The Fallen Princess

Thirty Seven

The viper struck the rim of the woven basket with a vicious c***k, its jaws snapping so close that Christian had to rip his hand back at the very last second. The serpent’s scales shimmered like paint swirled in water, yellow, blood-orange, streaks of red and its hiss slithered through the quiet like a knife drawn from its sheath.

Christian lowered the lid with a strangely gentle touch. “There now,” he murmured, as though soothing a temperamental child. “No need for dramatics.”

Callen watched from across the room, arms folded. “What happens if that thing bites you?” “I die,” Christian replied simply. “Painfully, I’d assume. Sometimes I worry your tutors skipped entire subjects.”

“And sometimes I worry you absorbed all of mine and then a few extra,” Callen muttered. Christian grinned. Lazy, smug, far too pleased with himself. He crossed the room and lifted a slender glass cylinder filled with clear venom that shimmered like a trapped breath of frost.

The scent of it stung Callen’s throat before the vial even touched his palm. “Here,” Christian said, pressing it into Callen’s hand. “This is not for you. You are merely the delivery boy.” Callen held the vial by its stopper, watching the venom inside coil and uncoil. “And I am eternally grateful for that.”

Christian took a thoughtful sip of wine, eyeing him over the rim. “Well? Ask the question that’s been rattling around in your skull for the last hour.” Callen let out a slow breath. “When can I go see Zaria? It’s been too long...”

“Soon.” Christian set his wine aside. “Now my turn, when can I stop f*****g your wife?” “You are not sleeping with my wife,” Callen growled. “You are f*****g Juliana.” “Who is also your wife,” Christian reminded mildly. “Illegal, yes, but still technically true. Though between the two, I certainly prefer to bed the first one.” Callen’s growl deepened, rattling the glass on the table.

Christian lifted a hand lazily. “It’s merely a joke, calm yourself. I’m not intentionally keeping you from her. Father was already suspicious when you vanished for two days during wedding planning. We couldn't risk you flying off again. But now that the celebration has concluded, he’ll be too busy congratulating himself to notice anything.”

Callen grabbed his cloak, belt, and what looked like half the dresser. “Good. Then I’m leaving now.” “Not now.” Christian didn’t even straighten in his chair. “Tonight is her night with the elf lord. I imagine she’s… occupied.”

Callen froze mid-stride. Then turned. “What did you just say?” “They rotate,” Christian replied, swirling his wine as if discussing a dinner menu. “Every third night is his.” Something cold flickered in Callen’s eyes. “Why bring it up?” he snapped. “What is wrong with you?”

Christian’s expression shifted. Still calm, but edged with truth. “You are, dear brother. You are what’s wrong. You never think beyond yourself. You've yet to consider what your choices cost.” Callen stiffened. “I was forced to marry her.”

“And Lyssara was forced to burn because of her tantrum,” Christian shot back, voice sharp enough to cut. For one raw second, pain cracked through his composure. “The woman I love suffered because of that creature. And now I am the one sharing her bed. Not you.”

The words hung between them, heavy as smoke. Callen swallowed. “Christian…” Christian inhaled slowly. His voice softened, though the edge remained. “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?” The silence answered for him.

Christian dragged a hand through his hair, exhaustion settling into his features. “You’re fortunate I’m fond of your little princess,” he said, voice edged with something between warning and resignation. “More fortunate still that she carries your child, my future heir.” His gaze sharpened. “That’s the favor I’m calling in, Callen. That is the only reason I’m helping you… instead of letting you drown.”

He extended his hand. “Give me that back, I’ll do it myself. At least then I’ll know it will be done right.” Callen placed the vial into his palm. Christian tucked it into his jacket and straightened his collar with a slow, irritated pat. “Lord River takes his first wife out for her birthday in four days,” Christian said. “If you can manage patience for once, Zakai will handle the rest.”

He left without another word. For a heartbeat, the silence he left behind was suffocating, thick, crushing. Then something inside Callen finally gave way. The roar tore out of him, raw and ragged, pulled from a place deep and breaking.

In one violent sweep of his arm, everything on the dresser went crashing to the floor. Books hit with heavy, jarring thuds; bottles exploded into sharp bursts of scent and shimmering glass; gold coins scattered across the room, skittering like sparks flung from an angry fire.

Breath tearing through him, he slid to the floor beside the bed and dragged both hands over his face. It took several long moments before he moved again. When he did, his gaze landed on the basket. The damned viper basket Christian had left behind.

Callen stood. Crossed the room. Placed his hand on top of the wicker lid. A sapphire flame unfurled from his palm... clean, bright, controlled. It devoured the basket in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but a neat scatter of ash on the untouched stone. The flame vanished as quickly as it came.

Callen stared at the ashes. He had improved. But not nearly enough to mark Zaria safely. “Four days,” he whispered. “Just four more.” Her absence hollowed him out, left him pacing the edges of his own mind until the ache grew unbearable.

He threw himself into the work of a Knight Commander, patrol logs, inspections, drills... anything that demanded his focus. Work became both a burden and an escape. And somewhere in the middle of it all, he realized Christian had been carrying far more political weight than he’d ever noticed. That, too, had to end.

“Juliana,” he hissed. The name tasted sour. He pushed to his feet and struck the bell for a maid. “Clean this up and then bring me my wife.” If duty demanded he bed her, then he would at least do it safely or perhaps... he could get out of it all together.

After the maid left the room, he opened a drawer and withdrew a vial of pearly-pink liquid... an antifertility tincture, then a vile of thick green liquid... a sedative. Uncorking them with sharp, decisive motions, he poured their contents into a wineglass waiting on the table, watching the liquids mix, swirl and pale.

When Juliana arrived, she was drowning in furs and jewels, perfumed and glittering, like a peacock. “Darling!” she trilled, gliding forward without ever knocking. “You summoned me?” Callen forced a smile, poorly, but she didn’t notice. “Hello, my dear and lovely Juliana,” he managed stiffly.

She straddled his lap without hesitation, dragging her fingers down his chest. He nearly recoiled but caught himself. “Please... join me for a drink.” She didn’t climb off. Instead, she settled against him. Leaning her head onto his chest.

Callen picked her up in his arms and placed her next to him on the settee, forcing a steady breath into his lungs. “I don’t… like people being too close,” he murmured. “Leftover trauma from the South.” It was a terrible lie.

Juliana paused, her eyes narrowing with calculated curiosity. “I heard stories about your time there… stories involving a certain elf princess.” Callen stilled as her fingers trailed up his chest. He caught her hand before she could go any higher, his grip gentle but immovable.

“I won’t deceive you,” he said evenly. “I did keep her in my quarters. But you’re mistaken about one thing.” “Oh?” she breathed, leaning in. “And what is that?” “It wasn’t me who bedded the feisty little thing,” he lied without hesitation. “You’ve had your eyes on the wrong brother.”

Her eyes widened, thoughts racing behind them, calculations shifting rapidly. “Then why,” she pressed, “did you fly to her balcony? Did you think I wouldn’t know? The entire kingdom-” “Juliana,” he cut in, her name dripping with forced sweetness, “some secrets belong to brothers alone.”

Before she could push further, he raised his wineglass. “Let’s talk about us, Juliana” Suspicion lingered, but she sipped her wine. “Since when do you want to talk about us?” she asked. “Since now,” Callen replied smoothly. “I want this marriage to work. Truly.”

He cupped her face gently and her breath hitched. “I plan to take you on a proper honeymoon,” he added. Juliana lit up like a lantern. “Really?” “Yes. A trip to the coast. Invite your friends you can spend your days shopping to your heart’s content. And your nights… you will spend those with me.”

She finished her wine with almost eager delight, setting the empty cup aside. “When?” she asked. “In three days.” “So soon?” “The day cannot come soon enough.” he replied, voice flat but convincingly warm. Juliana rose and tugged him toward the bed. “Then perhaps we should begin practicing now.”

What followed was every man’s nightmare. Her kiss was sloppy and invasive. She shoved him back on the bed, tore open his shirt, dragged her lips down his chest. When her hand reached for the clasp of his trousers- Callen panicked. His hand flew out... too quick, too desperate and struck the back of her neck.

Juliana collapsed, falling limp onto the bedding. Callen staggered back, horrified and relieved all at once. The door opened. “I left the baske-” Christian stepped inside, stopping cold at the sight: Juliana unconscious, Callen half-dressed, shirt torn open.

Christian stared. Callen stared back. “What?” Callen demanded, still wiping his chest. Christian held up both hands. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He glanced toward the corner, where a pile of ash now rested. “You burned my snake,” he observed flatly. “I thought it best.” “I liked that snake.” Christian toed the ash mournfully “I’ll replace it.” Callen muttered, patting his brother’s shoulder.

Callen hesitated, then said quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how this would affect you.” Christian stared for a moment… then smiled; genuine, rare. “It’s alright. Truly.”

Callen gestured to Juliana. “I’ll take responsibility for… that… from now on.” Christian snorted. “What did you even do to her?” “I drugged her... then knocked her out.” Christian sighed. “Why?” Callen looked deeply, profoundly traumatized. “She was… slurping my body.” Christian nodded sympathetically. “Yes. She does that.”