The Fallen Princess

Twenty

“Your brother stopped by today,” Zaria said when Callen finally returned, closing the door with more force than necessary. “I spoke with him earlier…” he replied, his tone edged with a distinct, sour displeasure.

“I didn’t leave the room-” “you did actually... the guards told me you tried to sneak past them three separate times.” He chuckled, shaking his head as though her stubbornness both impressed and entertained him.

“Zaria, are you miserable here?” She blinked, taken aback. “I just arrived,” she admitted honestly. “I haven’t had time to decide if I’m miserable yet.” She hesitated, then sighed. “But I did hate being locked away in your room all day.”

Callen stepped in behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her back against his chest. “For the first time in my life I feel like I have found something real... something uncomplicated... What if I built you a house in the countryside?” He murmured into the curve of her neck.

“I could renounce my title, and we could live quietly off the land, raising our five children.” “Five!” Zaria laughed, twisting to look up at him. “You truly are a dragon. Greedy.”

“Do you want more?” he asked, unbothered. “I’ll give you as many as you wish.” He nuzzled into her neck, lips brushing her skin in slow, affectionate kisses. “I’m miserable here…” he added under his breath, voice muffled against her.

Before Zaria had a chance to speak, a knock sounded at the door. Callen exhaled sharply and let her go, his expression darkening as he went to answer it. “What do you want?” he snapped, pulling it open.

“Well, hello to you too, brother,” Crown Prince Christian said lightly, strolling in as if he owned the room, a bottle of wine dangling from his fingers. He made his way straight to Zaria and held the bottle out to her.

“We never even drank the last one you brought,” she said, amused, gesturing toward the still-untouched bottle on the small table. “We didn’t, did we,” he mused, stepping closer. With idle boldness, he tilted her chin, turning her head slightly to inspect the fading marks at her throat.

He clicked his tongue as if personally offended. “Don’t touch her,” Callen said sharply, swatting his brother’s hand away. Christian only laughed. “Forgive me for caring,” he replied, amused. He cracked the door to summon a servant. “Glasses,” he requested, then moved to lounge on the settee.

“Did you enjoy the books I left you?” he asked, picking one up and flipping through a few pages.

“They were…” Zaria began, trailing off, suddenly unsure how to describe erotic literature to the man who had loaned it to her without sounding completely improper.

“I know, right?” Christian cut in cheerfully. “I skimmed them on my way to bring them up. My girls recommended them.” His girls, she thought, deciding it was wiser not to ask for details.

“May I?” she asked instead, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please do,” he said graciously as the servant entered, setting down three glasses before withdrawing. Christian uncorked the wine and began pouring. “You don’t have to be so formal, Princess,” he told her. “I promise I have only the best intentions. Tell her, brother.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” Callen said bluntly from near the hearth, where he was stirring the fire with a poker. “Seriously, Callen,” Christian protested, and for once there was a thread of genuine hurt under the theatrics.

“Fine,” Callen muttered, setting the poker aside. He came to sit beside Zaria, so close their thighs brushed. “Just… fine.” Christian sighed dramatically and took a long drink. Zaria smiled faintly between them. Their quarrels reminded her of how she and Zakai bickered; only these two used fewer words and far sharper looks.

She lifted her own glass and took a generous swallow, a small ache of loneliness surfacing despite their company. “What do you want me to say?” Callen asked with a shrug. “He truly can’t be trusted. He says idiotic things just to get a reaction.”

“How else am I supposed to get to gauge someone's character or know what’s going on with you?” Christian shot back. “You never talk to me.” A brief silence dropped like a stone. “I talk to you,” Callen grumbled at last, lifting his glass.

Zaria had to bite down on a smile as he all but gulped the wine. Christian quickly refilled his glass, very generously. “Would you like more?” Christian asked Zaria. She nodded, but before he could reach for the bottle, Callen’s hand shot out.

“I’ll pour it,” he said, snatching the bottle from his brother and filling her glass only halfway. “Don’t drink too much,” he warned. Zaria couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Christian burst into laughter. She nearly choked when she realized what she’d done in front of royalty.

“I apologize,” she began. “Don’t apologize to him,” Callen said at once, setting the bottle down with a dull clink. “You should be apologizing to me.”

“Tell me, Zaria,” Christian cut in smoothly, leaning back, “does my brother ever sit down and talk with you like we did earlier today?” Not interested in becoming a weapon in their sibling spat, Zaria merely took another sip and offered no answer. “Don’t drag her into this,” Callen warned, already deep into his second glass.

“You want teatime Christian? Fine, we'll have teatime. Let us start right now.” Callen leaned forward, expression mock-serious. “How was your day?” he asked, voice dripping sarcasm. Christian let out a genuine laugh. “I have missed you brother,” he said, still chuckling as he topped off Callen’s glass again.

“Speaking of brothers,” Christian went on, glancing at Zaria, “I didn’t know you had a twin as well. I was walking through the knights’ annex today, and I truly thought I saw a goddess. Of course, you’re the only one I know with such unearthly beauty, so I went to greet her… only to discover it was a very beautiful man.”

Zaria choked on her wine, laughing. “Yes, he’s my better half,” she managed once she caught her breath. “I spoke with him briefly,” Christian said, smiling. “It quickly became clear that while you look alike, the two of you are nothing alike.”

“I could say the same for you and your brother,” Zaria replied. The wine had loosened her muscles and eased her nerves; Christian’s easy humor was surprisingly comfortable.

“How was he?” she asked, setting her now-empty glass down. “My brother, I mean.” “He looked well,” Christian replied. “Very serious. Which clearly seems to be your type.” His gaze flicked deliberately toward Callen.

“You could have asked me,” Callen said suddenly. “Asked you what?” Zaria turned to him. “How your brother is doing. I saw him today as well.” “I just haven’t had the chance,” she said, giving him a small, conciliatory smile. “And you complain when I ask about my brother too often.”

“I do not,” Callen scoffed, taking a long, steady swallow of wine. “You do,” she insisted. “You say things like, ‘I’m starting to feel left out,’ or ‘so this is how the spare feels.’” He chuckled despite himself. “Well, neither of you ever asked how I was doing, and I spent the entire journey keeping you out of trouble.”

“You didn’t do a very good job if you ask me,” she teased. “I think I did all right,” he said, leaning toward her, intent on kissing her- Another knock sounded.

Christian brightened. “Ah, another guest and just in time. It was beginning to get awkward. For me, that is. I’m sure the two of you were perfectly comfortable, judging by how close you’re sitting.”

He stood and went to open the door. “Your Highness,” came a woman’s voice. Zaria turned slightly, curiosity flaring. “Please stand,” Christian said lightly. “It feels strange speaking to someone folded in half like that.”

“As you say, Your Highness” she replied, rising. “Now then… what brings you here?” he asked.

“I was sent as a gift,” the woman said. Christian nodded slowly. “Ah. And what a lovely gift you are. Come inside a moment.”

She stepped past him into the room, the lamplight catching on her silk robe. Her hair fell in glossy black ringlets, her skin light but sun-warmed, her golden eyes sharp and assessing. “Well, what do you think, brother?” Christian asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“What a thoughtful gift someone has sent you. I’m sure she cost a pretty coin. Come, sit and have a drink with us.” He guided her toward the sitting area, hand resting lightly at the small of her back.

“Oh, it seems we’re short a glass,” Christian observed. “She can use mine,” Callen said flatly. He tipped the remainder of his wine into his mouth and set the empty glass down with a muted thud.

“Oh, how chivalrous,” Christian said with a grin, settling beside the courtesan. The woman’s gaze slid slowly over Zaria, lingering pointedly where her thigh pressed against Callen’s. “Will you be joining us tonight?” she asked, voice low and honeyed.

“I will not be joining you tonight, my lady, nor in the future,” Zaria answered coolly, unamused at being mistaken for a courtesan again. “She’s not a w***e,” Callen growled. The woman stiffened. “Of course not, Your Highness. I misspoke. Please forgive me.” She bent so low her forehead nearly brushed her knees.

“It’s all right, my dear. Sit up and have a drink,” Christian said smoothly. “Allow me to pour for her,” Zaria offered quietly. She was the only one remotely sober and the only one inclined to be gentle. “Thank you, Princess,” Christian said.

Zaria took up the bottle, poured a modest measure into Callen’s abandoned glass, and handed it to the woman. The courtesan accepted it with practiced grace, fingers elegant, eyes lowered just so. For a moment, silence pooled in the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. The woman sipped delicately; not a trace of her rouge stained the rim.

Callen exhaled wearily. “Get her out,” he said finally. “And for the record, you ruined the tea party.” “What was I supposed to do?” Christian protested. “She was obviously sent by Father. He’s been suspicious since you insisted on keeping…” His gaze flicked pointedly to Zaria.

“I f*****g hate him,” Callen snarled, pushing up from his seat. “To be fair, you didn’t exactly hide it,” Christian said dryly, earning a glacial look. Zaria watched them both thoughtfully. She wasn’t entirely sure of all the threads being pulled behind the scenes, but she could feel, keenly, that her presence had put a knot in a few.

“So. How are we going to fix this?” Christian asked his brother. “You know how I would fix it,” Christian added, a wicked glint in his eyes. He exhaled a breath into his palm, and a small flame flickered to life there. It danced over his skin without burning, an eerie, mesmerizing glow.

“Hmmm?” he hummed, inching the flame closer to the woman. The courtesan’s eyes flicked to the fire, then to Zaria. There was no panic there, only a cool, measuring calculation. “It’s too noisy,” Callen said, glancing briefly at Zaria. “And too messy.”

The woman’s fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. As she moved to set it down, her hand trembled but not with fear, Zaria realized. It was with something else... The glass slipped and shattered across the floor in a bright spray of shards.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Christian said, clicking his tongue. “I-I’ll clean it up,” the woman stammered, dropping to her knees. Zaria’s eyes narrowed as she watched. The woman gathered the fragments with quick, practiced efficiency. Too quick. Too practiced. This wasn’t clumsy panic; it was choreography.

“You could just… well, you know,” Christian muttered under his breath, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Prove to him it’s nothing serious.” “Even if I did,” Callen said tightly, “too much has already been said. And Father needs the reminder that I won’t tolerate his schemes.”

Zaria leaned forward slightly, focusing on the courtesan. As the woman reached for a larger piece of glass, her sleeve slipped back. There, branded faintly into the inside of her wrist, was a mark: a dragon encircled by a ring of coins.

Zaria’s blood turned to ice. It reminded her of the seal of hired killers she’d encountered in the south. “Wait-” Zaria started, pushing to her feet. The courtesan moved faster. In one fluid motion, she palmed a long shard, twisted, and lunged... not at Callen, not at Christian... but straight at Zaria.

Zaria threw herself sideways, tumbling back with the woman. A flash of pain nicked her arm instead of her throat. Callen cursed and reached for the woman, but she avoided his grasp. Christian’s fire flared hot and bright, licking along the woman’s sleeve. She rolled, smothering the flames with ruthless efficiency, and came up on her knees, shard still in hand.

“Your fiancé sends her regards... You had some nerve telling me this girl wasn’t a w***e, Prince of Dragons,” the woman hissed. Zaria scrambled backward, one hand groping blindly behind her. Her fingers collided with something smooth and solid. The broken stem of the glass lying near the table’s edge.

The assassin lunged again. Zaria surged forward, driving the thick stem in her hand up and forward with all her strength. It sank into the woman’s eye with a sickening force. The shard in the assassin’s grip slipped from her fingers. Her body jerked once, then crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

For a stretched heartbeat, the chamber was silent. “Well,” Christian said at last, sounding almost impressed, “this tea party has certainly made a comeback.” Callen crossed the room in three long strides. Zaria was still kneeling where she’d struck, breathing too fast, staring at the body as though it might rise again.

He lifted her easily by the waist and carried her back to the couch, settling with her on his lap. His arms wrapped around her like a shield. Carefully, he took her hand, turning it palm-up. A thin cut marred her skin, a bright line of red.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, tasting the blood, then pressed a soft kiss to the injury, his brows drawn in tight concern. “She was going to kill me,” Zaria said finally, her voice thin and distant. Her gaze flicked to the lifeless body on the floor, then back to him. “And she said it was Juliana…”

“Well, at least we know it wasn’t father who wants you dead,” Christian remarked dryly, lifting his glass and taking a slow drink. “There are schemes in every kingdom, Zaria. Not just the Lewd King’s.”

“So it seems…” she murmured. Her mind still hadn’t fully caught up with what she’d done. Her hand still tingled where Callen held it, warm and steady against the chill creeping through her chest. what she had done.