The Primordial Flame

The dramatic distraction.

I drive my elbow firmly into Vane’s ribs, not caring that he’s armoured beneath his leathers.

"See? I wasn't lying," I murmur beneath my breath, keeping my voice low and fierce so only he catches the raw, unvarnished truth beneath the jest. "I am royalty by blood. But the Guild is my life and my home. These men saved me from brutal torture, put a blade in my hand, and taught me how to survive."

Vane flinches faintly at the strike, but the dark edge in his eyes flickers, softening into something deep, fiercely reverent, and completely struck by the weight of my words. He knows the bloodline beneath the silk, but he knows even better who truly owns my soul.

I don't give him time to answer. I offer Bram and Julian a sharp, resolute nod, shaking out the sweeping folds of the emerald velvet as I step past the sheltering pines.

The assassin dissolves in a heartbeat. The spoiled, imperious sovereign takes her place.

Lifting the heavy hems with regal grace, I march straight toward the massive iron gates of the Sterling estate. The courtyard braziers cast long, flickering shadows over the battlements, and the sharp clink of mercenary armour echoes along the ramparts as the guards spot the lone figure emerging from the dark tree line.

Crossbows immediately pivot in the gloom above, the harsh clank of winches ringing out.

"Hold! Who goes there?" a rough, gravelly voice barks from the gatehouse parapet.

I stop dead in the centre of the frosted drive, tilting my chin up so the golden tiara gleams proudly in the torchlight, my bright blue eyes flashing with theatrical, icy impatience.

"Hello?!" I project my voice across the courtyard, pitching it into a ringing, haughty tone dripping with highborn entitlement. "I am looking for Lord Sterling! You will lower your filthy weapons and open these gates at once!"

A chorus of confused muttering breaks out along the wall, the mercenaries peering down at the shimmering silk and radiant poise of the woman standing alone in the snow.

"Lord Sterling isn't receiving guests, girl," a sneering guard calls down, though none of them dare loose a bolt at someone clearly bearing the marks of the imperial court. "State your business or get off the grounds!"

"My business?" I scoff, placing one hand dramatically on the tight emerald curve of my hip while tossing my fiery curls over my shoulder. "Please announce to the lord of this house that Princess Amelisse has arrived, and I have formally agreed to enter the arrangement of our courtship! Now stop gawking like half-witted swine and let me out of this freezing carriage track!"

The mercenaries on the parapet hesitate, whispering furiously among themselves as they peer down through the gloom. One scratches his stubbled chin, another lowers his crossbow slightly, but the heavy iron portcullis remains obstinately shut.

Every wasted second out here in the open is a second closer to ruining the timing of Vane's perimeter sweep.

My bright blue eyes narrow with razor-sharp fury. I stamp one delicate, leather-clad boot into the frosted mud, letting the heavy emerald velvet snap against the stone with theatrical outrage.

"Need I remind you that you are addressing a Princess?!"

My voice rings out across the courtyard like a silver bell, dripping with imperious, venomous entitlement that echoes off the parapets.

"I have traveled two days through this godforsaken province in cramped coach, my trunk was jostled in the ruts, my skirts are damp, and I am standing in the freezing muck being scrutinised by common, flea-bitten sells-words!"

I march two paces closer to the iron grate, glaring up into the torchlight with absolute, haughty disgust, tapping a single jewelled finger against the tight curve of my hip.

"Now open these gates, or when Julian and I are wed, I will personally ensure every miserable mongrel on this wall is stripped of his wages, flogged, and thrown into the imperial salt mines! I demand to see my future husband at once!"

Above, the captain of the watch turns pale under his grime. A court lady is one thing, a furious royal demanding entry to see the very Lord they have locked out of his own estate is an absolute political minefield. To turn away a princess or loose a bolt would bring an imperial legion crashing down on their heads.

"Gods' teeth, shut her up before she wakes the whole valley," the captain hisses down to his men. "Crank the winch! Get her in the antechamber and fetch Corvus! Tell him Sterling's royal prize just delivered herself right into our laps!"

With a groaning shriek of rusted chains and iron teeth, the heavy gates slowly begin to rise into the stone archway.

The moment the heavy iron spikes clear the ground, two hulking mercenaries in scarred iron plate step through the gatehouse arch. The larger one reaches out with a greasy leather gauntlet, clamping his thick fingers around my bicep to drag me forward.

The instant that rusted leather touches emerald velvet, I unleash pure royal hell.

"Get your hands off of me, you low-life mutts!"

I screech with ear-splitting, aristocratic fury, violently wrenching my arm back and striking his breastplate with my fist.

"I will have your head on a spike at the capital gates! Treason! Absolute treason! Do you have any idea whose blood runs in these veins?! You will pay for this! When Lord Sterling hears how his betrothed was manhandled by common kennel-scum, I will personally watch you hanged from the courtyard gallows!"

The guards flinch under the sheer, unbridled venom in my voice, cursing under their breath as they struggle to corral me through the archway, clearly terrified of leaving a bruise on someone screaming about imperial executions.

Back at the tree line, shrouded in the freezing dark of the pines, Bram leans against the trunk of a massive spruce. A deep, raspy chuckle rumbles in his chest as he watches my emerald skirts violently thrash through the torchlight.

"She's really going full force with this, isn't she?" Bram mutters, shaking his head with grim amusement.

Beside him, Julian looks torn between sheer mortification and utter, wide-eyed awe. His hands are wringing at his chest, his amber eyes darting frantically toward the gate.

"Is she... is she always this dramatic?" Julian whispers, his voice cracking with anxiety.

"She just threatened to hang forty mercenaries in their own courtyard! If Corvus suspects for a fraction of a second that she’s bluffing, they will tear her apart, and she invoked my name as her betrothed!"

Vane doesn't take his eyes off the gate for a heartbeat. His arms are crossed over his chest, his hood drawn low, his twin daggers resting loose against his ribs. A wicked, arrogant smirk tugs at the corner of his scarred lips, thoroughly enjoying every second of the chaos, though beneath the amusement sits a lethal, razor-sharp edge.

"Relax, Sterling," Vane rumbles, his deep baritone dripping with dark confidence and quiet, terrifying possessiveness. "She isn't bluffing. She's giving them a target so loud and obnoxious they won't even think to check the shadows behind her."

The smirk deepens, his eyes flashing with cold, lethal promise as the courtyard gates groan shut behind me.

"She’s playing them like a cheap fiddle," Vane murmurs, pushing off the tree and slipping into the snow with weightless, predatory intent. "Now keep your head down, Lord Sterling. Your 'betrothed' just bought us our window. Bram, watch the perimeter. I’m going over the north wall to meet my girl."

The iron gates slam shut behind me with a bone-jarring rattle of chains, cutting off the chill mountain air.

The two mercenaries practically push me into the grand antechamber of the Sterling estate, though they keep their distance, terrified of another shrieking tirade. The room is vast, high-ceilinged, and lit by smoky tallow torches that cast long, grotesque shadows across the vaulted stone. Once-fine tapestries are slashed, and the air reeks of stale wine, roasted mutton, and unwashed sell-swords.

"Wait here, Your Highness," the guard spits sarcastically, though his eyes dart nervously toward the heavy double doors at the far end. "Corvus is coming."

"I am not waiting on some kennel-master!" I snap back, smoothing down the front of my velvet bodice with ostentatious fury, letting my bright blue eyes flash with imperious disdain.

The heavy doors swing wide, and a man strides in.

He’s broad, scarred, and wrapped in wolf furs over blackened steel plate. His greasy dark hair is slicked back, and a jagged scar splits his lip into a permanent sneer. Corvus. He steps into the torchlight, his dark eyes sweeping over me with crude, calculating hunger, taking in the shimmering emerald velvet, the delicate golden tiara, and the fiery curls cascading down my back.

"Well, well," Corvus draws out, his voice a gravelly scrape. "Sterling's little runaway bird. He told us he had friends in the capital, but I didn't think he was bedding imperial blood. What a magnificent prize just walked through my gates."

"Watch your tongue, you pathetic wretch," I sneer, tilting my chin high, radiating sheer court disgust. "Where is Lord Sterling? And why are the halls of his estate crawling with unwashed brigands?"

Corvus chuckles, a greasy, repulsive sound that rumbles deep in his chest.

"Sterling had some... urgent business away from home, Princess. But lucky for you, I’m the lord of this keep now. And an imperial hostage will fetch ten times the ransom Sterling ever owed us."

He takes a predatory step toward me, reaching out a leather-clad hand to touch my cheek.

"Don't touch me," I hiss, stepping backward with perfect theatrical terror, tripping slightly over my heavy skirts so that I stumble back toward the darkened corridor leading toward the servant passages. "Stay away from me!"

"Put her in the holding room beneath the high solar," Corvus orders, waving a hand toward his two men with an arrogant laugh. "Guard the door.

Once I’ve secured the valley courier, I’ll come pay our royal guest a proper visit."

The guards flank me, roughly shoving me down the long, dim corridor toward the lower holding room. They think they’ve cornered a terrified, defenceless doll.

The moment the heavy wooden door of the holding cell groans open and the guards step inside behind me, the room falls out of Corvus's sight.