The Fallen Princess

Twenty Nine

Zaria stood before the mirror, forcing herself to breathe steadily as River’s soft voice brushed her ear like a warm breeze. “You look stunning.” She managed a smile... thin, brittle, a fragile mask that barely held together.

She had spent the entire afternoon crying in the quiet room she had been moved to… crying until she barely recognized the red-rimmed, swollen girl staring back at her. If not for Mercy’s gentle hands and astonishing skill with powder, she would have been in no condition to face anyone.

“I’ll check on Mercy,” River murmured, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. His touch was gentle, but it made her flinch inside. “Your brother will arrive shortly to escort you to dinner.”

She nodded, though the movement felt mechanical. In her chest, anxiety and sorrow curled like twin serpents, hissing and tightening around her ribs.

A soft knock came moments later. Zakai. Zaria opened the door, and the two siblings walked in silence down the corridor. Zakai didn’t ask a single question because he understood the truth: if he did, her fragile calm would shatter completely.

When they entered the great dining hall, Zaria’s breath caught. She had stayed in the castle for weeks, yet she had never eaten outside the gardens or a private chamber. Tonight was dazzling, overwhelming.

Golden chandeliers dripped with diamonds, each flicker of candlelight scattering fractured rainbows along towering marble pillars. Portraits of ancient rulers stared down from gilded frames as though judging everyone below.

But none of it mattered. Because she saw him. Callen. Sitting at the far end of the table, cloaked in authority and simmering emotion. His gaze struck her like a blade slid cleanly between her ribs.

“It’s alright, Zaria,” Zakai whispered, tugging gently at her arm. Her heart cracked open all over again as she tore her gaze from the man who was by vow, by choice and by soul, her true husband.

“Zaria,” River said warmly, standing to greet her. He stepped past Zakai and pulled out her chair with immaculate courtesy, his smile soft and inviting. She gathered her silk skirts and sat, her voice lost somewhere between devastation and duty.

Murmurs drifted down the table like soft gusts of wind: “This must be the new wife-” “She’s lovelier than I expected-” Their words slid off her. For every breath she drew, her eyes drifted, however briefly, toward Callen. Toward the only man she wanted.

“Zaria,” River said gently, covering her hand with his. “Lady Niall was asking if you are excited to move to the Isles.” She forced a polite smile. “Oh-yes. Thank you for asking.” River patted her hand as though soothing a startled creature. Zaria lowered her gaze to her untouched plate so he wouldn’t see the storm behind her eyes.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite princess.” Crown Prince Christian materialized behind her with a dramatic flourish, robes sweeping, posture theatrical enough to silence several nearby nobles. River stiffened immediately.

“Lord River,” Christian said pleasantly, “would you object if I stole your betrothed for a moment to view the historic paintings? She is like a sister to me, after all.” River glanced not at Christian, but at Callen. confirming this wasn’t a trap.

Christian leaned in, dropping his voice. “We’ll stay in sight.” After a beat, River nodded. Christian offered his arm with the elegance of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “Come, princess. Let me educate you on the allegedly rich cultural heritage of the Western Dragon Kingdom.”

Zaria took his arm gratefully. Once they were just beyond the table, Christian whispered bluntly, “You’re doing a terrible job of pretending you’re fine.” “I’m trying,” she muttered. He shot her a sharp look. “Try harder.”

The sudden edge in his tone startled her, and Christian continued in a low hiss: “Your visible sorrow is a knife in my brother’s heart.” Her breath trembled. Instinctively, she turned to look at Callen... Christian pinched her arm. “Ow!”

“Don’t look at him,” he scolded. “Look at me, little princess.” She reluctantly obeyed. “You and Callen were absurd to do what you did,” Christian whispered fiercely. “Spectacularly stupid. But he is still your first husband. Your true husband. That makes you part of our family now. So do your duty.”

Zaria nodded, chastened. Christian guided her to another painting, a dramatic battle scene he clearly hadn’t bothered to study. “You’re going to a distant land,” he murmured. “New people, new customs, take the opportunity to live a little.

Also, this is the only chance you’ll ever get to sleep with another man. So enjoy it.” Her jaw dropped. “I don’t want to sleep with another man!” Christian raised a brow. “Have you ever been with another man?” She shook her head fervently. “Then how do you know you won’t like it?” he teased.

Despite herself, she smiled. He grinned like he’d accomplished something meaningful. “My point,” he said, voice gentling, “is to embrace this season. It will end. My brother will come for you. And once he does, there is no going back.”

Zaria’s chest loosened, breath finally flowing. “I needed to hear that.” “I know you did,” he replied smugly.

Christian paused, then slipped a small glass vial from his pocket. Zaria reached for it, but he smacked her hand. “Absolutely not.” “What is it?” she hissed. “A contraceptive,” he whispered, eyes darting.

“Elven only. I’ll send it through your brother. Don’t take it if you’re pregnant. Wouldn’t want to harm a little Callen floating around in there.” She flushed violently. “Why does everyone think I’m pregnant?”

“Well… are you?” Christian asked, leaning down to inspect her stomach as though it might spontaneously reveal the truth. “I don’t know,” she admitted, mortified. “How do I tell?” Christian stared. “Does it look like I have experience being pregnant?”

She laughed, an honest, sudden burst of sound and the tension left her shoulders. “I’ll send a healer,” Christian said. “Discreetly.” They walked a few more steps.

“Oh! Hello, my lord,” Christian said brightly when River reappeared. “We were just discussing my family lineage. That portrait is of my great-great-grandfather.” River bowed politely.

“Dinner is being served. Please don’t be much longer.” He Once River walked away, Christian muttered, “See? He likes you. That’s why he’s so easy to manipulate.” Zaria rolled her eyes. “And since we’re siblings now,” Christian added, “you may call me Christian.” She snorted.

“Is that truly your great-great-grandfather?” Christian shrugged. “Do you know what your great-great-grandfather looks like?” “No.” “Neither do I.” She tried and failed to hide her laugh behind her hand. Christian saw it and smiled softly, approving.

He escorted her back to her seat, then glided to his own. Callen’s eyes immediately sliced to Zaria. The moment Christian sat, Callen stabbed him with his fork beneath the tablecloth, sharp enough that Christian yelped.

“What did you say to her?” Callen growled quietly, seeing Zaria’s face visibly lighter, calmer than before. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Christian said smugly, rubbing his leg.

Dinner passed with politeness and emptiness. The elves were kind. Zaria and Zakai answered questions gracefully. But the air around Zaria felt thin, strained, devoid of warmth. Near the end of the meal, Callen rose.

Zaria felt him before she saw him. He approached, each step measured, jaw tight, eyes molten. He tapped her shoulder gently. She turned and her heart leapt painfully.

“I have a gift for you,” he said, voice low. “Consider it… a wedding present.” He grinned mischievously, while River visibly stiffened. “May I see your hand?” Callen asked softly.

Zaria placed her hand in his without hesitation.

Callen fastened a bracelet around her wrist. A delicate band of woven gold, threaded with diamonds that scattered the chandelier’s light. His fingers lingered just a heartbeat too long.

A faint warmth touched her skin, subtle and unmistakable. “I hope you like it,” he murmured, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles. The brush of his lips made her entire body shiver. When he stepped away, she lowered her gaze to the bracelet.

Turning it carefully, her breath caught. The clasp… was melted shut. A mark, not burned into her skin, but forged into gold. A hidden claim. A promise. A bond no one else at the table understood. Zaria’s lips curled into the smallest, secret smile... A wife recognizing the touch of her husband.