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It’s a stage, where I must play my part.

Stepping forward, I let my shoes do as they’re intended. With soft clacks, I make my way toward Sterling and the flock of brooding hens trying to catch his attention and desire. Heads start to turn. I dip my chin at a few people I recognize before my gaze settles on one of the royal council members. Duchess Breann Farlow’s eyes widen before she gives me an encouraging smile. The grandmotherly woman was kind to me when I first arrived in Tirene and offered to help me when my wings first emerged.

She tracks the gaggle of women I’m approaching, and I manage to return her smile.

Sterling frowns at the man he’s talking to then settles his gaze on me.

“Lady Lark.” His loud, even voice—everything about him—exudes strength and power.

But his eyes? The heat in them as he looks at me takes my breath away.

Desire and satisfaction twist through me, and his eyes stay locked on mine as I approach him.

“Crown Prince Knox.” I bow my head, formal yet not stiff. First impressions mean everything, and my entrance must be perfect.

He grasps my hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Gentlemen, ladies, may I present my betrothed?”

Shock steals the air from my lungs, rendering me temporarily incapable of speech. I gawk at Sterling in disbelief as a strong wave of déjà vu crashes over me.

Did my lover and Tirene’s future king really just announce to a huge crowd that we’re betrothed without consulting me first? Exactly the way his older brother did a short time ago?

With the weight of hundreds of eyes searing my skin, I can’t do much beyond forcing a weak smile and feigning composure.

On the inside, though? I’m seething.

Once we escape these people, I’m so going to kick the prince of Tirene’s royal ass.

ChapterFourteen

Sterling’s arm curls around my waist possessively and tugs me close to his side. His display provokes gasps and a chorus of whispers. Ripples of surprise and envy spread through the room.

My smile remains a mask, painted on to fool the court. Inside my chest, the tempest of confusion and frustration builds.

Did he blurt that announcement out impulsively to shield himself from all the unwanted attention? Because we aren’t actually betrothed…right? Not unless he met my mother for a secret discussion. Or, you know, actually asked me to marry him at some point over the last few days, only I forgot due to some kind of sudden and inexplicable fugue state. Despite being raised in Aclaris, I was never presented at court to swear fealty to the king, so King Xenon’s permission wouldn’t work even if Sterling, in a fit of temporary insanity, decided to fly to an enemy kingdom and petition a man who’d love to see him dead for my hand in marriage.

No. This must be some sort of ploy rather than a binding agreement.

Call me revolutionary, but I believe the woman should get the opportunity to accept or refuse an offer of marriage. It’s her entire life on the line too.

Sterling and I have never discussed marriage before. From day one, our relationship was a secret. First, because Flighthaven forbade student-instructor relationships, and Sterling needed to keep a low profile since he was there under an alias. Then, once we left Flighthaven, King Jasper wanted me for himself to bolster his claim to the throne.

Only recently did circumstances allow us to conduct our relationship out in the open. With the ever-looming threat of the drachen and Sterling’s growing responsibilities following his brother’s death, conversations about our future together haven’t exactly topped our list of priorities.

A true betrothal between us would let me to sleep in his bed every night without the need for secrecy. The very idea zips a thrill through me, one almost strong enough to chase away my doubts over the complicated situation we’ve found ourselves in.

The murmurs grow louder and more disgruntled, blooming into a garden of backhanded compliments and veiled insults.

“Betrothed? I heard she was a political prisoner from Aclaris.” One woman with tight blond curls and a pale pink gown deliberately leaves my title off. “Since she’s supposedly a dragoncaller and may prove useful to Tirene.”

“Dragoncaller?” A lady with flawless ebony skin and a crimson dress that fits her like a glove flutters her lashes innocently as she delivers her insult. “I was told that was simply a rumor.”

Part of me hopes they’ll question my fire magic, too, so I’ll have the chance to set their corsets ablaze.

The gossip continues like these nobles are at a social event rather than court.

Cheeks burning, I stiffen, and Sterling’s grip on my waist tightens.

I want to say something—anything—to stop these obnoxious nobles from prattling on like I’m not standing right here, listening to every disparaging word they say, but I bite my tongue. I refuse to embarrass the prince. Betrothed or not, we’ll hash this out in private.