The Petulant Princess

26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

T he next evening, I felt Adastrus’ wrath.

“I’m not going.”

I ground my teeth, pacing the polished floors of my receiving room. Two maids stood by the door, shrinking to make themselves as small as possible to hide from my anger.

Anderz rubbed the crease in his brow with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have a choice.”

“She’s not going,” I snapped.

“Lady Lyana has no choice, either.”

I bit out a curse, curling my fingers into fists. “This is about the last council meeting, isn’t it?”

“Quite possibly.” He tipped his head toward the maids, a reminder not to speak out of turn.

“Tell me there’s a way out,” I pleaded, resting my palms on the table. “She can beg sick?”

He leaned back, dipping his chin. “I’d have told you if there was.”

“Pig dung!” I slammed my fist. “A pox on his–”

“Princess?” Anderz cut in, raising a brow.

I huffed, tugging at my short hair. This wasn’t right. I could handle my brother. I had a goal in place—his head on a pike.

Lyana wasn’t ready. She just started healing. Her body was as sound as it would ever be, but her mind was only now beginning to regain trust. She bared her soul to me and was finally coming out of her shell. I doubted she would ever fully recover, but this was a start. All her progress might be undone just by her being in the room with Grimm .

“I won't make her go. I’ll sneak her out–”

“She is already being dressed—”

“No!” I spat, storming toward the door. They wouldn’t force this. "I won’t allow it.”

“—under her own strength.”

I froze in my tracks, facing him with a frown. “She’s willing to go?”

“At this rate, she will be presentable long before you are.”

I recoiled as if struck. She was getting ready? On her own? Was she truly prepared to face her tormentor and Grimm? It had only been a few weeks since the incident. It felt too soon.

“We wouldn’t want her to enter the dining hall before her benefactor,” Anderz said carefully—a veiled warning.

I needed to be there when she arrived.

“Counselor Dyre, I beg your leave. I have a dinner to prepare for.” I stormed off to my dressing room, my heart pounding in my chest.

The maids worked quickly, summoning a seamstress to alter the dress. They let it out a bit so I could breathe. The gown, a soft gold and green, evoked a warm summer day. These colors adorned most of my formal attire, a reminder of Togamar, or perhaps the imaginary woman from my hallucination.

They braided the long section of my hair, tucking it under the rest, to create the illusion of length pinned tightly to my head. The scent of lavender oil and fresh linen only churned my nervous stomach. They gave me warm gold slippers embroidered with gems, though no one would see them under the floor-length skirts. Then they slipped a belt around my hips, adorned with peridots and sunstones, tying the dress together.

Sainte vanished only briefly to ready himself. He returned wearing a fine dark tunic decorated with tiny metallic snowflakes that caught the gentle light. His fresh black boots shone with a mirror-like finish. As he strapped on his black leather chest piece, I smirked at the exaggerated muscles formed into the armor. It was but a tease of the true strength beneath.

“Breathe, Your Highness,” a servant urged.

My stare snapped away from my Valahant as he looked up from buckling the clasps. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as the seamstress finished up her task.

He observed me in the reflection of the polished mirror, my gaze purposefully avoiding his. When his focus returned to the buckle he struggled with, I found myself watching him once more.

The man embodied everything a woman could want. His trousers, loose for movement yet snug to reveal the strength in his legs, accentuated his physique. As he moved, his tunic stretched taut over his broad shoulders, seams straining. Large hands fumbled with the smaller buckles of his formal armor .

Impatience gnawed at me as the seamstress tied off the final thread. Without waiting for her approval, I stepped off the fitting stool and strode to Sainte. He glanced up, hesitating when he caught my gaze. I flashed a sly grin and strode close, smacking his hands away from the buckles. As I fiddled with the clasps, I ignored him as he lifted his head to stare down the maids and seamstress.

“That is all.” I jerked my chin in dismissal without taking my eyes off my task.

“Yes, Your Highness,” they muttered and scurried out.

The seamstress lingered, moving at a snail’s pace. I arched a brow at her, challenging her audacity. She cleared her throat and quickened her strides, closing the door behind her.

Sainte grunted as I secured the tiny straps. “I can manage.”

“Maybe I want to help.” I peered at him from beneath my lashes. “You wouldn’t deny a girl wanting to lend a hand, would you?”

His jaw tightened, looking terribly unnerved.

I couldn’t resist. My fingers were there , and he was so serious, almost fearful of my proximity—I had to. There was no other option.

I tickled him.

He flinched, a surprised grunt escaping his lips as my touch danced over the leather, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath, the slight shiver of his reaction. The light filtering through the window caught the snowflakes on his tunic, making them shimmer as he spun out of reach.

A smirk lifted my lip. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“I’m not,” he huffed, tugging at the clasps on the other side of his armor.

“Liar.”

That got his attention. He straightened, eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned.

He took a menacing step closer. “Are you ticklish, Princess? ”

“No. I’m not.” I choked out, then darted off as quickly as my gown would allow, the skirts swishing around my ankles.

“Coward,” he muttered, returning to his buckles.

My smile hurt my cheeks as I neared the hearth. The warmth of the fire danced across the dress, making the gold hues shimmer. It was odd how easily I’d taken to wearing such clothes. I remembered Kelsie attempting to make me wear dresses as a girl, but at some point, I stole the older boys’ trousers and claimed them as my own. They gave me strength, made me an equal among the boys. Kelsie tried to keep me in skirts, but my rebellion, coupled with her busy brood, won out.

I spun, the fabric catching the firelight, feeling both capable and feminine. The luxurious gown felt like armor, a different kind of strength, one that enchanted and empowered me .

Perfect for seducing a certain Valahant.

I turned at the jangle of metal and watched Sainte belt on his sword. His ease and familiarity chipped away at any insecurity I had.

He looked up and caught my gaze, taking a deep breath as if preparing for battle. I crossed the room and placed my warm hand on his cheek. His careful blue eyes watched me, and he swallowed hard.

“You look quite dashing.”

That was the truth. The formal attire made his irises stand out against his tan skin.

He ran his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “That’s not my intent.”

“No?” I murmured, my thumb brushing toward his lips, my eyes trailing down his face.

“I’m naught but an accent to your beauty. A shadow to your flame.”

His heating gaze met mine, and my smile grew.

“A modern poet, you are!” I whispered, stepping closer to close the small gap between our bodies.

He sidestepped, narrowly avoiding me. My heart twisted with rejection, though I laughed at the same time. He was attracted to me. I knew it. His lingering glances, how he held me in bed, tightly yet always rolling away in the night. I hadn’t misjudged him. I felt it in my bones… but he was a man of principle, and for some reason, I was off limits.

A smile tugged on my lip, unbothered, as I made my way to the corridor where he waited. He offered his arm, and I took a slow breath before leaving the relative safety of my rooms.

It didn’t take long before the evening descended into chaos.

We sat at an elongated table on a raised platform at the back of the room, positioned for all eyes to fixate on us. The space below was a medley of tables, a diverse gathering representing regions near and far, engaged in quiet conversations while stealing glances at our elevated setting.

The regent, exploiting my birthright, dragged me and my guest to the head of the table. Lyana, with her gaze downcast, avoided my brother and Grimm, who loomed a few paces away, Sainte beside him.

Before the first course arrived, Adastrus leaned in close, his breath hot in my ear. “I hear you’ve taken pity on the priests.”

My teeth ground together. Not now. I would have his head—but not yet.

“Someone should look after them,” I said, giving him a pointed leer.

He raised a brow, smirking as he swept back his hair with a lazy hand. “That’s the gods’ responsibility, wouldn’t you agree?”

“And whom did the divine entrust with leadership?” I snipped, lip curing with disgust.

“Me?” He feigned innocence, placing a palm over his heart in an air of melodramatics.

“Clearly, you haven't garnered their favor thus far.” I flashed a menacing smile. “I trust the gods will choose who will best care for their people… priests included.”

“Ah, such cunning! You’ve come so far from the little rat you once were.”

My glare sharpened. “I had a remarkable teacher.”

“I’ve done my best, but I suspect you will still fall short of the gods’ expectations.” He snickered a haughty laugh as servants approached with the wine.

Among the spectators, my attention lingered on a woman at a nearby table. Her attire was unsuitable for our climate, a thin dress that hinted at her origins from warmer lands. What truly caught my eye were her ears—elongated and elegantly curled, unlike any I encountered before. Her presence emphasized my limited knowledge of the realms beyond, a reminder of the gaps in my understanding.

Adastrus smiled around his wineglass. “I believe your friend would say I’ve taught her a few things as–”

With a swift motion, I snatched my knife from the table and drove it down, the tip landing far too close to his hand. Grimm shifted, a silent reminder of his watchful presence.

“Careful, brother ,” I hissed, “I might just forego subtlety and opt for a more direct approach.”

“Oh, please do. That would promise an entertaining evening.”

I snarled and yanked my knife from the wooden surface, retreating into my chair with a snarl.

Patience. It was a virtue, one I needed to exercise until the opportune moment arrived. I had to bide my time.

“I’m sure my Valahant would appreciate some action. After all, he was left wanting when Lady Lyana graced my chambers.”

I could do this. As a princess, I had to maintain composure. I could handle my brother’s attempts to provoke me with grace.

“Have the Priests of Togamar voiced their approval of your treatment of him, particularly your disregard for half the ritual?” I clucked my tongue. “Favor of the Gods indeed.”

“The latter part is for lovers.”

My heart faltered .

He took another long drink, then smacked his lips. “The Ritual of Balance requests divine permission to bed your Valahant.” He leaned low to scrutinize my reaction, seeing the sting of my blush. “You still haven’t bedded him?” He turned in his seat, smirking at Sainte. “Gods, man. I know she’s ugly, but have pity on the poor creature!”

And so the evening went.

I pushed my food around the plates, the texture of each dish like sandpaper against my senses, my stomach churning with every word my brother uttered. He shifted his focus away from me, directing his lies and venom toward dignitaries seated at our table. Their expressions ranged from forced smiles to grimaces, enduring his vitriol as I did.

I glanced at the ambassadors and visitors from distant lands, empathizing with their plight. They, like me, were ensnared in this gathering, compelled by duty to endure the regent and his venomous words.

“Is it true that the trade of one’s body is forbidden in your realm?” Adastrus inquired, his tone dripping with disdain as he probed the ambassador from a southwestern kingdom about their stance on prostitution.

I averted my gaze to the bowl of soup before me, its aroma mixing with the sour taste of bile in my mouth.

“It is, Your Highness,” the ambassador responded, his demeanor exuding patience as he clasped his hands over his substantial midsection. “We have abolished the practice of debasing oneself to such depths.”

Adastrus sipped his wine, his words dripping with contempt. “Pity. It’s the final recourse for a woman in society. I say let them spread their legs and take a coin. Right, Lady Lyana?”

That’s it.

A surge of anger swept through me like wildfire, burning away any semblance of restraint. I began to rise from my seat, my hands clenched into fists, ready to confront him.

“Where’s my coin?” Lyana’s voice, barely audible, was sharp as a dagger.

The room fell silent, tension palpable.

My heart plummeted as her words sank in. I stood frozen, hovering above my chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. The carrots in my soup blurred before my eyes, a futile distraction from the harsh reality unfolding before me. I couldn’t protect her here, not in this den of vipers. Any action I took risked setting off a chain reaction of consequences, each more dire than the last. And by the end of it all, I would be thrown into the dungeons to rot.

Or I would be killed.

“Your coin?” Adastrus’ voice remained eerily composed. “Lady, you were a willing participant. Half the castle saw you lie there and enjoy– ”

“Where is my coin, Prince Regent? ” Her face lifted in defiance, anger and resentment brewing in her eyes like a storm at sea. “You made me a promise, one you failed to uphold. Are the rulers of Wynterborne not bound by their oaths?”

“Be sure to get it in writing next time.”

A primal urge to slap him thrummed through my veins. Tradition be damned. Still, I froze when a shadow darkened behind him. Grimm—not focused on me or Sainte, but on Lyana.

“You promised to set him free,” she said.

No. This was not the place.

I rose, ready to intervene for her sake, but she stood firm, meeting my brother’s gaze with unwavering defiance.

“A man’s words in private hold little weight,” he sneered. “Don’t take it too seriously—It’s nothing personal.”

A vicious snarl rumbled from behind, prompting me to turn just as Adastrus’ chair scraped against the dais. On instinct, I stepped away, finding Sainte at my side, his presence a shield.

Grimm, gripping the back of my brother’s seat, brandished his sword, bringing it down in a forceful swing. Adastrus, being no fool, deflected the attack with a deft movement of his dinner knife.

The rest of the world slowed to a crawl, the chaos fading into a distant hum.

Grimm’s strike fell short, lodging into the wooden tabletop. Blood stained my brother’s hand, his face an emotionless mask as he stared up at his Valahant, the one soul that was sworn to protect him. Grimm’s features, once pinched with rage, softened as he staggered, his fingers wrapping around the knife embedded in his gut. He turned to Lyana and gave her a weak smile.

Then he fell.

The abrupt thud echoed through the hall, jolting me to the present. Castle guards rushed to their regent as my gaze shifted to Lyana. Shock and horror plastered her expression, lips parted and eyes wide.

I grabbed her, shattering her horrified daze. She screamed and struggled against me until Sainte intervened. He snared her arm as she clawed and kicked, twisting against his hold, gaze fixed on Grimm’s lifeless body.

Without a word, I stormed out of the hall with Sainte dragging her behind. Her wailing screams echoed in my wake.

Lyana was escorted to her rooms, still reeling from the night’s traumatic events. Once there, she retreated into herself, motionless. I arranged for a calming brew to induce sleep, and after I watched her drink the entire thing, she succumbed to rest.

I sat in my receiving room, my head buried in my hands. Sainte hadn’t budged from his spot in my chambers since we arrived. Though visibly shaken, he managed to mask his turmoil better than Lyana. I couldn’t fathom how long he’d known Grimm, but their bond was evident enough for him to entrust the task of returning me to Wynterborne.

A knock interrupted the heavy silence. Neither of us made a move to answer. When it sounded again, faint and polite, I groaned into my palms.

“Who is it?” My tone carried the weight of my exhaustion and disbelief, a reflection of the chaos that ensued.

“Counselor Dyre.”

“Come in.”

Anderz slowly pushed open the door as Sainte rose from his seat, moving toward the entrance to stand guard. The door clicked shut, leaving an eerie stillness within the castle walls.

“He’s dead?” I forced the question out, needing closure. I had to confront this reality.

“Yes.”

A wave of grief slammed into me, a visceral punch to the gut that doubled me over. He would have never been free, forever bound to my brother’s tyranny. Death, in a twisted sense, was a release—a mercy from the perpetual torment of his existence. But for Lyana, who fought so fiercely to save him, it was a cruel blow—a heartbreaking end to her efforts.

“His body will pass through the fire,” Anderz said, his tone cautious.

Sainte’s reaction was immediate and fierce, snapping me out of my sorrow. Rage radiated from him, his usually calm blue eyes ablaze with fury. “Did the priests sanction this?” he snapped, every word edged with anger.

“They… did not.” Anderz placed a small parchment on the table. “It was the prince regent’s command.”

A growl rumbled in Sainte’s throat, as if the words physically pained him. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword as his nostrils flared—a visible sign he struggled to contain his wrath.

“What does that mean?” I leaned forward, a nagging suspicion that there was a crucial detail I was missing.

“The people of Tilamuik bury their dead, do they not?” Anderz settled into a chair with a sigh.

“They do. Or they’re given a burial at sea.”

“Here, it’s different. The dead are offered to the wolves. An honorable death means the body is left exposed as a tribute to Nothar. A way for the flesh that once housed life to continue serving, even in death. Once the soul has crossed the Veil, the body holds no more purpose. Burial isn’t an option in grounds that are frozen year-round.”

“And burning?” I pressed, swiping at my wet cheeks. “What does that mean?”

Anderz’s gaze held a stoic intensity as he traced the lines of the parchment before him, his golden eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. “When a body’s burned, it’s a disgrace—a curse, if you will. The soul is seen as so worthless, so tainted, that people fear its wickedness might somehow infect the wolves that feed upon it. The body is wasted.”

I threw my hands up. “That’s a bunch of pig’s dung!”

“Wynterians are a religious folk, Princess,” he said, gaze fixed on the parchment.

“What options do we have? Can the Priests of Nothar intervene? Or Togamar? She named the first Valahant, didn’t she?”

“That is where the conundrum lies. It is believed the prince regent moved against his Valahant because their bond was incomplete. The blame for his death would lie squarely on the regent’s shoulders. However, it was Grimm who struck first. They cannot advocate for an honorable funeral when he broke the velebond himself,” he explained, meeting my gaze. “But this could work in your favor. The people will be outraged, the priests unsettled. The temples will echo with–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I spat, fingers clutching and tugging the hair near my scalp. “This isn’t all some political game! He was my friend! Sainte’s friend! There has to be something we can do! What of his family? Does he have a family?!” I demanded, scanning the two of them for answers.

Sainte shook his head, lips pressed tight. “He was an only son, and his parents perished in a Howl.”

“Then we will advocate for him. I’ll speak on his behalf.” My desperate gaze turned on Anderz. “The high court must have a say in this!”

“He was the prince’s Valahant. He has the authority to decide his final rites.”

I cursed and buried my head again. Lyana might not understand, but this was unjust. While I didn’t hold much faith in the gods, if this weighed so heavily on Sainte, it mattered.

“He chose to become the prince’s Valahant to protect Lady Lyana,” Anderz murmured under his breath. “He gave his life when he realized his sacrifice was for naught. Lady Lyana gave her body to save him, yet in the end, she could not. One would wonder how her story ends…”

Frustration boiled inside as I tugged at my hair, feeling the strands between my fingers. I despised this sense of helplessness, unable to act while my friends suffered. I’d been told to wait, to be patient. And I was sick of it.

“I want his heart. ”

“Hmm?” Anderz startled, head jerking back in subtle disarray.

“I don’t care how you get it, or whose hands get dirty. Gods, I’ll cut it out myself if I have to!” I met his wide-eyed stare. “I want his heart.”

The old man studied me, his mind working to comprehend my request and its implications. After a moment of consideration, he nodded his agreement.

“It shall be delivered by morning.”

I heaved a sigh, the weight on my chest easing up just the slightest. Lyana was devout in her beliefs. She might not grasp Wynterian traditions, but she would value this gesture.

Anderz interrupted my thoughts, holding up the parchment with his slender fingers. He tested its weight before speaking, his gilded eyes burned with warning.

“This came for you,” he said, his tone somber. “I intended to wait, but there’s news. The third rite will commence tomorrow.”