The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Five

Sunlight was a rarer thing in the castle than most people realized. Not because the sky refused it, today the clouds had finally broken into a pale, washed blue, but because so much of court life happened behind thick stone and velvet-draped windows, in rooms designed to keep secrets more than they kept warmth.

Christian’s new meeting room was different on purpose. It sat high on the eastern wing where morning light could spill in without permission, a long span of tall windows opening the space to the world.

The glass had been set in clean leadwork—new, not ancient—so the panes didn’t warp the view into rippling distortions. Sun pooled across the floor in soft rectangles, warming the patterned rugs and catching on the polished edges of an ornate table that ran through the center like a spine.

Bookshelves lined the walls from waist height to the ceiling, crafted, not merely built. Carved with curling dragon motifs that twisted into vines and then into runes, as if the wood had learned to be both beautiful and watchful.

Some shelves already held volumes, their spines arranged with the tidy precision of someone who believed information was a weapon that deserved respect. Others stood empty, waiting to be filled. A room meant to last. A room meant to be used again.

Christian lounged at the head of the table like it was a throne he’d grown bored of. One elbow rested on the arm of his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his temple, posture half-lazy and wholly in control.

He wore deep, restrained colors today—no crown, no heavy display—just the quiet confidence of a man who could command a room without ever raising his voice.

Koen stood a few paces behind him, near the window where the light stopped just short of reaching. He looked placed there deliberately, a shadow stationed behind the shine, as if he preferred the edge of things.

The line between warmth and cold, between seen and unnoticed. His midnight tunic was immaculate, gold embroidery catching the sun only when he shifted.

His gaze was fixed on the grounds beyond the glass, as if he were reading movement in the distance rather than admiring the view. He didn’t look like an advisor. He looked like a consequence.

Zaria entered with Callen and Zakai at her sides, the three of them moving as a single unit. Her body was stronger than it had been a few weeks ago, but not fully hers yet.

Recovery still lived in her bones: a heaviness in her hips when she climbed stairs, a tenderness that flared if she moved too quickly, exhaustion that arrived without warning like a tide that didn’t care what she was in the middle of.

Ava and Sophie were with their nannies; Zephira and Cillian were across the hall with Fay and a nurse. Zaria had agreed to it only because Fay had met her eyes and promised she’d come running the moment Zephira stirred the wrong way.

Even so, Zaria felt the thread of it. The invisible pull that came from being a mother. Part of her attention always angled toward the next room, toward the soft sounds that might turn urgent.

Callen’s hand brushed the small of her back as they stepped into the light, a familiar contact that grounded her without caging her. Zakai moved in quiet formation, eyes taking in the room—doors, windows, corners—before he allowed himself to relax by a fraction.

Christian’s gaze lifted, brightening with a flicker of satisfaction as he watched them take in the space. “Well?” he drawled, spreading his hand toward the room like a host unveiling a new toy. “What do we think?”

Zaria’s eyes followed the shelves, the light, the long table built for maps and arguments. “It’s… nice,” she said, and meant it. “Warm.” Christian’s smile tilted. “Yes, well. I thought we deserved at least one room that doesn’t feel like a crypt.”

Callen gave the table one glance and looked away, unimpressed by aesthetics. “You didn’t bring us here to admire carpentry.” “No,” Christian agreed easily. “Though you should. It cost me a small fortune, and I intend to get my use out of it.”

Zakai’s mouth twitched, a near-smile that disappeared as fast as it came. He took a seat partway down the table without being told, posture straight and ready.

Callen remained standing for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then pulled out a chair for Zaria before sitting beside her. He positioned himself like a shield without even thinking about it, left shoulder angled toward Christian and Koen, body subtly turned to keep Zaria within reach.

Koen didn’t move. He didn’t sit. He remained near the window, arms loosely folded, gaze drifting once toward Zaria, then to Callen’s hand on the chair arm near her, and away again. Not pleased. Not smug. Merely… taking inventory.

Christian watched all of it with the practiced ease of someone who missed nothing and pretended he missed half on purpose.

“Before you say it,” Christian said, leaning back, “yes. This is the room. The room. The one we’ll use when we need to speak freely and not have ten courtiers pretending they aren’t listening from behind a tapestry.”

Zaria’s fingers tightened lightly around the edge of the table. “So something happened.” Christian’s expression shifted, just enough that the humor thinned. “Yes,” he said. “Something happened.”

Silence gathered, the kind that meant he was choosing his words for impact and not because he lacked them. Christian lifted a thin folio from the table at his side and slid it forward. The papers inside looked fresh, ink still dark, corners still crisp.

“Scouts,” he said. “Missing.” Callen’s jaw tightened. Zaria’s chest tightened with it, instinctively. Christian continued, voice steady. “Not one. Not two. Enough that it is no longer coincidence or incompetence. Enough that we’ve begun to get the same report from multiple outposts.”

Zaria leaned forward before she realized she was doing it. Motherhood fell back, replaced by the old familiar urgency, the part of her that had spent months listening for the first c***k of disaster.

“What report,” she asked, low. Christian tapped the folio. “Red eyes.” The room sharpened. Zaria felt it like a subtle change in temperature, the way air changed before a storm finished deciding to break. Her throat went dry. “Oath-bound,” Callen said, voice flat.

Christian nodded once. “Signs consistent with binding. Movement patterns that don’t make sense unless something is guiding them. Men who should have returned and didn’t. Tracks that circle and circle like the mind inside the body is caught on a command it can’t disobey.”

Zaria’s pulse kicked. “Where.” Christian’s gaze held hers. “Along the outer woodline first. Then closer to the marshlands. And now…” His fingers slid to the bottom page, as if he didn’t enjoy saying the last part. “A sighting on the southern ridge. Close enough to our borders that if Gulshan is testing us, he’s doing it with a smile.”

Callen’s jaw tightened. “We never confirmed a body at the siege.” Christian slid the report forward, tapping the ink once. “And now we’re paying for that uncertainty.” Zaria’s breath caught. “What are you saying.”

Christian’s voice stayed even. “I’m saying the oath bound are appearing with fresh reinforcement. Not lingering residue, active maintenance.” Koen’s tone came quietly from the window. “The bindings aren’t decaying. They’re being tended.”

Callen’s gaze snapped to him, gold brightening. “Don’t pretend certainty.” Koen didn’t flinch. “I’m not pretending. I’m recognizing the shape of it.” His eyes flicked once toward the report, then back. “Someone is issuing commands. And my father is capable of binding oaths.”

“Your father,” Christian repeated, eyes narrowing on Koen. “Voryn.” The name landed heavy. “You’ve mentioned him before.” Christian said, voice controlled. “Yes, that’s why I could only break half the oaths at the siege,” Koen explained “The rest were bound by him.”

Callen’s mouth curled. “There’s always something you’re not telling us.” Koen’s gaze didn’t waver. “I told you what you needed, when you needed it.” A pause, cold and final. “And us being related changes nothing.”

Christian lifted a hand before Callen could bite back. “Enough. We can argue semantics later. For now we operate as if Gulshan is alive because the alternative is worse.”

Zaria forced herself to breathe. She thought of the innocents bound under a command they hadn’t chosen. A curse that turned living people into weapons. “No,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone. “We can’t let that happen.”

Christian’s gaze warmed by a fraction. “Exactly.” Callen’s hand found Zaria’s knee beneath the table, a brief pressure, half comfort, half warning. “You’re not going back to war three weeks after giving birth.”

Zaria looked at him. “I’m not talking about war. I’m talking about stopping it before it swallows more people.” “That’s war,” Callen said, voice low, controlled. “That’s always war.”

Christian leaned forward, interest sharpening. “And that,” he said, “is why we’re here. The binding. The method. The difference between breaking oaths one at a time and breaking a network all at once.”

Zaria’s eyes flicked to Koen. He kept his gaze on the landscape beyond the window, but his shoulders tightened—small, involuntary—as if he’d anticipated this conversation… and hated that he’d been right.