Chapter Thirty-One #2
Elyssara snaps her gaze to Kael, who goes very still beside her. His eyes are fixed on the woman, and his breathing shallows.
“That’s Marin,” he murmurs.
A sharp pang of jealousy sparks through Elyssara’s chest unbidden. Of course she’s beautiful. Of course Maireth’s daughter would look like temptation wrapped in silk. “And who exactly is Marin to you?”
Kael smirks at that, unable to hide his amusement. “We’re about to face the most ruthless monarch in the Known Realms, and that’s what you’re worried about?”
His mouth twitches. “There are about seventeen different ways we could die tonight, and you’re worried that Maireth’s daughter is attractive?”
Elyssara’s eyes only narrow further. “Well?” she snaps severely.
Kael chuckles. “The last time I saw her, I was a child. She’s nothing to me. Only a reminder of what we’re facing. Though I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to hurt her.” He shrugs indifferently.
Elyssara huffs a laugh at that. “Well, that’s lucky for her then. But if her eyes linger a beat too long, I might take you up on the whole hurting her thing.”
Kael chuckles darkly. “Has anyone ever told you to work on your possessiveness, El?”
A gasp slips from her mouth, followed by a laugh. “Oh gods,” she murmurs. “I’ve turned into you.”
“Don’t say that, El. Because the truth is… you’re much much worse.”
She punches him playfully in the shoulder.
“Gods,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.
She can see what he’s doing—joking with her, keeping her relaxed, disarmed.
It’s working, but she doesn’t miss the way he performs, becomes who she needs him to be. Who he needs to show the world.
She relaxes her shoulders, allowing a smile to grace her lips, but the rigidity isn’t completely gone from her body.
Elyssara’s eyes turn back to Marin. She’s still staring. Eyes fixed on Elyssara.
“Don’t react,” Kael murmurs.
Elyssara’s stomach tightens.
Because the woman is not alone.
Standing beside her is another figure—older, stiller, wrapped in dark silk that falls like liquid shadow beneath a draped silver scarf. But it’s not just her gown or her scarf that Elyssara notices—it is the mask that adorns her face. A mask in the shape of a godsdamned wolf.
Maireth.
Silver threads streak through her dark hair, though not a strand sits out of place beneath the intricate pins securing it high above the elegant line of her neck. Time has not softened her beauty. It has sharpened it into severe regality.
Fine lines crease the corners of her eyes and mouth, but they do not age her into softness—they carve her into authority. Into the kind of woman kingdoms learn to fear.
The air of superiority surrounding her makes her identity undeniable.
Poised, unflinching, unmoving.
Even from across the hall, Elyssara understands exactly why Rhaema spoke of her the way she did.
The woman does not move.
Does not fidget.
Does not whisper to the courtiers around her.
Does not even blink.
She simply watches.
Her stillness is deliberate. Controlled so completely it borders on unnatural.
Her face is calm—perfectly composed, perfectly disciplined—yet something about that composure feels deeply unnatural. Like a predator that has learned how to wear the skin of something human.
A wolf, perhaps.
The kind that does not hunt with teeth, but with patience.
If Marin is the blade, Maireth is the hand that wields it.
And the moment Elyssara meets her gaze, she knows with chilling certainty that this woman has been expecting her.
Marin tilts her head slightly. The movement is small. But deliberate. Like everything in here.
Then she leans toward Maireth and murmurs something in her ear.
Maireth’s eyes never leave Elyssara. Not even once. And slowly—the Queen of Caeloria smiles.
“We need to approach her,” Kael murmurs low. “When Maireth meets your gaze, you must approach.”
Elyssara senses something in Kael. Not fear. But protocol. The kind of learned protocol from years of being trained to survive this court.
She nods, looping her arm under Kael’s and lifting her chin. “Then let’s meet the monster that erased my people,” she says, her tone carrying a quiet, lethal certainty.
Kael’s mouth tilts into a wicked smirk. “Remember El: you hold the fate of the realms in your hands, and Maireth knows it. She does not wield power over you.”
Elyssara’s heart beats like a war drum in her chest, and she sucks in a long breath in an attempt to steady it. “Aside from the fact I’m in her court and surrounded by the biggest military presence in the Known Realms? Yeah, she holds no power.”
Kael lets out a small chuckle. “Oh, and she’s a Shadowweave. Don’t forget that.”
A groan rumbles through her chest. “Fucking great. This just keeps getting better,” she mutters, and Kael tugs on her arm.
Unafraid. Unflinching in the face of all this power, wealth, brutality, Elyssara’s legs move. Or at least, that’s what she pretends.
One step.
Another.
Until her feet carry her all the way through the crowd to land a few feet from Maireth and Marin. They have no guard presence directly around them.
Perhaps they don’t need it.
Perhaps they are the weapons.
Or perhaps no one in the Known Realms is stupid enough to attack the Queen of Caeloria in her own court.
Elyssara swallows thickly, shoving down the thoughts.
Maireth does not move. Does not acknowledge them. Does not acknowledge the presence of a king.
Nor does Kael.
He does not bow or address them. Does not treat them as royalty. In fact, his lip lifts into a snarl.
He leans over the table next to them, where cherry blossoms are laid out in intricate designs and patterns. He picks one up, twirling it between his fingers.
“Nice to see your decorations haven’t changed in fifteen years, Maireth. Still trying to convince the world this place is beautiful?” he insults, flicking the cherry blossom away, and letting it fall to the floor in the space between them.
What in the fucking Stars is he doing?
Maireth does not react. She is not offended, not amused, just… neutral. Nothing.
“And your manners have not improved, Kael,” she comments, tone even and bland as if she’s commenting on the weather. “Your father did always rule with a rather… soft hand.”
Kael doesn’t react.
Marin steps forward, an amused sneer playing on her lips. She does not move like an elegant princess. She moves like a challenge personified. “Though your taste is better than your father’s,” she taunts, gesturing her head toward Elyssara.
An insult wrapped in the pretty disguise of a compliment—how original.
Kael does not react. Does not flinch. At least, not on the outside. Through the tether, Elyssara feels the blow land like a cannon ball through stone.
“My taste is impeccable, yes,” Kael agrees, adoring eyes locking on Elyssara.
Maireth inclines her head. “Welcome to Caeloria, Elyssara Dawnmere,” she announces.
A small pause.
“We have been waiting for you to reveal yourself for so long. You have caused us all a great deal of trouble.”
The words sear through her like a brand. Rage rips through her composure in a heartbeat.
Elyssara? Causing them a great deal of trouble?
Steady, my love. The words drift down the tether like a lifeline. She tries to cling to them. Tries to climb onto the raft he offers, but it’s washed away in the rapids of this godsforsaken place.
She lets rage grab her tongue instead.
“The trouble I have caused you is nothing compared to the atrocities you have thrust upon the people of Dravara,” she spits, voice all vicious and venom.
Again, Maireth does not flinch. Her composure is so absolute, she almost appears inert. Statuesque.
A humorless laugh rips from Marin’s throat.
A sound that opposes her obvious beauty.
“I fear your intel has failed you, Elyssara. What part do you believe Caeloria has played in the destruction of your people?” Her voice drips with condescension and disdain.
A war chief laughing at the idiocies of an ill-informed slum rat.
But Elyssara does not cower. Does not back down.
Kael’s hand traces idle circles on her lower back—an anchor in the eye of the storm.
So Elyssara bares her teeth. “You sold toxic resin to Thalmyr to poison my people. To erase the history of Dravara—the history of my family!”
Nearby nobles slow their movements.
Eyes drift to her.
Music slows.
If Maireth is uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. Her face is a mask of neutrality.
“You are mistaken,” she counters. Absolute. Undeniable. “We do not sell any resins to Dravara.”
Liar.
Kael scoffs at that. “I’ve always wondered if you can discern your lies from the truth anymore, Maireth. Manipulation is your kingdom’s delicacy, is it not?”
Marin drops her mask entirely, revealing the full beauty of her face. Luminous skin that gleams under candlelight. Long, slender eyes the shape of crescent moons that draw you in. Stunning. Dangerous. Like lightning in a dense forest.
A blade glints at her thigh through the slit in her dress.
“Says the exiled prince who tricked his Starbound into trusting him so he could hand her over to the devil himself. How does hypocrisy taste on the way out, Kael?” she taunts.
But Elyssara isn’t done.
“Will you also tell me you don’t store the Memory Orbs here for Thalmyr? That the history of my people isn’t held in your vaults?” she snaps.
Maireth smiles. Not wide. Not joyful. No. This is the kind of smile that comes with landing a blow.
“I appreciate your tenacity, Elyssara. Quite refreshing from the games of monarchs who speak in tongues and codes,” Maireth praises, though it doesn’t feel like praise. It feels like a serpent wrapping around her spine and preparing to squeeze.
“We do not store Memory Orbs for Thalmyr. No.” Maireth’s words are finite. Complete. Closed to discussion.
Lies.
Kael barks a humorless laugh. “On that basis, I’m sure you’ll also say you didn’t withhold resources from The Wastes when my father rejected you? That you didn’t push Kiva out to the Outside? We all know you’re brutal, Maireth, but that is only secondary to your pettiness.”