Chapter 33 #2
He shifted his gaze to Thandoril, his golden eyes alert and glimmering. “Forgive me, Lord Thandoril, but however noble your queen’s intentions may sound, they look a lot like strategy to me. She’s hedging her bets, aligning with whoever stands the best chance at prying open the gates of Yulreth.”
I said nothing, but inside, I couldn’t help the chill crawling up my spine.
Ravin’s words struck dangerously close to my own fears, ones I hadn’t dared speak aloud. The Star Court cloaked itself in benevolence, in ancient duty. But behind those veils, behind the polished words and ceremonial robes, I’d always sensed calculation. Ambition.
And Thandoril, for all his poise, had just blinked.
If Yulreth had denied them access for centuries, how far would they go now to reclaim it?
Thandoril drew a slow breath, offering Ravin a gentle smile meant to disarm, but it was clear he didn’t realize who he was addressing.
“I understand your mistrust, Lord Valeska. But I assure you, the Star Court seeks only to safeguard the interests of all seven kingdoms. It is our sacred charge to preserve the knowledge of our world, to protect the magic entrusted to us by the gods. We ask only for what was granted to us by birthright.”
“The Star Court’s motivations,” General Drigmir interjected, “should be the least of your concerns.” His black-gloved fingers tapped once against the table.
“Yulreth and the potential threat from the humans are only part of the problem. Tharnwyn stirs to the south. Their scouts have crossed the Esledar River twice in the last week, and we’ve observed signs of movement near the Wildlands.
Something ancient wakes in the ruins of the Shadow Court.
Whatever it is, we need to be ready. A united front may be our only hope. ”
I glanced at the general. He wasn’t wrong to be wary of the Wildlands. In fact, he was more right than he realized. But I chose, at least for now, to keep silent about what we’d encountered there—about the Helvaktír and the voices in the dark that still whispered when I closed my eyes.
Ravin leaned forward, his tone still casual but no less cutting. “The Flame Court. The Stone Court… Everyone is strengthening their borders after the shields cracked. That doesn’t mean they’re preparing for war. It means they’re preparing not to be caught unaware. Caution isn’t aggression.”
“Perhaps not,” Maelthar said. “But I will not leave my kingdom exposed while others posture with sharpened blades. This alliance between Skadgard and Verrindor is both shield and sword, for both our realms. Or have you forgotten the Isogrim pressing at your outer lands? Not to mention the hrímdreki vanished without a trace.”
His gaze fixed on me, hard as iron. Gone was the veiled diplomacy. What remained was stone cold. “Your kingdom is vulnerable, Prince. I trust you haven’t come to my table to rescind your mother’s promise.”
I let the weight of his words settle before speaking.
“You never intended to return with us to Isenheim,” I said quietly, the truth locking into place like a puzzle piece.
“That’s why you sent for an escort. You plan for me to parade your great-granddaughter back to my capital while you stay behind and quietly prepare for war. ”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t deny it. He only stared at me with that unsettling unseelie stillness. The kind of stillness that stirred my own magic.
“Verrindor,” he said at last, “stands at the crossroads of three rising threats. I cannot abandon my people, not now. My great-granddaughter will travel to Isenheim under your protection, accompanied by my general and a cadre of my most loyal soldiers. Lord Thandoril will also accompany you. He will act in my stead and oversee the wedding, to ensure everything proceeds as planned.”
I bit down hard, grinding my molars. “And my mother knows you won’t be attending the wedding?”
“Your mother,” the king said, rising from his seat, “understands the burden of a crown. As do you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must retire. General Drigmir will escort you back to your tents. I expect to see you off at first light.”
Chairs scraped softly as everyone stood. Isolde met my gaze with a glint that sent an immediate ripple of unease through me.
“Your Highness,” she said, too sweetly. “A word, if you may. Alone.”
Sylvi stepped instinctively closer, her shoulder brushing mine, a subtle barrier, though not unnoticed. She’d heard the request and was waiting for my reply. Her eyes were locked on Isolde’s, both females silently planting their flags.
I leaned down and murmured in Sylvi’s ear, “I’ll meet you back at the tent. We can go over logistics before lights out.”
She looked up at me, and gods—that look. Not jealousy, but duty. She didn’t trust leaving me alone with the princess, not because she feared betrayal, but because she feared danger.
I’ll be fine. I tried to tell her with my eyes.
She gave the barest nod, though her expression said she wasn’t buying it. “I’ll be outside,” she said, cool and composed. “In case you need anything.” But her gaze flicked to Isolde, and she might as well have drawn Moonshadow in warning. The message was clear: Hurt him, and you’ll bleed for it.
Something dark and erotic throbbed inside me at the feral look she shot the princess. I took a deep breath, needing to shake the inappropriate thoughts from my head.
Once the pavilion emptied, Isolde moved like smoke, slow and fluid, her steps barely touching the ground.
Her gown whispered as she walked, velvet trailing behind her like a serpent’s tail.
There was beauty in her, a dark and devastating sort of beauty.
But it was a beauty carved from shattered ice and stone.
Cold. Immovable. The kind that didn’t tempt so much as terrify.
She removed her crown and tossed it onto the table with a clatter, like it had been a weight she’d long grown tired of bearing. I took mine off as well, running a hand through my hair, loosening the knot holding it in place.
Gods, that felt good.
“You probably think I’m a spoiled brat,” she said, watching me through the fringe of silver lashes that framed her impossibly dark, obsidian eyes.
“I don’t think anything, Princess,” I replied, voice flat. “I don’t know you.”
Her smile curved like a scythe. “Then allow me to remedy that.”
She prowled to the far side of the table, her movements graceful, feline, too controlled.
“I’ll be transparent,” she said, one hand pressing against the table’s edge.
“I know the role I’m meant to play. I am a pawn to my great-grandfather.
A diplomatic offering, nothing more. Still, I love Verrindor.
I love my people, my family. My friends.
I have no desire to live in Skadgard, and even less desire to warm the bed of a stranger.
I am being sent to your capital, not unlike a soldier, into political exile dressed in wedding lace. ”
“Then we’re aligned,” I said coolly. “Because I have no desire to offer you my name. Yet here we are.”
“Indeed.” Her expression hardened. “Neither of us can escape our fate. But rest assured, Prince, despite whatever coldness you harbor toward me, I will not be made the fool. Not in the eyes of my court, not in yours.”
She paced slowly. “Royal males have concubines. I expect no different from you. I hope you seek your pleasure elsewhere; in fact, I insist. I only mean to share your bed for the purpose of securing an heir. But your love? That will be mine in the eyes of the world. Only mine.”
I frowned. “What exactly are you asking of me?”
“You’ve marked your captain,” she said. “You’ve given her the sacred touch of your magic. Any fae with a drop of power will be able to scent it on her. Feel it thrumming like a second heartbeat. Your affection. Her claim to your heart.”
My jaw tightened.
“I’ve watched courts turn on their queens for far less,” she went on.
“Your people will not respect me if they believe you don’t.
And I will not allow myself to become another shadow in someone’s story.
Concubines are accepted—they are nothing but faded whispers in dark corridors.
But a lover? A lover is a declaration. A threat.
” Her eyes gleamed. “And I will not allow another female to pose a threat to me in my own court.”
“Sylvi is not my lover.”
“Sylvi,” she repeated softly, almost mockingly. “You speak her name with such fondness, yet claim she’s not your lover?”
“She’s a close friend.”
“Do not insult my intelligence, Prince.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then what do you propose?”
“I’m not demoting her, if that’s what you’re asking of me.”
She drew closer, picking up her crown and turning it lazily between her fingers.
“She may remain your captain, but not in Isenheim. Once the wedding is complete, I want her reassigned outside the city. Perhaps patrolling the Grimvold border or hunting your elusive hrímdreki in the wilds. Quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck where you send her, she just won’t be holding quarters at the palace or anywhere near the capital. ”
“And if I refuse?”
Her head tilted, her expression flattening into something still as death. “Then I guess you’ll find out why they call me the Soulless Princess.”
At her words, the temperature in the tent shifted. The braziers behind her sputtered once, then died out entirely, snuffed like candles in a tomb. A tendril of black smoke curled from her fingertips, whispering into the air like a hissing snake.
The scent of burnt ozone followed.
I stared at her, and that ancient monster coiled inside my core stirred in response. The unseelie magic pulsing in my veins flared. Dark. Cold. Ruthless. I bared my teeth. “I warned you about threatening my captain.”
“Your magic doesn’t scare me, Son of Ice. But mine? That should frighten you.”