The First Crown

The Festival

Lilliana

The great hall rang with hammers. Servants strung garlands of early flowers between the beams, petals bright as spilled paint. The Duke stood near the hearth, a goblet in one hand, directing every detail with the precision of a general.

“This festival will remind Lenweil who rules here,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the noise. “I want no man saying the Lockwoods grow weak with grief. There will be tables enough for every family. Barrels tapped, fires lit, meat enough to last until dawn.”

“Yes, Father,” Evelyne said brightly, her hands clasped in delight. She loved spectacles, loved the glitter of attention as much as our father did.

Maren clapped her hands and spun in a circle. “Will there be dancing?”

“Dancing,” Father confirmed, and his mouth almost curved into a smile. “Even for you, little one.”

Maren squealed and ran off to pester the seamstress for ribbons. Evelyne followed, chattering about which gown would catch the most light from the torches.

I stayed where I was until Father’s gaze turned to me.

“And you, Lilliana,” he said, his tone sharpening. “You will wear the green velvet. The one with the gold stitching. Briallen will see your hair properly dressed, and you will wear the sapphires from your mother’s coffer. When you stand beside me tonight, every man in Lenweil will see that the house of Lockwood has not dimmed.”

“Yes, Father,” I murmured, dipping my head though my stomach turned.

He nodded once and turned back to his orders, already dismissing me.

I stood a little apart as the hall filled with noise again servants scurrying, banners unfurling, tables being dragged into place. It should have been comforting, the hum of life and preparation, but it made my chest tight.

A festival meant a crowd. And a crowd meant cover.

Briallen approached quietly, her arms full of linens. “You’re thinking something dangerous,” she murmured.

I didn’t deny it. “If everyone will be outside, watching the dancing, no one will notice if I am gone for a little while.”

Briallen’s lips pressed together. “Lillie—”

“I won’t do anything foolish.” I lowered my voice.

Her brows drew together. “He’ll be on duty. The Duke always doubles the guard for festival nights.”

“Then he’ll have to look at me,” I said, my pulse quickening at the thought.

Briallen sighed, muttering something under her breath about saints and stubborn girls, but she did not forbid me.

Reade,

Tomorrow is the festival. The whole keep will be watching the fires, but I will be watching for you.

I will find a way to see you, even if it is only for a breath, only long enough to know you are real and not just a name on a page.

If you look at me just once it will be enough.

Lilliana

I sealed it quickly, the wax still warm as I pressed it into Briallen’s hand.

Her mouth tightened. “You shouldn’t keep feeding this fire,” she said quietly. “But if you must… then take care. If anyone catches you—”

“They won’t,” I said, more fiercely than I felt. My heart thudded hard enough to shake the words loose.

Morning broke clear and golden. The castle buzzed like a hive: servants running with platters, musicians tuning their lutes, barrels rolled into the yard until the air smelled of malt and spice.

I stood with my sisters at the top of the steps as Father inspected the preparations. His cloak snapped in the breeze, his voice sharp as he corrected a footman about the position of the torches.

He looked at me once, and I schooled my face into polite serenity. I was the jewel. I would shine where he put me until the sun went down, until the crowd was thick enough to hide me.

By the time the sun set, the keep had transformed. Torches blazed along the walls, casting everything in gold. Musicians filled the yard with song, pipes and drums that sent the air thrumming through my bones.

Father stood at the head of the stairs, cloak sweeping behind him, the very image of a man who ruled without question. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd villagers, merchants, farmers, even the poorer tenants who had been allowed through the gates for the feast.

Evelyne shone like a star beside him, her dark hair coiled high, her gown the red of a fox’s pelt. Maren practically danced where she stood, ribbons flying.

“Tonight,” Father declared, “we celebrate Lenweil. We honor those who serve faithfully, who keep the land strong.”

A cheer rose up, echoed by the striking of mugs on tables. Father’s mouth curved just slightly before he gestured for us to follow.

We descended the steps, each daughter in her place. Servants bowed. Children reached out to touch Maren’s skirts as we passed. Evelyne walked with her chin high, drinking in every gaze.

Father stopped before a tall man with graying hair and an air of quiet wealth.

“Lord Ferin,” Father said, his voice warm with approval. “I am glad you accepted my invitation. Allow me to present my eldest, Lady Lilliana.”

Lord Ferin bowed low, his expression polite but assessing. Beside him stood his son tall, broad-shouldered, with a fine-boned face that might have been called handsome if it weren’t so guarded. His hair was pale gold like mine, his eyes a cool gray-blue.

“My lady,” Lord Ferin said, “my son, Corwin.”

Corwin bowed and extended his hand. “Will you grant me the first dance?”

I placed my fingers in his, as etiquette demanded, but my gaze had already wandered past him searching the edges of the crowd.

Searching for storm-blue eyes.

The music struck up and Corwin led me into the dance. His hand at my back was firm, practiced. He was an excellent partner precise, measured, every step placed perfectly. I should have been impressed. But all I could think of was Reade.

I caught sight of him near the outer ring of torches, standing at attention among the guards. His hair glinted like dark copper in the firelight, his jaw set as he scanned the crowd.

Our eyes met for one heartbeat.

My foot missed a step. Corwin caught me, his hand firm at my elbow, steadying me without a word. Heat rushed to my face.

“Forgive me,” I murmured, forcing my gaze back to him though my heart was hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with the dance.

“You dance well,” Corwin said, his voice pleasant, unassuming. “You must have practiced.”

“Yes,” I said, though I could not have repeated a single step we’d just taken. My mind was far from the music, far from the circle of his arm.

The tune ended in a bright flourish. I dipped into a curtsy, grateful for the excuse to pull away. “Thank you for the dance.”

Corwin bowed, offering a mild smile. “Perhaps we might speak later.”

“Of course,” I said automatically.

But even as I said it, my attention had already slipped from him, carried into the torchlit shadows where Reade had disappeared moments before. The press of the crowd seemed to fade, the music a distant echo. All I could think of was finding him just once, just long enough to know he had seen me.

I waited until Evelyne was engaged in conversation with a gaggle of admirers and Maren had been swept into a game with the village children. Then I slipped away, heart hammering. The torches grew sparser near the wall, leaving pools of darkness between them. I found him in one of those pools, exactly where I had hoped he would be.

“Reade,” I whispered.

He turned sharply, as though he had known I was coming. His face was cast half in shadow, but I saw the flash of his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You said I could write. You never said I could not speak to you.”

His jaw clenched. “You could have been seen.”

“I don’t care.”

He stepped closer, enough that I could see the line of his mouth, the faint scar at his temple. “You should care. Do you know what would happen if your father saw us?”

“Yes,” I said. “He would lock me in my room. And still I would find a way to write to you.”

For a long moment he said nothing, only looked at me as though weighing something heavy.