POV: Ravenna
Father insisted on a formal dinner.
Because apparently discovering my mother was murdered and that someone in the palace wanted me dead wasn't enough drama for one week. No, we also needed to sit through an excruciatingly polite meal with the men who'd competed for my hand.
"It's tradition," Father said when I argued. "Edmund leaves tomorrow. He deserves a proper farewell."
"Edmund deserves to go home and forget this nightmare ever happened," I muttered.
"Ravenna." Father's tone was final. "We are doing this."
So here I was, dressed in a formal gown I hated, walking into the private dining hall like I was heading to my execution.
The room was smaller than the great hall but no less formal. Stone walls. Tapestries showing dragons in flight. A long table set with enough silverware to arm a small battalion. Candles everywhere, making everything look warm and intimate in a way that made my skin crawl.
The men were already there.
Edmund stood near the fireplace, looking tired but kind. He smiled when he saw me—genuine, warm, no bitterness. Gods, how was he so good?
Lucien stood by the window, golden hair catching the candlelight. He looked perfect as always. Polished armor replaced by fine clothes. Charming smile firmly in place.
And Theron—
Theron stood slightly apart from the others, stiff in formal attire that looked like it was strangling him. When our eyes met, the hum surged. I saw his shoulders relax fractionally.
At least I wasn't suffering alone.
"Ravenna." Father's voice. He was already seated at the head of the table. "Please."
I took my seat. Theron sat on my right, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Edmund sat across from me. Lucien took the seat across from Theron.
The symmetry was probably intentional. Everything Father did was intentional.
Servants brought the first course—some kind of soup that smelled like herbs and smoke. I picked up my spoon because if I had to be here, I might as well eat.
"Princess Ravenna." Edmund's voice was gentle. "I wanted to congratulate you properly. You and Theron. Solace's choice was clear and beautiful to witness."
I looked up. His eyes were sincere. No resentment. No bitterness. Just—kindness.
"Thank you, Edmund." My voice came out softer than I expected. "That means a great deal."
"You'll be a wonderful queen someday." He smiled. "And Theron is fortunate to have you."
Theron's hand twitched on the table near mine. Like he wanted to take it but couldn't in present company.
"I'm the fortunate one," Theron said quietly.
Edmund raised his wine glass. "To the bonded pair. May your dragons fly together for centuries."
Father and I raised our glasses. After a beat, Lucien did too, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.
We drank.
The soup course passed in relative peace. Servants cleared plates and brought the next course—roasted meat with root vegetables. The smell made my stomach growl despite the tension.
"I must say," Lucien's voice cut through the quiet, smooth as silk, "the Dragon's Choosing was quite surprising."
I went very still.
"Surprising how?" Father asked neutrally.
"Oh, I merely meant that Solace's choice was—unexpected." Lucien cut his meat with precise movements. "A common-born warrior over noble blood. It's not the usual way of things."
The room temperature dropped about ten degrees.
"The bond recognizes worth," Theron said, his voice flat. "Not titles."
"Of course, of course." Lucien's smile widened. "I meant no offense. It's simply—well, being consort requires more than martial skill, doesn't it? Political acumen. Diplomatic training. The ability to navigate court intrigue." He paused delicately. "Family connections."
My hand clenched around my fork so hard I thought it might bend.
"Are you suggesting," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "that Theron is unsuitable?"
"Not at all, Princess." Lucien's eyes met mine. Ice beneath warmth. "I'm simply noting that he has—let us say—a steeper learning curve than some."
"Than you, you mean."
"I would never presume—"
"Solace chose based on worth," I cut him off, my voice sharp as glass. "Not bloodline. She evaluated every candidate and found you lacking in essential qualities." I smiled without warmth. "Clearly, being charming and well-connected isn't enough when your soul is hollow."
Shocked silence.
Edmund's eyes widened. Father's expression was unreadable. Theron's jaw clenched but I saw something like satisfaction flicker in his eyes.
Lucien's mask slipped.
Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see the RAGE underneath. His eyes went cold and merciless and utterly devoid of the charm he'd been wearing like armor.
Then he smoothed it away. Smiled. Laughed lightly.
"You have spirit, Princess. I can see why Solace chose as she did." His voice was pleasant but I heard the edge beneath. "I simply hope Theron is prepared for what lies ahead. Being consort is no easy task."
"He'll manage," I said flatly. "He's survived worse."
The rest of dinner was excruciatingly polite.
Edmund tried to keep conversation flowing with safe topics—harvest reports, trade negotiations, weather patterns. Father participated minimally. Theron was silent, eating methodically like food was fuel and nothing more.
Lucien was all charm again. The rage I'd seen was buried so deep I might have imagined it. But I hadn't. I'd seen the real him—just for a heartbeat—and it was cold and calculating and dangerous.
Finally, mercifully, the meal ended.
"Edmund." Father stood. "I wish you safe travels tomorrow. You have conducted yourself with honor throughout this competition. Cindravale is grateful."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Edmund bowed. He turned to me. "Princess. I hope you find happiness."
"I hope you do too," I said honestly. "You deserve it."
He smiled—sad but genuine—and left.
Lucien lingered.
"Your Majesty, if I might have a word in private—"
"Tomorrow," Father said shortly. "It's late."
"Of course." Lucien bowed. His eyes flicked to me. To Theron. Back to Father. "Tomorrow then."
He left with that same easy grace, like he hadn't just been verbally destroyed at dinner.
The door closed behind him.
"Well," Father said dryly. "That was pleasant."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. The sound was slightly hysterical.
"You defended me." Theron's voice was quiet. He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't read. "Against Lucien."
"He was being an ass."
"He was telling the truth." Theron's jaw tightened. "I don't have political training. I don't have family connections. I don't—"
"You have honor," I cut him off. "You have courage. You have a proven track record of doing the right thing even when it costs you." I met his eyes. "That's worth more than all of Lucien's noble blood and court connections combined."
He stared at me.
"Ravenna is right," Father said, surprising us both. "Noble blood means nothing if the man is hollow inside. You may have a learning curve, Theron, but you have something Lucien will never have"
"What's that?" Theron asked.
"The respect of my daughter." Father's voice was firm. "And eventually, if you continue as you've begun, my respect as well."
Theron looked stunned.
Father nodded to us both and left, leaving us alone in the dining hall.
I turned to Theron. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I expected the judgment. The whispers. But having it said directly to my face—"
"Lucien is threatened by you," I said. "He's used to winning. Used to being the best choice in any room. And Solace chose YOU instead. That's eating him alive."
"He's dangerous," Theron said quietly. "The way he looked at you when you called him hollow—that wasn't just wounded pride. That was real hatred."
"I know." I'd seen it too. "We need to be careful around him."
"We?"
"You think I'm letting you face court politics alone?" I smiled slightly. "We're bonded, remember? Where you go, I go."
Something shifted in his expression. Softened.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For defending me."
"Thank you for being worth defending."
The hum rose between us, warm and steady and right.
For a moment we just stood there, close enough to touch but not touching, while something unspoken passed between us.
Something that felt dangerously like the beginning of real feelings.
I stepped back before I could do something stupid.
"I should go," I said. "It's late."
"Ravenna." His voice stopped me at the door. "For what it's worth—you're wrong about one thing."
"What's that?"
"I'm not the fortunate one." His amber eyes were steady. "You are what I survived for."
My breath caught.
Before I could respond, he was gone.
I stood there alone in the empty dining hall, heart hammering, and wondered how I was supposed to keep my walls up when he said things like THAT.