing miserably.
And since returning home… Well, tonight was proof of how tangled and fucked things had become.
Ravin was right. This thing between us needed to be addressed before it shattered us both.
Lyra, still clutching the edges of her night robe, finally remembered how to breathe. She straightened, pulling the fabric tighter around herself while attempting an awkward curtsy, her loose hair framing a face still flushed with sleep.
“Your Highness,” she murmured, blinking up at me delicately.
I inclined my head. “Apologies for the late hour, Miss Isenwulf.”
“No apologies needed, my prince. And please, call me Lyra.”
I offered her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her nervousness. “Is your sister home?”
“I’m afraid not,” she admitted, shifting on her feet. “She came home from the palace, changed out of her uniform, and… Well, she snuck back out.”
“Snuck out?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She went to The White Stag.”
I exhaled sharply. “Your brother’s tavern?”
She nodded, glancing toward the dimly lit hallway behind her, as if checking to make sure no one overheard.
“Mother doesn’t like it when Sylvi visits Aldric at The Stag.
Says too many unsavory individuals gather there.
” She hesitated, then stepped back, gesturing to the sitting room.
“You’re welcome to come in and wait for her.
She said she wouldn’t be long. I could put some tea on the stove. ”
I shook my head, offering a polite but firm smile. “You’ve been very gracious, Lyra, but it wouldn’t be proper for me to enter your home at this hour.” I held out the thick bundle of Sylvi’s cloak. “I only came to return this. Will you see that she gets it?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” she said, accepting it carefully.
“Make sure you lock the door properly before heading back to bed.”
She gave a small nod. “Good night, My Prince.”
“Good night, Lyra.”
As she closed the door, I turned to the darkened streets, an unsure breath trickling from my lips.
Minutes later, I stood before The White Stag, my gaze lingering on the stark white antlers mounted above the signage. The wise course of action would have been to return to the palace, yet there I was, ignoring reason once again.
The common folk sought solace in places like this, drowning their burdens in spiced mead and losing themselves in the melodies of fiddle strings.
The last thing they needed was their crown prince darkening the mood.
My presence would silence their revelry like an unexpected bleak tempest descending over a sunny meadow and turn carefree laughter into stiff posturing and murmured grumbles.
And what, exactly, did I intend to say to Sylvi once I stepped inside?
She would see through any feigned coincidence in an instant.
There was no plausible excuse for me to be at her brother’s tavern at this hour, no reasonable explanation that would not provoke her scrutiny.
If I thought she had been furious with me before, it would pale in comparison to the storm that would break once she realized I had followed her here.
As a member of the guard, she took her duty with an almost infuriating level of seriousness.
But she’d be far more concerned about the ramifications of my presence in a district already rife with unrest than my personal safety.
My magic granted me formidable protection, but in an establishment like this, where tensions simmered beneath the surface, a royal waltzing in unannounced was not just reckless; it was a provocation.
At least I’d had the foresight to forgo my royal attire before leaving the palace, donning something more inconspicuous. Still, I pulled the hood of my black cloak lower, shrouding my face in shadows before stepping through the heavy wooden door of the establishment.
I barely had time to scan the room before regret clawed its way up my throat.
Náldrún curse me.
There, in the center of the tavern, dancing with reckless abandon, was Sylvi. Laughter spilled from her lips, unguarded and free, her dark skirts fanning out like ripples on a lake. The warm lantern light caught in the waves of her hair, turning them to ribbons of obsidian silk.
And the man who held her, whose hands rested with a possessiveness that made something sinister stir in my blood, was none other than Master Leoric Vaelmoor, captain of the famed Embermane and Skadgard’s most powerful sea merchant.
Not to mention Sylvi’s former suitor.
I had never asked for details about their past. I only knew that she had refused his offer to be his bride, to sail the endless seas at his side.
She had chosen to remain in Isenheim. And yet, as I stood in the shadows, watching the way he looked at her, his golden eyes filled with admiration, the way his fingers traced idle patterns against the fabric of her blouse as he spun her around, it was clear he still sought to claim what he had lost.
And worse still, I couldn’t tell if she wasn’t entertaining it.
My hands curled into fists beneath my cloak, the heat of my magic seething beneath my skin like a slumbering beast stirring in its cage.
Leoric slid his hand down her back as though he had the right to touch her so intimately, to twirl her, to pull her flush against him, to press his mouth to her ear and make her laugh, as though she already belonged to him.
For fuck’s sake, what right did I have to be angered by it?
Sylvi was free to do as she pleased, free to court whomever she desired.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the roiling beast inside me back into its prison.
I had no claim to her.
Then why did the sight of them together burn worse than frostfire?
Because, deep down, I had expected—no, hoped—to find her at the bar, drowning the weight of our argument in her brother’s famous mead, maybe even hoping I’d come and fix what I had broken.
But instead, I found her here, laughing, lost in the arms of another male, looking as if nothing had ever fractured between us, as if I hadn’t wounded her, as if my absence had left no mark at all.
I should have turned away. I should have left.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I remained in the shadows, watching her, watching him, hating the way she smiled so freely at him, hating how easily she let herself enjoy this moment, as if the weight of our world, our duty, our past, did not exist.
It should have made me happy to see her like this, but it made my stomach churn.
And then, for the briefest of moments, I swore her gaze flicked toward the darkened corner where I stood, my heart stammering, then roaring. Did she see me? Did she feel me watching?
Something like hope flared in my chest—a dangerous, reckless thing—and I took a step forward, only to realize I’d been mistaken when she looked away and headed back toward the bar.
I had made a mistake coming here.
Seeing her like this, without her uniform, without the burdens we carried pressing into her shoulders only made one thing painfully clear: She deserved this.
She deserved him. She deserved the warmth of a simple life, a love without battle debriefs and bloodstained blades and unseelie betrothals.
She deserved the adventure Leoric could offer her, the open seas and the promise of something beyond this land steeped in war and politics.
She deserved safety, happiness. A life untouched by the shadows that lurked at the edges of my world.
I saw her future play out before me like a mirage…a future without me in it. Something inside me cracked, a fissure across my heart I knew would never mend.
But at least now I knew Sylvi would be okay.
Maybe coming here tonight had not been a mistake after all, but a blessing from the goddess. The pain I had seen in her eyes back in the maze when I told her I would accept the betrothal had made me question my conviction to do what was right for my kingdom.
But now?
Now, despite the chasm this marriage would carve between us, I knew accepting the Unseelie Princess’s hand was the right choice—the only choice. If Ravin’s suspicions proved true, then the threats facing Skadgard were far greater than any personal desires I might have harbored.
With one last, long glance toward the bar, I let myself memorize every feature of Sylvi’s beautiful face, the curve of her smile, the way the lantern light shimmered against her unbound hair.
I hardly saw her like this anymore, beyond her uniform, beyond the palace walls, beyond the war looming between us.
Gods, she was breathtaking.
I had always known it, but tonight, tonight, she was luminous. Gods. She was brighter than all the stars burning over the Northern Realms.
And that light would never be mine.