Page 11 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

Nadya shakes her head. “We haven’t even had a moment to breathe. Is it already time to ready ourselves?”

Indira’s lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. “The ball waits for no one, Lady Nadya. I thought all you royals and nobles were taught that punctuality is key.”

I can’t help but admire her. There’s something about Indira that I can’t quite put my finger on, a strength and resilience that I find both intimidating and inspiring. Despite her abruptness, there’s a warmth in her eyes when she looks at us, a hint of protectiveness that makes me feel safe. I guess I hadn’t initially noticed her softer side because I wasn’t expecting it.

But I’ll take my alliances where I can find them.

“I thought the ball was taking place in a few hours. Must we really start getting ready now?”

Indira remains unfazed, her expression unwavering. “Your Highness, there’s still much to be done. You haven’t even bathed yet.”

“All right, then. Where is the bathing room?”

“You have your very own. Follow me.” She leads the way, opening the door to a room almost as big as the one with my bed .

I did wonder why she was bringing my towels to my bedroom. In the Garrison, there’s one bathing room we all have to take turns using. There are a few in the castle, of course, but even when I lived there, I didn’t have my own room for washing up.

Hedera is proving to be a much more elaborate and sophisticated country than Delasurvia, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

The showpiece of the room is a large, porcelain bathtub, gleaming under the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows. It stands proudly in the middle of the room, surrounded by intricate mosaic tiles that depict serene landscapes and mythical creatures. The air is filled with a faint, pleasant scent of lavender and fresh linen.

Indira sets the plush, embroidered towel neatly on a gilded rack. Beside it, an array of delicate glass bottles, filled with fragrant oils and bath salts, line a polished marble countertop. Everything is meticulously clean and well-kept and befitting of royalty. This place is a sanctuary.

She runs my bath, pouring some oils and bath salts into the water. The air fills with steam and the scent of apple blossoms.

“Do you need assistance, Your Highness?” Indira stands near the tub with her hands behind her back, waiting for instructions.

“No, thank you. I can wash myself.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” She dips her head but still does not smile. “Your gown is being brought up presently.”

I wasn’t aware they would be providing a gown for me. I have some things packed, but if I’m honest, I wouldn’t know what I should wear to a ball. The closest I came to having one made was when my brother was engaged, but since the wedding was called off, so was the appointment with the seamstress.

It turns out, a bath was exactly what I needed. I feel much cleaner and rested, and the bath oils in Ivystone make my skin as smooth as silk. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled this good before. I emerge from the steam-filled room wrapped in a warm towel. My damp hair clings to my back, but I don’t mind.

I’m barely dry before Indira and a couple other maidservants usher me toward a corner of my room that is set up for me to be dressed in. I can’t help but feel a sense of trepidation creeping over me. The prospect of dressing in a gown and attending a ball feels foreign and unfamiliar—a far cry from the battlefield to which I’ve grown accustomed. Even when my parents were alive and organized the few balls that took place in Delasurvia, I found a way to get out of attending. My entire childhood was composed of me slipping out of any situation that locked me into the role of a princess. And after my mother passed, balls were a thing of the past.

As the maidservants unveil the gown intended for me to wear to the ball, a wave of awe washes over me. The dress, a masterpiece of silk and satin, shimmers in the soft glow of candlelight, its hues of azure and silver reminiscent of a moonlit sky. Delicate lace adorns the bodice, tracing intricate patterns across the fabric like delicate filigree.

“It’s… It’s beautiful.” I am not accustomed to such finery, and I can’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness in my chest.

Indira’s sharp voice cuts through the moment. “Yes, yes, it’s very nice. But it will look even better when it’s on you.”

Her blunt remarks serve as a stark reminder of the weighty expectations resting upon my shoulders. But as I gaze upon the gown before me, I cannot deny the allure of its beauty, and I find myself drawn to the promise of transformation that it represents.

Indira takes the towel from me, leaving me as naked as the day I was born. I have no time to feel embarrassed, however, because Indira’s efficiency borders on impatience. I steel myself and let the maidservants do their work. Whether I like it or not, tonight I am to play the part of a proper princess—a role I’m not entirely sure I’m prepared for.

The maidservants assist me with my attire, and I find myself taking short, shallow breaths as they tighten the corset around my waist. The familiar sensation of constriction feels oddly reminiscent of preparing for battle, where every movement is calculated and every breath counts. Despite my discomfort, I remain silent, knowing that this is just another aspect of the elaborate dance I must perform as royalty.

As the laces are pulled taut, I can’t help but marvel at the skill with which the women maneuver the fabric, transforming me into something resembling a proper princess. Yet beneath the layers of silk and satin, I feel as though I’m suffocating, trapped within the confines of expectation and tradition. I struggle to draw in a full breath, but the soldier in me won’t allow me to give in.

I will persevere.

Indira tells me to sit at the vanity as she and the maidservants scurry off to retrieve more things to prepare me for the ball. I take my time moving onto the stool, afraid to wrinkle the dress, or worse, rip it.

Nadya’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I watch her reflection as she enters the room. “Someone’s in a hurry.” She shoots Indira an exasperated look. “Stop pushing me.”

“I’m not pushing you,” Indira bites back. “We need to tend to your face.”

“I’m going to tend to your face,” Nadya mumbles, but her expression changes when she spots me. Her eyes widen in admiration, her breath catching in a soft gasp of wonder. “Oh, Celeste, it’s stunning!”

“You look gorgeous!”

Nadya giggles as she twirls in her gown, and I can’t help but smile at the sight. Her dress, though not as lavish as mine, is still elegant in its simplicity. The soft fabric drapes gracefully around her figure, the delicate embroidery adding a touch of charm, and the pale yellow makes a lovely contrast with her dark skin. It’s a subtle yet beautiful choice, fitting for her role as my lady-in-waiting.

A maidservant brings a stool over for Nadya to sit on. While I have full access to the vanity mirror, Nadya sits a bit farther behind. One of the maidservants applies creams and rouge to Nadya’s face, while the others attend to me. I find myself entranced by the meticulous care they bestow upon me. Their nimble fingers weave through my locks, deftly braiding and pinning them into an elegant coiffure fit for a ball. Each strand is treated with reverence, as if they were crafting a masterpiece out of the humble canvas of my hair .

I close my eyes, surrendering myself to their expertise, as they brush and style with gentle precision. The sensation of their hands against my scalp is oddly soothing, a fleeting moment of respite from the chaos that swirls around me. With each stroke of the brush, I feel myself being transformed, shedding the weight of duty and responsibility in favor of the simple pleasure of being pampered.

As they move on to my face, I can’t help but marvel at the array of cosmetics laid out before me. Powders and paints, brushes and creams—all carefully selected to enhance my natural beauty and mask any imperfections. With practiced skill, they apply the makeup, accentuating my features and imparting a delicate glow to my skin.

Watching the mirror, I am struck by the transformation that has taken place. Gone is the soldier, replaced by a vision of elegance and grace. It’s a strange sensation, seeing myself through the eyes of others, but in this moment, I can’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the woman staring back at me.

At long last, Indira steps back and nods. “That should do it.”

“Thank you, Indira.” I flash her a smile.

She nods, a curt but respectful gesture, and turns to leave. As she walks away, there’s a grace in her step, the way she moves with purpose and poise. There’s no doubt in my mind that Indira is someone to be reckoned with, and though she might be abrupt, I feel she has our best interests at heart.

“Take a look at us.” Nadya is giddy, staring at herself in the mirror and then twirling in her gown.

I stand, and we admire each other’s attire.

A ripple of laughter escapes her lips. “You clean up nicely, Celeste.”

I chuckle in response, the sound muffled by the constriction of my corset. “Careful,” I warn, wincing slightly as the tight bindings pinch against my ribs. “I might just split my seams.”

Nadya’s laughter rings out again, echoing through the room. “Wouldn’t want that to happen. We’d never hear the end of it from Indira.”

When I glance out the balcony doors, the sky has become a masterpiece of colors, with hues of pink, orange, and gold blending seamlessly into one another, painting the horizon in a radiant display. The setting sun casts a warm, amber glow over the landscape, illuminating the treetops and casting long shadows across the courtyard below. Wisps of clouds are tinged with a soft, rosy hue, drifting lazily across the sky. The distant mountains are silhouetted against the vibrant backdrop, their peaks bathed in a gentle, purple twilight.

The call of nightfeathers echoes through the air as a flock travels from the castle’s high turret out into different directions. My stomach tightens knowing the messenger birds carry the news to the other realms of my betrothal to Torbin, as well as the king’s plan to cease the rescues of Dulcamaran refugees until further notice. I question whether this plan will truly work.

“Our first ball!” Nadya practically bounces with excitement. “Did you ever think we’d see the day?”

Despite the gleam in her eye, I can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach. When I was a child, refusing to be present at the balls my parents threw was an act of defiance and selfishness, a protest against needing to act like someone I didn’t feel I was. But now, it feels like the stakes are higher. “I don’t want to attend.”

“What?”

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Celeste, the queen is throwing this ball for you. You can’t be absent from it.” She presses her lips together and tilts her head. “Besides, your uncle will be insufferably disappointed.”

I take a deep breath—or as deep as I’m able to, considering the tight fit of the gown. “Fine. But you are not to leave me. Even if you are desperate to get back to reading your books. Even if a devilishly handsome nobleman wants to sweep you away, which he will when he lays his eyes on you.”

Nadya smiles and takes my hands in hers. “I promise. I am your faithful servant.”

We step outside my room, and the soft glow of candlelight casts shadows across the corridor. The weight of the ornate gown drapes over me, the fabric swishing softly with each step. Sir Holden Hale has now been joined by another guard, and the two of them fall into step beside us as we make our way down the corridor. It’s a weird sensation to have them accompany us. As commander, I’m used protecting the people, not having guards around to protect me.

Nadya veers off to a hallway on the right, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that she had been paying attention to the maze we were led down and knows which way to go.

I glance at Sir Holden, and the sight of his sword sheathed at his waist causes a realization to strike me like a bolt of lightning—I’ve forgotten something crucial.

“I’m so sorry.” I stop short, and Nadya shoots me a questioning look. “I need to go back to retrieve something.”

“What is it?” Nadya narrows her eyes. “You’re not planning on skipping the ball, are you?”

“No, I promise. I’ll just be a minute.” My gaze darts between the guards and then back to Nadya. “You can wait here. I’ll hurry.”

With a quick about-face, I retrace my steps, determination driving me forward. Sir Holden follows, but he can’t match my fae speed. I can’t believe I left my room without my weapon. I was so entranced by the gown and the pampering that I forgot about my dagger. I’d like to think that I’m safe in this castle, but the soldier in me trusts no one. I’d feel much more at ease if I could strap my dagger to my thigh. Granted, I’d have to dig through layers of silk and tulle, but if it came down to protecting myself, at least I’d know my blade was accessible.

As I round the corner, I nearly collide with someone coming my way. Suppressing my gasp, I take a step back to find Dante, who stands like an immovable statue in the dimly lit corridor. His expression is a mixture of cold detachment and barely concealed disdain, and for a moment, I find myself taken aback by the intensity of his gaze.

I finally take in the sight of the man standing before me. Tall and imposing, with rugged features that speak of a life lived on the edge, he exudes an air of intrigue that holds me captive. His piercing, grey eyes hold a depth of emotion that sends a shiver down my spine .

With a polite nod, I offer a tentative greeting. “Good evening.” I try to remember what Indira said: he’s only fond of his brother and no one else. I watched him in the courtyard; he had no regard for Sam or the others. But I’ve got to try to win him over. After all, we’re going to be family. “We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Celeste.”

Dante’s expression darkens, a scowl marring his otherwise-handsome features. The intensity of what I can only assume is hatred is palpable, and it leaves me feeling raw and unsettled, my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve faced countless enemies on the battlefield, but the look in Dante’s eyes makes me feel more threatened than I ever have before.

Confusion knits my brows as I struggle to comprehend the meaning behind his demeanor. His hostility leaves me at a loss for words, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. It’s as if his loathing is a living, breathing entity that’s reached out and wrapped its fingers around my throat.

“I understand you’re the prince’s brother.” I make sure to leave out the word ‘half’ in case he takes offense to it. “It’s nice to meet you.” It’s a lie, but I’m grasping at straws here trying to smooth things over with him.

Shadows move over his face as he inches closer. His lips curl into a sneer, his grey eyes flashing with barely contained malevolence. “You don’t belong here.”

His words strike me like a physical blow, and I feel a surge of indignation rise within me. What is his fucking problem? “I beg your pardon?” My voice is like steel, tempered by the resolve of a seasoned warrior. “You know nothing about me.”

Dante’s expression remains unyielding, his features set in a mask of stoic indifference. “I know enough to understand you can’t be trusted.”

What? I can’t even reply right away because I’m so shocked by his accusation. Frustration streaks through my blood. “I don’t believe it’s up to you to decide where I belong.”

He raises a brow and scoffs. “We’ll see about that.”

Without another word, he shoves past me and storms away, leaving me seething where I stand.