The Fallen Princess

Twenty Eight

“At last, the princess has arrived.” The King’s voice rang merrily through the great hall as Callen, Zakai, and Zaria stepped inside. Callen did not bow. He didn’t so much as incline his head. Every line of his body was drawn tight, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff with a tension so sharp it almost crackled in the air around him.

Zaria, however, sank into a graceful curtsey, movements polished from a lifetime in court. “And this must be your brother… the prince,” the King added, his gaze sliding to Zakai with casual interest. “He renounced his title long ago,” Callen said coolly, not bothering to hide the edge in his tone. “He is not a prince. He is Princess Zaria’s personal knight.”

His attention flicked sideways to Lord River who was watching Zaria with open, measured interest. The kind of interest that made Callen’s molars grind.

River stepped forward with a soft, polite smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess. My name is River Elarion. I am to be your husband.” Zaria’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her throat tightened, the room seeming to tilt for a heartbeat.

She forced her lips into something resembling a smile. “Pleased to meet you,” she managed, the words thin and trembling.

River stood nearly as tall as Callen, with the lithe, effortless elegance of elven kind. Long rich brown hair tucked neatly behind pointed ears, lean strength hidden beneath fitted emerald garments. His amber eyes were warm, touched by sunlight and intelligence.

By every measure she had once thought mattered, he was devastatingly handsome. “I was hoping you might join me for lunch in the garden,” River offered, his voice smooth and courteous.

Zaria instinctively looked at Callen. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. A muscle jumped in his jaw before he gave a small, clipped nod. Permission. Or surrender. She couldn’t tell which hurt more. “Of course,” she murmured, feeling something fracture quietly inside her chest.

River extended his arm. “May my brother escort me?” she asked, voice unsteady, needing Zakai like a lifeline. “Absolutely,” River said gently, lowering his arm. “It would be an honor.” Zakai gave her an encouraging smile. She laid her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own. The pressure of his fingers... solid and familiar, was the only thing keeping her legs from buckling as they followed River through the palace corridors.

The garden was bright with late-morning light, the air cool and fragrant. A small table had been set beneath a trellis of blooming vines, petals tumbling in soft shades of pink and white. Birds chattered in the hedges as if the world were not quietly collapsing around her.

Waiting beside the table stood an elven woman. She was stunning, poised, and warm. Raven-black curls cascaded down her back, framing sun-kissed skin and kind dark eyes. “This is my first wife, Mercy,” River said.

Mercy stood and offered Zaria her hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Princess. I’m grateful to welcome you into our family.”

Family. The word pricked like a thorn. Zaria blinked, startled by the sincerity in Mercy’s expression. No strain. No resentment. No visible flicker of jealousy. Mother never said elves took multiple spouses, she thought numbly. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted us to know.

Zakai caught her eye and gave her a small, steady nod. River pulled out Zaria’s chair with old-world courtesy. She smoothed her dress and sat, spine too straight, hands pressed together in her lap.

“Please, Sir Knight, join us,” River added. Zakai inclined his head and took the seat beside her. “I apologize if this feels too forward,” River said, settling across from them. “What should we call you?” “Zakai,” he replied calmly.

Zaria stared down at the polished tabletop, watching a warped reflection of her own face tremble in the wood’s sheen. Zakai nudged her hand beneath the table, his thumb brushing the side of her palm.

River’s voice gentled. “We understand this is difficult for you, Princess. Both Mercy and I want you to feel comfortable speaking freely. Please, tell us if there is anything we can do to ease your heart.”

Zaria swallowed and gave a faint nod. “Please call me Zaria,” she whispered. “Zaria, then,” River said with a small smile. His gaze moved between the twins, thoughtful. “I’ve been told your upbringing was… very different from ours. If anything here is unfamiliar or troubling, come to me or Mercy. We will guide you.”

A silence loomed, heavy and awkward, so Zakai forced his tongue to move. “How many wives do you have?” he asked bluntly. River’s mouth curved as he reached to brush his fingers over Mercy’s hand.

“Just one. Zaria will be my second. More than that is… too much to manage.” Zaria searched Mercy’s face for resentment, suspicion, anything that might feel familiar in such an arrangement. But Mercy only looked calm. Warm. Curious, even. It unsettled Zaria more than anger would have.

“Is that common among elves?” Zakai pressed. “For those from the Isles, yes,” River replied simply. Zaria cleared her throat. “I understand my brother be able to come with me, is that correct?” she asked, unable to mask the urgency in her tone.

River’s features softened with genuine warmth. “Prince Callen came to me last night with that request, on your behalf,” he said. “I accepted. If it pleases you, I will prepare a place for him within the walls of my estate.”

A small sob clawed up before she could stop it. Zaria clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified as tears spilled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dabbing quickly at her eyes. “It’s alright, my dear,” River said gently. Mercy squeezed his hand and then stood with quiet grace.

“Why don’t I take Zakai to meet the rest of our party,” she suggested, “and you can take Zaria for a stroll?” River nodded. “Only if Zaria is comfortable with that,” he added. She wasn’t. Every part of her wanted Zakai to stay. Wanted Callen. Wanted her old life. Wanted none of this. But she had no say.

She nodded faintly. Zakai squeezed her fingers once more beneath the table. “You’ll be alright, sister,” he murmured, before rising to follow Mercy. Zaria watched him go with a chest that felt one breath away from collapsing.

When they were alone, River offered her a handkerchief. It was soft, embroidered, and faintly scented with something herbal and clean.

“I know you care for him,” he said quietly. Zaria froze, fingers tightening around the cloth. “I’m not angry,” River continued. “These things happen. We will work through it as a family.”

Family. The word made her stomach flip. She felt like laughing and screaming in equal measure.

“Would you break the engagement if I asked you to?” she whispered, hope trembling like a fragile flame. River stopped walking and turned to face her fully. “No, Princess,” he said gently. “I will not.” The fragile flame went out. Her heart sank, heavy and cold.

“But,” he added, “you will come to see this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. Prince Callen also told me you are with child.” His tone softened further. “I want you to know I will care for your child as my own.” Zaria’s breath stuttered. Callen lied… for me. For us.

“Do you already have children?” she asked quietly, brushing past the lie. River’s expression brightened with genuine, proud warmth. “I do. Two daughters... Sophie and Ava.” Despite herself, Zaria smiled; small, wistful, but real.

“How old are they?” “Seven and five,” he said. “You’ll like them, I think. They’re… spirited. Mercy says they get that from me.” Zaria could almost see them, running through garden paths, hair wild, eyes bright. Something eased in her chest.

“Are you well enough to walk a bit farther?” River asked. She nodded. “What do you enjoy doing in your free time?” he asked as they strolled down a trimmed path lined with low hedges and lavender.

“When I lived in the Southern Kingdom,” she said slowly, “Zakai and I spent time at the orphanage. And I liked helping at the temple.” River’s smile warmed. “Then you have a servant’s heart.” “Perhaps a little,” she admitted, lips quirking.

“When you come to the Isles,” he said, “you may pursue whatever brings you meaning. There are temples. Schools. Orphanages. You will not be without purpose… unless you wish it.” A bit of the iron clenching her shoulders loosened.

“I don’t know much about elves,” she confessed. “Everything I know, my mother taught me. Stories mostly.” “Then I will answer any questions you have,” River promised. “And if you like, I can find you a tutor. Our histories are… complicated but beautiful.”

He plucked a tiny blossom from a nearby bush and placed it in her palm. “Thank you,” she whispered, rolling the delicate stem between her fingers. “You and your brother appear to have roots from the Mystic Tribe,” River added after a moment of quiet consideration. Zaria’s head snapped toward him.

“Where is that?” she asked, unable to hide the spark of interest. “In the far north,” he said, clearly pleased to see her curiosity flicker to life. “A harsh land, but extraordinary. Your mother likely carried stories from there.”

“Will I be able to learn more about them in the Isles?” she asked. “Of course,” River said. “I can tell you all I know. And there are books, historians, elders… You do not have to be cut off from where you came from.”

“Yes,” Zaria said softly. “Please. I would like that.” For a fleeting moment, the ache in her chest eased under the weight of possibility.

From a balcony above, Callen watched them. River walking beside her, hands loosely clasped behind his back. Zaria listening, the small flower cradled between her fingers, shoulders still hunched with grief.

Christian came to stand at his side, resting a hand on Callen’s shoulder. “Brother,” he said quietly, “don’t torture yourself.” Callen’s hands clenched around the stone railing. He didn’t answer. Didn’t blink.

“Come inside,” Christian urged, voice softer than usual. “For once in your life, don’t stand here and bleed where everyone can see.” For a long moment, Callen remained rooted, his gaze locked on Zaria as she disappeared behind a wall of flowering vines with the man who would soon take her across the sea.

At last, Callen exhaled a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl and forced himself to turn away. Christian guided him back inside, leaving the garden behind, where petals fell softly over the path Zaria walked with her future.