Chapter 9 Mentors
Mentors
You know I’m going to break an ankle in these, right?”
“Better a broken ankle than bruised pride. Besides, His Majesty prefers grace,” Marb says cheerfully.
“Then he can wear them,” I mutter.
If Marb hears me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She just continues fussing over my dress and fastening the last hook along the back of my gown.
The rose is still resting on the bedside table. It hasn’t moved or withered in the slightest. It just glows faintly under the morning sun.
“It’s a softer color than yesterday’s,” Marb says, stepping back to inspect me. “You look less like a ghost. Good. Don’t want the others thinking you’re about to faint at the sight of your own reflection.”
“Thanks.”
The gown is a muted seafoam trimmed in silver, delicate at the shoulders and snug at the waist. I can’t decide if I feel like a princess or a prisoner being made presentable. Sighing, I run a comb through my hair before Marb can insist on braiding it.
“Ready?” she asks brightly, wings fluttering behind her like champagne lace.
No. “Yes.”
She opens the door with a flick of her hand. “The others are gathering in the east wing for a castle tour. Keep close, and don’t touch anything that hums.”
“Why would something hum?” I ask, startled.
She grins over her shoulder. “You’ll see.”
The hallway outside is flooded with light as morning pours through stained-glass windows the size of sails, casting colorful patterns across the dark stone floor.
The keep feels different in daylight. Not less haunted, just less honest, as though the shadows that whispered their secrets last night are now hiding behind polished marble and perfumed air.
I spot the other girls gathered near a vine-covered archway. Mariel is chatting with Cassy, who smiles shyly as I approach. Vivian leans against the banister nearby, arms folded. She gives me a look that might be curiosity—or maybe calculation. It’s hard to tell with her.
“Lovely dress,” Cassy says. “Very soft on the eyes. Dainty.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say begrudgingly. Dainty. It’s exactly the kind of thing I could never wear on the ranch; the cattle would have muddied it instantly. It’s as far from practical as clothes can get.
“It was.” Cassy tugs nervously at the hem of her gown.
“Do we really have to wear these?” I say. “I feel like I’m drowning in curtains.”
Vivian rolls her eyes toward a tarnished mirror. “At least yours fits. Mine looks like it was stitched in the dark by fairies with a grudge.”
I stifle a smile—until Seraphina turns, her gaze cutting into mine.
“If the dress offends you, Fireling, perhaps you’re not meant to be here.” Her eyes sweep from my head to my shoes and back again, colder than ever.
I say nothing. I don’t need to; the thorns in my blood speak loudly enough.
Cassy’s eyes dart to mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” I lie.
Mariel gives my arm a soft squeeze. “You don’t have to pretend,” she says, but I know I do.
I only shoot her a smile.
Marb flutters ahead of us. “Right, lovelies, before we start your grand tour, His Majesty insists that you meet your mentors.”
“Mentors?” Vivian echoes. “We’re getting tutors now?”
“Guides,” Marb corrects. “Each of you will be paired with one of the Bound Four, the highest-ranking and most trusted members of his court—your keepers, teachers, and occasional caretakers. They’ll see to it that you don’t die, disgrace yourselves, or destroy anything vital.”
Vivian smirks. “No promises.”
Marb rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. The doors at the end of the corridor swing open with theatrical precision, and four figures step through.
The first to enter moves like sunlight that refuses to be dimmed. To my shock, I recognize Cassian Vale, all glittering grin and dangerous ease. His crimson cloak fans out behind him like a living flame, and his eyes glitter golden.
“Darlings,” he drawls, sweeping into a bow so low that it borders on mockery. “Welcome to Noctyras, where the wine is strong, the magic unpredictable, and the company divine.”
Vivian actually smiles. Seraphina looks like she’s swallowed a lemon.
“Try not to encourage him,” says the woman at his side.
Lyra Vale—his twin, unmistakable in bone and bearing.
She shares his pale hair and fine features, her fair skin dusted with freckles, but where he moves with heat and impulse, she is all composure.
Every motion is deliberate, measured, as though the room bends subtly to her will.
“He collects adoration like coin and spends it even faster.”
Cassian presses a hand to his chest. “Sister, you wound me!”
“You’ll recover quickly,” she murmurs. “You always do.”
The next figure glides forward, her presence both grounding and commanding. “That’s quite enough, Cassian.” It’s Mayverius—Mae. The air seems to bend politely around her, carrying the soft scent of herbs with it. “I believe introductions are in order.”
Marb brightens. “Girls, you’ve met Miss Mae, high attendant of Eldrien. She’ll continue mentoring our Eastern bride—Mariel, that’s you, dear.”
Mae inclines her head toward Mariel. “I look forward to seeing what the forest taught you.” Then she turns to the tall man who’s been standing silently behind her.
Arther Vane. His presence is solid stone compared to Cassian’s gilded chaos. Broad-shouldered, sun-scarred, and dark-haired, his every movement is prudent.
He nods once. “Korran Vale brides, Cassy and Vivian, you’re with me.” Cassy starts at being addressed, but Arther’s voice softens a fraction. “You’ll do fine. Just pay close attention.”
I watch him carefully, noting the hard lines of his jaw, the callouses across his knuckles, the quiet deference when Mae lays a hand on his arm. For all his iron edges, he bends toward her like a tree toward sunlight.
Marb clears her throat dramatically. “Lyra will oversee our noble sisters from Grathmoor, Seraphina and Elena.”
Cassian feigns a swoon. “Ice and ambition. My favorite combination.”
Seraphina arches one perfect brow. “Flattery doesn’t thaw glaciers.”
Cassian grins wider. “Then I suppose my dear sister will enjoy the challenge.”
Marb turns, beaming. “And as for Solmere’s representative…” She pauses, searching for something to call me. “Our Southern flame! You’ll be with Cassian here.”
Cassian’s attention snaps to me like a hawk spotting prey, his sharp golden eyes piercing right through me. “Ah, the sun herself. No wonder the room feels warmer.”
“Perhaps you’re standing too close to your own reflection,” I reply with sickening sweetness.
Lyra’s lips twitch, the ghost of amusement. “Looks like you’ve got a live one, Cass. You’ll regret teasing her, I should think.”
He gives a theatrical sigh. “Perhaps. But isn’t that half the fun?”
Mae steps between them before the banter can escalate. “Enough. They’ve had enough shocks for one lifetime already. Save your theatrics for the ballroom, Cassian.”
Cassian bows again, a mock salute. “As the lady commands.”
Arther’s laughter is brief but genuine. “In six centuries, you’d think he’d have learned.”
Mae’s smile flickers, fond and weary, a secret shared in silence.
Six centuries. The words snag in my chest. He says that so casually, as if time means nothing to them. Six hundred years of this? Of mentoring new brides for a cursed king? My stomach knots. Were they cursed, too? And if so, why?
Cassian’s grin returns, effortless and bright, breaking the tension as if he didn’t just drop a truth older than empires. “Learning is dreadfully overrated.”
Lyra exhales softly. “Wisdom chases you, brother, but you run faster.”
With that, our mentors set off down the eastern corridor, where the walls are lined with towering mirrors. Their tarnished silver reflects us strangely, warping and smearing our silhouettes. One of the mirrors ripples slightly as we pass. I try not to look too closely.
Marb flutters ahead, her voice light and musical. “Right, lovelies, stay together. The keep has a habit of… wandering.”
Beside me, Cassian’s boots click in a lazy rhythm. “Don’t listen to her,” he says with mock solemnity. “Noctyras only eats those who are terribly dull.”
“Then you should be safe,” I mutter.
He grins and leans in conspiratorially, his words only for me. “Ah, Miss Fairchild, already you wound me, too!”
“I detest that name,” I say sharply.
He arches a brow. “Do you? How rude, then, not to share your real one with your charming classmates. Though,” he adds mischievously, “perhaps also wise.”
My stomach twists. “How do you—”
Lyra’s head turns slightly, her piercing gaze finding him. The faintest crease of disapproval etches between her brows.
Cassian only grins wider, unbothered. “Relax, darling. Secrets are currency here. Tell you what—my sister and I will keep yours safely locked away. In exchange for a small favor.”
My pulse stumbles. “A favor?”
“To be named at a later time,” he says smoothly, like a man reciting an old verse.
Lyra exhales, her voice soft but cutting. “Cassian…”
“Oh, come now, sister,” he teases. “It’s a harmless bargain.”
“No bargain is harmless,” she murmurs. “And you know that.”
Bargins. Marb warned me not to make them. Yet here I was, about to make my first.
Their exchange hums with something ancient—older than the keep, older than the curse itself. It ripples through the air, prickling across my skin like static.
I cross my arms. “Why does it matter so much? It’s just a name.”
Both twins turn to me.
Lyra tilts her head. “Names, true names are not just words, child of Solmere. They are doors. Keys. Bindings.”
Cassian’s tone softens, almost reverent. “A true name carries your essence—your past, your power, your truth. Speak it to the wrong ear, and you’ll guide their knife to your throat.”
A chill runs down my spine. “So if someone knows my name, they can control me?”
“Not control,” Cassian corrects. “But influence. Twist. Command. It depends on how the name is used… and who uses it.”