The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Seventeen

Light spilled across the long table in clean bands, catching on the inlaid maps and stacks of neat parchment. The large windows let winter’s thin sun do the work of brightening the room; Christian liked his war room in full daylight.

Zaria stepped through the doorway; the book’s leather strap snug across her chest. For once, she wasn’t the last to arrive. Christian lounged at the head of the table, boot hooked lazily around the leg of his chair, fingers drumming a slow, careless rhythm against the armrest.

Nothing about his posture looked formal, and yet the entire room still seemed arranged around him, like furniture and air had agreed where their center belonged.

Koen stood at his right, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He inclined his head in greeting as she entered. “Zaria.” She dipped her chin in return. “Koen.” His gaze flicked, just once, to the strap across her chest. “How’s Zephira?”

Zaria hesitated, a small catch she couldn’t quite hide. It was the first time he had asked about her directly. “She’s… well,” Zaria managed. “Sleeping when she should, crying when she feels like it, chewing on anything that comes near her mouth.” Her lips twitched. “Very much alive.”

Something eased in Koen’s face, not soft, exactly, but settled. “Good.” The door opened behind her. Christian’s gaze slid past Zaria’s shoulder, mouth curving. “Speaking of children how is my heir.”

“Stop calling him that.” Callen’s voice came in first, dry and edged, before he stepped fully into the room. Christian’s brows lifted with mock innocence. “What? Heir? Crown prince? Future ruler of all he surveys?”

Zaria let out a small laugh, the sound slipping free before she could pretend otherwise. “He’s walking now,” she cut in. “All on his own. And talking some.” Christian’s attention snapped to her, interest sparking. “Is he?” His grin turned sharp with delight. “What does he call me.”

“Nothing mostly,” Zaria replied, too tired to sugarcoat it. “Once he tried ‘king’ and then immediately demanded bread.” Christian pressed a hand over his heart. “A child after my own image. An heir in more than name.”

Callen moved closer and dropped into a chair, forearms braced on the table as he met Christian’s gaze. “He’s an infant who associates you with food and loud rooms,” he remarked. “That’s not quite the compliment you think it is.”

Christian’s smirk faded at the edges as he looked back at Zaria, eyes sharpening, the laziness in him deliberately reined in. “I heard you paid a price,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for what it took.” The room thinned for a heartbeat.

Zaria inclined her head, the motion small, controlled. “So am I,” she answered quietly. “But I’d rather not—” “Reopen it,” Christian finished, nodding once. “Fair enough.” The door opened again.

Zakai slipped in with his usual quiet efficiency. Aldric followed, a half-step behind, rolling his shoulders as if he’d just come from drills. Callen’s mouth curved. “So Aldric is officially part of your little team of talent now?”

Christian’s grin came back, smug and unbothered. “Oh, he’s much more than that.” He tipped his chin toward Aldric. “Tell them.” Aldric gave an exaggerated sigh, resting a hand over his own chest.

“Apparently, I’m to become Viceroy of the southern human kingdom.” His eyes flashed with humor. “Which is a very fancy way of saying I’ll spend the rest of my life listening to farmers complain about weather and nobles complain about taxes.”

“Someone has to,” Christian drawled. “Preferably someone I can trust not to sell the whole coast for a well-cut coat and a compliment.” “I would at least hold out for a ship,” Aldric countered. “Or two.” Zaria’s lips curved. “Congratulations,” she murmured. “They could do much worse.”

“Thank you, princess,” Aldric replied. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Chairs scraped softly as they moved to sit. Zaria shifted toward the seat at Callen’s right, fingers brushing the back of it but Callen caught her hand and tugged.

Before she could protest, he pulled her, not toward the chair, but into his lap, arranging her there like it was the most obvious place in the world for her to be. Zaria blinked, caught between surprise and a warmth that melted straight through her spine.

She became aware, a heartbeat later, that the room had gone very still. Callen registered it a moment after. “If any of you have an objection,” he remarked, voice mild, “you’re welcome to leave.”

Zakai exhaled, half sigh, half growl. “She’s my sister,” he reminded them. “There are plenty of chairs. All with functioning legs.” “And this one works perfectly well,” Callen countered, tightening his arms just enough to underline the point.

Christian lifted a hand, amusement glinting in his eyes. “As charming as it is to watch territorial dragon instincts in a council chamber, this is still my meeting and my kingdom. Save the nest building for your own room Brother.”

Callen’s only answer was to press a brief kiss to Zaria’s shoulder. Zaria elbowed him lightly, heat prickling at her cheeks. “Behave,” she whispered. “I am,” he murmured into her skin, which did not help.

Christian shook his head once, then let the indulgent edge slip from his tone. “All right. Let’s begin.” They settled. Zaria adjusted her weight until she could sit upright, the book’s spine solid under her hands where she rested it atop her knees.

Christian’s gaze dropped to it, expression sobering fully. “The book,” he prompted. “What have you learned so far?”

Zaria exhaled. “That it’s stubborn,” she muttered. “It doesn’t give information the way a normal text does. Pages stay blank until you focus. And what appears isn’t ordered. Not exactly. It feels… responsive, but not to what I’m looking for. To what it thinks I mean.”

Callen’s chin brushed her shoulder as he angled forward slightly. “She’s having trouble finding the specific instructions for mass unbinding,” he added. “Or anything that looks like a recipe for breaking Gulshan’s blood oaths.”

Koen’s attention sharpened. “It won’t show you what you ask for,” he noted. “It shows you what your intent carries.” Zaria looked over at him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning if you reach for power, it will give you power,” Koen replied. “If you reach for protection, it will show you how to protect. If you reach for revenge, it will open to every tool that has ever been used to make someone pay.” His gaze held hers. “You have to want the right thing, not just the right outcome.”

Christian’s brows lifted. “So we need both the book and the interpreter.” His mouth curved. “Convenient that we already have an expert on dangerous intent standing here.” Koen’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I know how it thinks,” he conceded. “That’s all.”

Zaria brushed her thumb along the book’s worn edge. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to want, then,” she admitted. “Protection? Freedom? The end of Gulshan’s hold? All of it?” “Start with unbinding without collateral damage,” Koen suggested. “Want that. The book should respond.”

Christian tapped his fingers once against the table. “Then perhaps the most sensible course is obvious,” he remarked. “Koen, you and Zaria work on it together.” Zaria nodded without hesitation. “I can use the help.” Koen inclined his head. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Behind her, Callen made a low, discontent sound, barely more than a rumble. “I don’t like the idea of you buried in arcane ink with him for hours.” Zaria reached back, fingers squeezing his forearm. “You also don’t like winter or early mornings,” she murmured. “You’ll survive.”

Christian watched them for a moment, gaze narrowing with wry affection. “Callen.” “What.” “You are a distraction,” Christian observed. “An affectionate, possessive, frankly excessive distraction. If you don’t stop commenting through my briefing, I’m going to have both of you find your own seats.”

Callen’s only response was to hug Zaria closer, chin resting briefly on her shoulder as if to prove the point. Zakai let out a troubled sigh. “You’re insufferable.” “Correct,” Callen replied, unbothered.

Aldric cleared his throat deliberately. “Before we spiral into family therapy,” he interjected, “you mentioned vassal matters, Your Highness.”

Christian huffed out a faint laugh and shifted his focus. “The southern kingdom,” he confirmed. “As of next week, they will be vassals in truth, not just in the way they’ve been behaving for the last year.” Zaria straightened a little, the book momentarily forgotten. “Formalized?”

“Publicly,” Christian answered. “Treaties signed, oaths sworn, banners flown.” His tone turned more thoughtful. “It closes the southern flank. Once they’re officially ours, Gulshan has nowhere to push from that side without risking open conflict with human forces under our banner.”

“Humans can’t match dragons in the air or on land for that matter,” Callen murmured, more commander now than jealous husband. “But they can hold ground once we clear it.”

“Exactly.” Christian nodded. “They can garrison reclaimed towns. Maintain supply lines. Keep watch over refugees. They can feed our armies so we’re not burning our own granaries to march.”

Aldric leaned back, folding his arms loosely. “We’ll keep the roads clear,” he added. “And the ports. No more clever little ‘neutral’ harbors for Gulshan to slip through.” Zakai’s mouth curved. “And the nobles in the south?”

“They get to live,” Christian replied. “And keep their titles, for the most part, so long as they remember who wears the crown.” A pause. “We need their infrastructure. They need our dragons. It’s an equal dependency, even if no one wants to admit it.”

Zaria’s thoughts flicked to the elven refugees being housed here, the way they watched the horizon as if willing the Isles to appear. “And the Isles?” she asked softly. Christian’s gaze flicked to her, then to the map pinned under glass at the center of the table. The chain of islands sat there, small and dark.

“They’re still occupied,” he acknowledged. “But once Gulshan’s hold weakens, those people deserve their home back.” His jaw tightened. “We’ll need the southern ships to help make that possible.”

Zaria lowered her eyes, thumb pressing hard into the book’s cover. The thought of the Isles freed made her chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with missing memories and everything to do with the girl she had been on those islands.

Christian shifted again, eyes narrowing. “On that note,” he continued, “there have been more sightings of red-eyed shifters near the southern ridge. Oath-bound. Traveling in small groups, too disciplined for wandering strays.”

Callen’s posture changed beneath Zaria, all loose warmth gone. “How many.” “Enough that I’m tired of hearing about them,” Christian replied. “Until now, I’ve only sent scouts.” His attention fixed on Callen. “Now that the south is ours on paper, I want knights at that ridge. Not a token watch. A presence.”

“We’ll send a wing,” Callen agreed without hesitation. “Two, staggered. Rotate them so they stay sharp.” The conversation moved through a dozen more small decisions, allocations and names and dates, the kind of work that didn’t glitter but held a kingdom together.

Eventually, Christian leaned back, fingers drumming once more on the chair arm. “That’s enough for today,” he decided. “Aldric, we’ll finalize the treaty language this afternoon. Zaria, Koen, begin working with the book in whatever quiet corner you can tolerate.”

Chairs scraped again as they rose. Zakai and Aldric were the first to leave, trading a brief clasp of forearms before slipping through the door.

Christian glanced at Koen. “Go. Clear the side study and lock it down for the two of you,” he told Koen. “Any text we have on oaths, pull it. Zaria will need it when she starts with the book.” Koen inclined his head. “Understood.”

Only Christian, Callen, and Zaria remained. The room felt bigger and smaller at once. Christian let the silence sit for a heartbeat, then pushed himself to his feet with a sigh more theatrical than weary.

He stepped around the table, coming closer, leaning his hip against the edge as he looked at them. “Do you remember,” he began lightly, “when I told you about a castle I own but never talk about.” Zaria arched a brow. “No.”

“The one involving the sea,” Christian clarified. Zaria blinked. “Lyssara your lover...” Christian’s expression softened in a way it rarely did where anyone could see. “Lyssara,” he echoed. “Yes.”

Callen’s arms tightened around Zaria as understanding began to thread through the air. “You’re thinking of sending the children there.”

“I’m thinking of not leaving my nephew and nieces where Gulshan can reach them if the walls fall,” Christian replied, open, unflinching. “The castle sits in the middle of the sea. Strong winds. The currents are unpleasant even on a good day. It is, frankly, a nightmare even for dragons.”

Zaria’s fingers curled over Callen’s forearm. “And Lyssara lives there.” “She does,” Christian confirmed. “And she knows how to keep things hidden. How to keep things alive.” Zaria’s chest tightened. “Cillian is the heir,” she murmured. “And Zephira…”

“Zephira is bound to an elf who used to work for our enemy,” Christian finished gently. “She is a baby now. She will not stay that way. Children like that draw attention, even without realizing it.” Callen’s jaw went hard. “She’s not a weapon.”

“I know that,” Christian replied, tone firm. “You know that. Gulshan will not care.” His gaze moved between them. “Cillian carries the realm’s future on his back. Zephira carries magic I don’t fully understand. Sophie and Ava have already lost one family to this war.”

Zaria’s eyes stung. Christian’s voice softened, just a fraction. “When the time comes and it will... I want them on that island. With Lyssara. Out of reach.” Zaria’s instinct rose fast and fierce. “The idea of sending them away while we stay and fight...”

“Is unbearable,” Christian agreed quietly. “I know.” His gaze didn’t waver. “But you asked me to be a good king, Zaria. A good king plans for the moment he doesn’t walk back through the door.”

Callen shut his eyes briefly, then opened them again, gold hot and clear. “You’re not dying in this war.” Christian’s mouth curved. “Then think of this as paranoia rather than prophecy.”

Zaria looked down at her hands, at the book resting there, at the faint tremble in her fingers she hadn’t managed to banish since the day it stole River from her. “You’re asking us to choose between fighting with them in reach,” she murmured, “and fighting with them far away.”

“I’m asking you to consider it,” Christian replied. “Earnestly. Not as an insult to your strength. As an act of love toward theirs.” The room went quiet again, the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty so much as overfull.

Zaria lifted her head. “I won’t give you an answer now.” “I didn’t expect you to,” Christian acknowledged. “Think on it. Talk to each other. When the first true strike lands, I’m going to want a decision ready.”

Callen’s arms tightened once more around Zaria’s waist. “We’ll consider it,” he ground out. “That’s all I can promise today.” “That’s enough,” Christian replied. He straightened, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he backed away.

“Rest while you can,” he added. “Train. Read. Love your children. We’ll need all of that intact when the war finally stops pretending it isn’t already here.” He left them then, footsteps fading down the hall.

Zaria sat still in Callen’s lap, the book heavy in her hands, the sea-castle and its distant safety hovering at the edge of her thoughts like a mirage. “I don’t want to send them away,” she whispered. Callen pressed his mouth to her hair. “I know.”

“But I don’t want them here when Gulshan comes,” she added, voice smaller. His arms tightened in answer, holding her as if he could keep every choice at bay for just one more breath. “We’ll find the right moment,” he murmured. “And when we do… we’ll let love, not fear, make the decision.”

Zaria closed her eyes, leaning back into him, and clung to that promise like it was the only solid thing in a world already beginning to shift.