Chapter 30
30
S kylar stood rigid at Arye’s side, her posture perfect despite the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The heavy fabric of her formal attire constricted with each breath, the high collar of her jacket chafing against her neck. Her fingers twitched, longing for the familiar weight of her sword—the sword that now hung at Arye’s hip.
So this was it. Her last day.
The slight elevation near the dais afforded Skylar a measure of privacy. The throne room hummed with barely contained energy, countless hushed conversations setting her teeth on edge. She observed the nobles from across Regalclaw jostling for position. Their faces were masks of practiced indifference, yet their eyes darted about, hungry for any morsel of gossip or advantage.
King Lyinell sat upon the ornate golden throne, his face a mask of regal detachment as he listened to the endless parade of petitioners. But Skylar knew better. She caught the calculating gleam in his gaze, the slight twitch of his fingers against the armrest—telltale signs of his growing impatience that she’d learned to recognize over years of court life. His crown glinted in the afternoon light streaming through the stained-glass windows, casting prismatic shadows across his aging features.
Skylar’s gaze drifted to Arye, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed an agitated rhythm against his thigh. As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned slightly, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The sight made her heart clench painfully.
“How fares your mother?” Arye’s voice was low, barely audible above the hushed conversations of the court.
Skylar hesitated, weighing her words. “She’s well. Recovering her strength.” She swallowed hard. “And Conley… he grows stronger by the day.”
A muscle twitched in Arye’s cheek. “I see.” His gaze met hers, his tone carefully neutral. “And how long do you intend to stay with them?”
The question hung between them, heavy with unspoken implications. Skylar’s stomach churned. “For a while,” she managed. “I’ll be departing with Noire after today’s audiences conclude.”
Arye’s expression darkened. “Running away so soon?”
Before Skylar could formulate a response, a silky voice purred from her left. “Your Grace.” Lady Emma appeared at her elbow, resplendent in a gown of deep purple that showcased her ample cleavage. The cloying scent of roses wafted from her, so strong it nearly made Skylar’s eyes water. “You look positively dour. Surely the company isn’t that unbearable?”
Skylar forced a polite smile, even as her stomach churned with distaste. “Not at all, Lady Emma. I’m merely focused on the proceedings.”
Lady Emma’s high-pitched laugh grated on Skylar’s nerves. “Oh, come now. I’m certain you can spare a moment for idle chatter. I’ve heard the most fascinating rumors about the Princess’s illness…”
Arye’s voice interjected. “Lady Emma.” His eyes narrowed. “I believe the Duke has made his disinterest in gossip quite clear. Perhaps you’d find more willing ears elsewhere.”
Lady Emma’s lips parted in shock, color rising to her cheeks. She bobbed a hasty curtsy and retreated.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
Arye’s features hardened. “Wasn’t it?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Forgive me for not standing idly by while vultures circle.”
The vehemence in his tone caught Skylar off guard. She studied his profile, noting the tightness around his jaw. “Arye,” she began, hesitant. “Is everything alright? You seem… tense.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Tense? No, Sky.” His fingers clenched at his side. “I’m perfectly at ease watching you leave today for who knows how long.”
Skylar recoiled, struggling to maintain her composure. “That’s not fair,” she hissed, her own temper rising. “You know I have responsibilities to my family, to my duchy.”
“And what of your responsibilities here?” Arye demanded. “To the kingdom? To m—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze fixed resolutely ahead.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Skylar felt her bindings getting tighter with every breath, threatening to choke her. “I’ll write,” she offered weakly. “I promise to keep you informed of any developments.”
When Arye didn’t respond, anxiety gripped Skylar, her palms growing slick with sweat. “And of course,” she added hastily, the words tumbling out, “should you or the kingdom have need of me, I’ll return at once. You need only send word.”
Arye finally turned to face her fully, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Careful, Sky.” He leaned in close. “Don’t go giving me ideas. I might start a war just to bring you running back.”
Relief washed over Skylar, so intense it made her knees weak. Before she could stop herself, she bumped her shoulder against his, falling into their familiar pattern of banter. “As if you need any encouragement,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure you’d burn down half the kingdom if you thought it would prevent me from leaving.”
His smile turned predatory. “Only half? You underestimate me, Sky.”
“Sounds like you’ll become a terrible King.” Skylar grinned, despite herself.
Arye leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Stay if you want to put a leash on me,” he murmured. “Someone needs to keep me in check, after all.”
Goosebumps spread across Skylar’s skin, heat creeping up her neck. She looked away, suddenly very aware of the countless eyes upon them.
A hush fell over the court as a new figure approached the throne, his movements fluid and graceful.
Marquis Kaiden Edwards.
Skylar’s breath hitched as she took in his appearance. He was resplendent in a deep blue doublet that accentuated his broad shoulders, his chestnut hair artfully tousled in a way that spoke of careful nonchalance. As he bowed before the King, Skylar couldn’t help but admire the easy confidence with which he carried himself.
“Your Majesty.” The Marquis’s voice echoed across the hall. “I thank you for granting me an audience. It’s an honor to once again stand in the presence of Regalclaw’s esteemed ruler.”
“Rise, Marquis Edwards.” King Lyinell leaned forward, fingers drumming on the armrest. “Your silver tongue is as sharp as ever, I see. Tell me, what brings you to our court after such a long absence? Surely not just to flatter an old King.”
The Marquis straightened, his features settling into a rueful grin. “Wanderlust, Your Majesty. And perhaps a touch of homesickness.” His gaze swept the opulent throne room. “I’ve traveled far and wide, but there’s something about Regalclaw that always calls me back.”
“I see.” The King’s expression grew calculating, assessing. “And I’m sure the recent… upheavals in our kingdom have nothing to do with your timely return.”
Marquis Edwards’s smile didn’t falter, but Skylar noticed a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Your Majesty is as perceptive as ever. I confess, the news of Thorncrest’s aggression did hasten my return. I hoped to offer my services, should they be needed.”
“How convenient,” the King mused, his tone deceptively light. His gaze slid to Skylar. “Duke Anathemark, what do you make of the Marquis’s sudden patriotism?”
Skylar felt the weight of the court’s attention shift to her. She cleared her throat, choosing her words carefully. “The Marquis has always been a loyal subject of Regalclaw, Your Majesty. His experience and connections could prove valuable in these uncertain times.”
King Lyinell’s mouth curled into a cruel smirk, studying Skylar intently. “And I’m sure his sudden interest in the Anathemark family has no connection to your assessment.”
Skylar’s cheeks flushed, while her stomach twisted with dread. “I’m not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”
“No?” The King’s eyes glittered. “Perhaps the Marquis can enlighten us. After all, I hear congratulations may soon be in order.”
Marquis Edwards bowed slightly, his expression carefully neutral. “Your Majesty is too kind. While it’s true that I hope to strengthen the bonds between our houses, nothing has been finalized.”
He turned to Skylar, his voice warm. “Duke Anathemark, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I look forward to the day our families are united.”
Skylar forced a smile, acutely aware of Arye’s presence beside her. “Indeed, Marquis Edwards,” she replied, striving for a tone of polite interest. “It will be a joyous occasion for all.”
King Lyinell’s eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “How delightful,” he said. “Though I must say, Duke Anathemark, I’m surprised you didn’t see fit to inform me of this development yourself. After all, the joining of two such prominent houses is a matter of great importance to the Crown.”
Panic flared in Skylar’s chest, her heart pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it. She maintained her composure through sheer force of will. “Ah, yes,” she said, her mind working furiously. “The Marquis speaks of a cousin of mine. The details are not yet finalized, of course, but we are hopeful for a union in the near future.”
“A cousin?” The King’s voice was silky smooth but concealed a lethal intent. “How curious. I wasn’t aware the Anathemark line had any eligible cousins of suitable rank.”
Skylar felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. “A distant relation, Your Majesty. On my mother’s side.”
She risked a glance at Arye, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the Marquis with an intensity that made her skin prickle with unease.
The King’s gaze shifted back to the Marquis. “And where do your travels take you next, Marquis?”
A hint of excitement crept into Marquis Edwards’s voice. “I plan to remain in Regalclaw for a time, Your Majesty. But I confess, I harbor dreams of visiting Waterdice one day.” He glanced briefly at Skylar before returning to the King. “Perhaps with my future wife and children, if the fates are kind.”
Skylar felt Arye stiffen beside her. She kept her gaze resolutely forward, afraid of what she might see if she met his eyes. Her stomach twisted at Marquis Edwards’s words, nausea welling up inside her. She fought to keep her expression neutral, even as her mind raced with panic. The thought of being tied to this man, of bearing his children, sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the cool air of the throne room.
King Lyinell’s eyebrows rose. “An ambitious destination. I’ve heard tales of its underwater marvels, though I’ve never had the pleasure myself.”
The Marquis nodded enthusiastically. “The stories barely do it justice, Your Majesty. I’ve spoken with merchants who’ve seen it firsthand—entire cities built beneath the waves, protected by ancient magics. It’s said the coral reefs glow with an inner light, and the fish swim in patterns so complex they form living tapestries.”
As Marquis Edwards spoke, Skylar became captivated despite her reservations. There was a passion in his voice, a genuine wonder that was undeniably appealing. She could almost see the underwater kingdom he described, feel the cool embrace of its magical waters.
“You paint quite the picture, Marquis,” Arye cut through the Marquis’s description. “But surely a man of your… experience… must have thoughts on matters closer to home. What’s your take on the current tensions with Thorncrest?”
The Marquis turned to face Arye, his expression growing thoughtful. “A complex situation, Your Highness. Thorncrest’s aggression is concerning, of course, but I believe there may be room for diplomatic solutions.”
Arye’s eyes narrowed. “Diplomatic solutions? After their attempts on my life?”
“Perhaps especially because of that,” Marquis Edwards replied, his tone measured. “Sometimes, when backed into a corner, even the most vicious animal will seek peace rather than risk mutual destruction.”
Skylar watched the exchange with growing unease. There was a dangerous glint in Arye’s eye, a coiled tension in his posture that spoke of barely restrained violence.
“An interesting perspective,” Arye said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And how would you suggest we proceed, Marquis? Extend an olive branch while they sharpen their knives?”
The Marquis remained unperturbed by Arye’s poorly disguised hostility. “Not at all, Your Highness. I would advise we strengthen our defenses, solidify our alliances, and then approach negotiations from a position of unassailable strength. Peace through power, if you will.”
A tense silence fell over the hall. Skylar held her breath, acutely aware of the hungry gazes of countless courtiers eager for any sign of discord.
Finally, Arye nodded, a hint of grudging respect in his expression. “A nuanced approach, Marquis. Perhaps there’s more to you than flowery words and grand adventures after all.”
“You honor me, Your Highness. I look forward to further discussions on the matter, should you desire my input.”
As the Marquis took his leave, Skylar felt torn between relief and regret. She had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the Marquis was not only handsome but intelligent and diplomatic as well. He was indeed a suitable partner; they shared at least a similar sense of diplomacy. Yet the thought of a life with him didn’t feel right.
Her thoughts were interrupted by King Lyinell’s voice, pitched low for Arye’s ears. “A fine match, that Marquis,” he mused. “Uniting the Edwards and Anathemark houses would be quite the coup. Gold and power—a potent combination.”
Skylar’s heart stuttered in her chest, a haunting unease settling in her stomach. She tried to discern Arye’s thoughts, but his face was an impenetrable mask, giving nothing away. She longed to know what he was thinking, to understand the emotions churning behind those storm-gray eyes.
“A ball,” Arye cut in, slicing through the tension.
King Lyinell blinked, caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“We should host a ball,” Arye repeated, his tone brooking no argument. There was a glint in his eye that Skylar recognized—the look he got when formulating a particularly daring battle strategy. “To celebrate our recent victories, to boost morale. To showcase the strength of Regalclaw to our allies and enemies alike.” His gaze flickered briefly to where Marquis Edwards stood, deep in conversation with a group of nobles.
King Lyinell stroked his chin, considering. “An interesting proposal,” he conceded. “When did you have in mind?”
“Next week,” Arye said without hesitation.
A burst of laughter escaped the King before he could stop it, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “My boy, that’s impossible. Even a month would be pushing the limits of what’s feasible.”
Arye’s jaw set stubbornly. “Next month, then.”
King Lyinell studied his son for a while before nodding slowly. “Very well,” he agreed. His gaze shifted to Skylar, a predatory gleam in his eyes that made her feel uncomfortable. “I would love to see the Dowager Duchess Anathemark. It’s been far too long since she graced our court with her presence.”
Skylar struggled to maintain her expression, to suppress the disgust. The memory of her mother’s warnings about the King’s interest flashed through her mind, bringing with it a wave of nausea. “I will let her know, Your Majesty,” she managed, her tone carefully neutral.
As the King turned his attention back to the assembled courtiers, Skylar found herself reeling. What was Arye planning? She wanted to question him, to demand answers, but she knew this wasn’t the time or place. Instead, she stood silently by his side, her mind racing with possibilities and fears. The weight of her impending departure pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her with each passing moment.
As the audience dragged on, Skylar found her gaze drawn again and again to Arye’s profile. The strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his storm-gray eyes, the way his fingers absently traced the hilt of her sword at his hip. Each detail seared itself into her memory, a bittersweet reminder of all she was leaving behind.
When at last the final petitioner was dismissed, Skylar was overcome by a wave of dread. This was it. The end of an era, the close of a chapter in her life she could never revisit. Her entire body ached with the finality of it all.
She turned to Arye, her thoughts heavy with all the things left unsaid between them. But he was already moving, striding purposefully towards the exit. The soft thud of his boots on the marble floor seemed to echo the beating of her heart.
He paused at the threshold, glancing back at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.
“Duke. I expect your letters. Don’t make me come looking for you.”