Chapter Four – The Princess Arrives
1032 Words
Chapter Four – The Princess Arrives
The palace was drowning in gold.
Banners fluttered from every tower, crimson and obsidian twined together in a union that felt like mockery. Servants rushed through the halls polishing marble, lighting braziers, scattering rose petals on floors that would be sullied within hours. My council said it was a day of peace. To me, it felt like the sharpening of chains.
I stood before the mirror as attendants draped me in ceremonial robes. Black silk embroidered with dragon fire, a cloak clasped at my throat with a golden fang. The weight of it smothered me.
“Hold still, Your Highness,” one murmured as she fixed the crown into place.
I bit back the urge to tear it off.
Behind me, as always, stood Riven. Silent, armored, his gaze steady in the reflection. He hadn’t spoken to me since the council chamber. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to twist my thoughts into knots.
When the horns sounded, I drew a breath so deep it burned. The gates creaked open, and the procession entered.
Princess Elira of House Varr rode at the front, astride a white steed draped in velvet. Her hair, black as midnight, spilled over jeweled shoulders. Her gown shimmered like spun moonlight, and around her throat coiled a necklace of dragon scalesreal scales, gleaming with iridescent fire.
She was beautiful. Terrible, too. A queen carved from stone and secrets.
I descended the steps as she dismounted. Her eyes met minegreen, sharp, calculating. She curtsied with flawless grace, lips curving into a smile that did not reach her gaze.
“Your Highness,” she said, her voice like silk wrapped around a blade. “At last, we meet.”
“Elira.” I bowed stiffly. “Welcome to my father’s halls.”
Her smile deepened, though something cold flickered beneath it. “They say dragons bow to no one. I suppose I shall see whether that is true.”
Whispers rippled through the courtiers. I forced a polite smile, though my jaw ached. Already, she tested me. Already, she marked the battlefield of our union.
And then her gaze shifted past me, to the figure standing behind.
“Ah,” she said lightly. “And this must be the guard my father insisted upon.”
Riven inclined his head, expression unreadable.
“Elira,” he acknowledged.
For the first time, her smile wavered. Only slightly, but I saw it. A flicker of unease, or annoyance, quickly buried beneath charm.
Interesting.
The feast was a glittering display of excess. Long tables groaned with roasted boar, spiced pheasants, and golden goblets of wine. Music drifted from the minstrels’ corner, a sweet melody masking the venom that filled the room.
I was seated at the high table, of course. Elira is on my right. Riven on my left.
A deliberate choice. A cruel one.
“Tell me, Prince Kael,” Elira said as she delicately lifted her goblet. “Do you welcome this union, or endure it?”
Her voice was soft enough for only those closest to hear, but the steel in her tone was unmistakable.
I forced my lips into a smile. “What ruler would not welcome peace?”
She arched a brow. “Peace built on a leash is no peace at all.”
My hand tightened around my goblet. Her words struck like arrows, aimed not just at me but at the council, at this entire charade.
Before I could reply, Riven’s voice slid between us.
“Some leashes,” he said calmly, “hold back beasts who would otherwise destroy everything in their path. Perhaps peace is not in the leash, but in the strength of the one who wears it.”
Elira’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing. “You presume much, guard.”
He didn’t flinch. “I speak truth.”
Tension rippled across the table like lightning before a storm. Elira’s smile returned, brittle and sharp. She turned back to me, though her eyes lingered on Riven as if he were a thorn she could not pluck.
“You are surrounded by interesting company, my prince,” she murmured.
My pulse thundered. I wanted to lash out, to silence them both, but the words caught in my throat. Trapped between them, I felt the walls of duty closing in.
The feast dragged on, laughter and music clashing with the storm in my chest.
When at last the courtiers dispersed, I slipped from the hall into the shadowed corridors, needing air, needing space. My crown felt like a noose.
Of course, he followed.
“Why did you speak?” I demanded, spinning to face Riven.
“Because she sought to cut you down,” he replied evenly. “And because you let her.”
I bristled. “You will not tell me how to face my bride.”
His gaze held mine, unyielding. “Then face her. Do not cower.”
Anger flared, sharp and blinding. “You think me weak?”
“I think,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “that you don’t yet know how strong you are. And until you do, everyone else will see the cracks.”
I should have struck him. Should have called the guards. Instead, I stood frozen, breath shallow, every nerve burning where his presence pressed against mine.
“Elira will see them,” he continued, his voice low, dangerous. “And she will use them.”
His words sank deep, sharper than any blade. Because I knew he was right.
Before I could reply, he stepped back into the shadows, leaving me alone with my fury, my fear, and the truth I could not yet face.
That night, as the palace slept, I lay awake staring at the dark canopy above.
Elira was beautiful. Clever. Dangerous. She would be my queen.
And yet… when I closed my eyes, it was not her face that haunted me.
It was his.
Riven.
The enemy guard who saw me more clearly than anyone else ever dared.
The chains of duty had tightened around my throat. But gods help me, it was not Elira who made it hard to breathe.
- Writer
