POV Selene
Dawn came too early. I dressed in gray wool and pinned my hair into a severe knot. Across the city, Ari would still be sleeping. I touched the silver ribbon beneath my sleeve and walked to the council chamber.
The room was long and narrow, with high windows. A black table stretched the length of it. Lords in dark velvet sat in high-backed chairs. Casimir sat at the head, reading a document. He did not look up when I entered.
I took the only empty seat, beside an older man with silver hair. “Master Alden. Exchequer.”
“Envoy Selene Ardent.”
“I know who you are.” His voice was not unkind.
Casimir set down his papers. When his gaze reached me, it paused for half a second longer than necessary. “Ormont demands revised levies on timber. Their envoy threatens embargo. Master Alden, present the numbers.”
Alden pulled forward a ledger and began reading figures. Timber yields. Projected harvest rates. Proposed levy increases. The other lords nodded along.
But something was wrong. The levy calculations assumed current harvest rates, but Ormont had severe flooding three months ago. Their timber production would be down at least thirty percent. If Vespera imposed higher levies based on false projections, Ormont would have legitimate grounds to break the treaty.
Should I speak? I was the newest person at this table. But if I stayed silent, the mistake would cost both kingdoms.
Casimir’s gaze cut to me. “Envoy. You have an objection?”
Every head turned. “The projections assume normal harvest rates,” I said carefully. “But Ormont experienced significant flooding in their northern forests three months ago. Their timber yield will be substantially reduced.”
Silence fell. A man across the table leaned forward. Tall and lean, with dark hair swept back from a sharp face. His eyes were predatory. “And where did you obtain this information, Princess?”
“Trade reports from Lysara. We monitor Ormont’s production because we import their oak.”
Casimir leaned back. “Explain the discrepancy.”
I pulled out my ledger. “Ormont reported flooding in five northern districts in late summer. Timber operations were suspended for six weeks. If we impose higher levies, we’re demanding payment for goods they cannot produce.”
I pushed the ledger toward the center. Casimir reached for it and studied it without speaking.
Finally, he looked up. “Correct the figures. Reduce levy. Proceed.”
Relief washed through me. But the predatory man still watched me, measuring. He leaned toward the man beside him and whispered something.
When the council ended, Casimir remained seated.
The last lord closed the door.
Casimir stood and moved around the table, stopping several feet away. “Why did Lysara send you here? You had rank. You had a position at court.”
“I fell out of favor.”
“Why?”
“I made a mistake.”
He took another step closer. I could smell cedar and something darker. His scent was like... but it couldn't be. “You’re hiding something.”
I held his gaze. “Everyone hides something, Majesty.”
His eyes studied my face with intensity. For a moment, something flickered in his expression. Then it was gone. “The welcoming feast begins at eighth bell. Attendance is required.”
The feast that night was held in the great hall. Long tables stretched the length of the room, covered in white linen and silver plate. Casimir sat at the high table with Isolde beside him. She wore ivory silk. Her hand rested on his arm in casual possession.
I sat at a lower table near the back.
A serving girl moved between tables, refilling wine cups. As she reached for a cup near Isolde, her elbow caught a decanter. Wine splashed across Isolde’s ivory sleeve.
The hall went silent.
Isolde looked down at the red stain, then up at the girl. “Clumsy thing.”
The girl went pale. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry—”
“This silk costs more than your life. But I’m merciful. You may keep your position. For now.”
The girl curtsied so low she nearly fell. She backed away, trembling.
After the meal, servants cleared tables. Then Isolde stood and clapped her hands. “A demonstration. Knife throwing. A skill my late father taught me.”
Servants brought out a wooden board. Isolde accepted three silver throwing knives. The first two hit near the center circle. She positioned herself for the third throw. “One more, for luck!”
The blade veered left, missed the board, and embedded itself in the wooden paneling beside a young servant boy holding a tray. The boy screamed and dropped the tray. Glass shattered. The knife had missed his head by inches. He touched his cheek where a shard had cut him. Blood welled down his jaw.
Isolde laughed. “Don’t be dramatic. I missed you.”
The court resumed as if nothing had happened. The boy was led away, still bleeding. I gripped my hands under the table.
During the confusion, a young lord approached. Perhaps twenty-five, with auburn hair. “Princess Selene. I’m Lord Daveth Corwen.” He smiled nervously. “I was asked to give this to you. Discreetly.”
He pressed a wrapped package into my hands beneath the table. Small but heavy. Through the fabric I felt glass vials. “Medicine. For your son. The source is trustworthy.” He stood. “Be careful. This court has teeth.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
I sat frozen. How did anyone know about Ari? I slipped the package under my cloak.
Later, Isolde intercepted me near the doors. “Envoy.” She touched my arm. Her fingers were ice. “Court can be so challenging. So many ways to stumble. Remember, you’re here on sufferance. If you fail in your duties… well. I’d hate to see you discarded.”
She squeezed my arm once, then released me.
Across the hall, I saw her join Lord Kestrel near the tall windows. They stood with their heads close together. Kestrel’s gaze flicked to Lord Corwen, then to me. His eyes narrowed.
I escaped to my quarters and locked the door. I unwrapped the package with unsteady hands.
Inside were six glass vials of clear liquid. Concentrated clotting factors, the label read. Contains trace dragonblood essence. Exactly what Ari needed. Dragonblood—the rarest medicine in the known world. A few drops could knit wounds, restore blood, mend what was broken. But Ari’s condition was chronic. The trace amounts kept him stable but could not cure him.
Tucked between the vials was a small piece of paper. The handwriting was sharp and precise. I recognized it.
For the boy. He will want for nothing. —C.
The king. Casimir had sent this. He knew about Ari. He was protecting us. But why? Maybe he guessed that I was here for my son’s sake and decided to help, or because he didn’t have an heir himself? I should have felt grateful. But gratitude in this place felt dangerous. Nothing came without a price.
I hid the vials in the false bottom of my trunk and burned the note in the fireplace, watching the paper curl and blacken.
The candles on my desk guttered. For a moment the scent of wax and cedar filled the room. It reminded me of another night, another place, where I had felt briefly safe.
I sat on my bed and closed my eyes.
“Do you ever want to run?” I had asked seven years ago.
“Every day,” he had said. His voice was rough with something that sounded like pain.
“From what?”
“Everything. Duty. Expectations. The weight of being who I’m supposed to be instead of who I am.”
We reached a ruined fountain at the edge of the garden, half-hidden by overgrown vines. The water had long since dried up, leaving only cracked stone and shadows.
He sat on the fountain’s edge and pulled me down beside him. Our knees touched. The contact sent warmth through my body, a heat that had nothing to do with the summer night.
“Tell me something true,” he said. “Something you’ve never told anyone.”
“I’m terrified.” The words came out before I could stop them. “That I’ll disappear. That I’ll become just another name in a ledger, another piece moved across a board. That I’ll never matter to anyone.”
His hand tightened around mine. “You matter.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.” He turned toward me, and even in the darkness I could see the intensity in his eyes behind the mask. “Let me see you here tomorrow”
The air between us felt thick. Charged. Like the moment before lightning struck.
“I don’t…,” I whispered.
“Please.” His voice was low. Almost pleading. “Stay with me just a little longer.”