Page 19 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

I don’t know where Nadya is. We were supposed to get ready for the queen’s birthday celebration and arrive together, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast. She claimed she had to run an errand, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt. But now I’m worried. She wouldn’t normally disregard our plans for no reason.

I’ve been sitting in my room, waiting for her to return, afraid to wrinkle my silky, pink dress. I actually like this dress. It doesn’t flare out, making it impossible to move. It feels great on my skin, and it’s not at all constricting. Indira worked her magic with my hair and makeup, giving me a magnificent boost in confidence.

Since I’m already running late, I decide to leave for the celebration, hoping Nadya will catch up with me. My gut tells me she has a logical explanation. Besides, I really shouldn’t keep Torbin waiting. Not to mention, the queen might find it rude of me to show up so late.

As I hurry down the corridor outside my room, I spot Dante. I figured out a few days ago that his room is also on this floor of the castle, but I don’t think it’s located anywhere near my room, so it’s strange that I always see him wandering this hall. He could very well have a good reason, though. Perhaps there is another room he goes to in this wing, like the library or a hobby room.

Though I still have the urge to smooth things over between us, I don’t have the patience for his broodiness at this time. He has the tendency to put me in a bad mood, so my plan is to avoid him. However, as he passes me, his eyes narrow, his gaze traveling the length of my dress.

I can’t help myself from stopping short. “What?”

He slows, shifting his feet as he fully turns my way. “Nothing.”

I’m not sure why I can’t accept his answer. “You have more complaints about me? What is it this time? You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

His voice is low and steady. “Do you like what you’re wearing?”

I blink, taken aback from him redirecting my question. “What?”

“Tell me, Highness,” he begins, his gaze drifting down the length of my dress, “who are you really trying to impress with your fancy dress and styled hair?”

“No one. Least of all you.”

One of his brows raises slightly. “So you don’t care what I think of your appearance?”

I resist swallowing back the lump in my throat. “No.”

He steps closer. I have to lift my chin to meet his intense gaze. The hairs on my skin react, and my hand hovers near my dagger.

“Let me ask you again.” A deep-toned, almost unnoticeable hum floats out from his throat.

I don’t understand what’s happening. I become light-headed, and there’s a buzzing in my blood. I suddenly feel at ease. Comfortable, even.

He leans in. I can’t stop staring at his handsome, chiseled face. His grey eyes are mesmerizing, and I feel like I’m gazing into an approaching storm. Dangerous but beautiful. His lips look so soft. “Do you care what I think of your appearance?”

My instinct is to say no because I don’t want him to know. Better yet, I should say nothing. “Yes.”

He steps back with a smirk.

Fuck! “Wha—? How did y—? I don’t. I don’t care.” The buzzing in my blood transforms into scolding-hot fury. I feel like fog is slowly dissipating from my mind.

His chuckle is low, his lids heavy as he backs away from me. “Whatever you say, Highness.” The side of his mouth is still raised as he turns and continues down the hall.

Frustration explodes within me as I realize Dante just used his siren powers to manipulate me to say yes . Or had he manipulated me to tell the truth? I’m even more angry at that possibility. Is it the truth? Do I care what he thinks of me? Why should I? He’s been nothing but cruel to me since I’ve arrived.

And why would it matter to him? If he hates me so much, my opinion should be the least important thing in the world to him.

Releasing an aggravated huff, I march toward the grand hall to meet with Torbin. I was already late without the incident with Dante. And I don’t want the queen to think I don’t care about her special day. What kind of future daughter-in-law would I be if I showed so little respect for her birthday?

As I reach the main floor, I have to gasp. Ivystone Citadel has been transformed into a vision of opulence for Queen Eleanor’s birthday celebration. Every corner of the grand hall is adorned with her favorite flowers, lavender wisteria, cascading down from the vaulted ceilings in delicate, fragrant drapes. The sweet and floral scent is intoxicating, and I instinctively breathe in deeply to take it all in. The walls are lined with rich, purple tapestries embroidered with silver thread, depicting scenes of Hedera’s history and the royal family’s lineage.

The hall is packed, not just with the usual nobles and courtiers, but with others I don’t recognize. My guess is they are citizens of Hedera, come to bestow their kind words upon the queen. At the edge of the crowd, close to the dais, I spot Torbin. He is dressed in a deep-purple doublet, tailored to perfection, the color matching the wisteria that decorates the hall. The doublet is intricately embroidered with silver thread, forming delicate patterns that catch the light with every movement. His sleeves are slashed to reveal the rich, silk lining underneath, a deep, midnight-blue that complements his overall regal appearance.

Over his doublet, he dons a black velvet cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a brooch bearing the crest of Ivystone Citadel. His trousers are a dark charcoal, tailored to fit snugly and tucked neatly into high, polished black boots that reach his knees. A finely wrought silver belt cinches his waist, from which hangs his sabre. Torbin’s hair is impeccably groomed, swept back to reveal his sharp features and intense gaze.

His eyes sweep the room, and his gaze lands on me. He straightens his posture, his chin held high, as his face brightens with a smile. I can’t help but acknowledge that he looks every bit the prince he is, a striking figure amidst the celebration’s splendor.

I make my way toward my betrothed, and people move out of my way. Some of them incline their heads, and for a moment, I don’t feel like an unwelcome guest.

“I was beginning to get worried,” Torbin whispers to me when I reach him.

“Sorry. I… ran into some trouble. But it’s fine now.”

“I’m glad you made it, then.”

I glance at the queen and the line of people. “I’m a bit confused as to what’s happening.”

He puts a hand on my waist and urges me to stand closer to him. “It’s a tradition. My mother has a big heart for her people. Every year, on her birthday, she listens to their petitions and tries to grant as many of them as she feels reasonable.”

“That sounds turned around.” I smooth out the skirt of my dress. “Shouldn’t your mother be the one having her wishes granted?”

“She likes it better this way. She’s a big believer in keeping Hedera happy.” His eyes wander down the length of my gown and back up again. “Celeste, you grow more stunning every day.”

A bloom of warmth spreads up my neck, reaching my cheeks. At least Torbin is kind enough to appreciate my appearance. Unlike his annoying brother.

The line of citizens and lords bringing their petitions stretches across the grand hall. The air is thick with anticipation, and the whispers of those waiting their turns echo off the high, vaulted ceiling. Up on the dais, Queen Eleanor sits regally on her throne, a serene smile on her face as she listens to each supplicant. Her deep-purple gown shimmers in the light filtering through the stained-glass windows, and the ivy-themed jewelry adorning the high neck of her gown and the wrists of her gloves gleams with each movement.

Beside her, appearing bored, King Silas picks a piece of lint off the cuff of his robes. Though the apparent theme of purple touches everything else in the place, the king is dressed in dark green. His brows are drawn down, as if he’s contemplating being done with this event. It doesn’t surprise me; the king doesn’t strike me as having a generous heart like his wife.

At the head of the line is a farmer, his weathered hands clutching a hat to his chest. “Your Majesty,” he begins, bowing deeply. “Our village has been hit hard by the drought. If it pleases you, we request assistance with irrigation systems to save our crops.”

Queen Eleanor nods thoughtfully, her eyes kind. “I understand your plight. I will see to it that engineers are sent to your village. You have my word.”

Next, a young woman steps forward, her eyes wide with awe. “Your Majesty, my brother is gravely ill. We have tried everything, but the healers say he needs a rare herb found only in the royal gardens. I humbly ask for your permission to obtain it.”

The queen’s expression softens even more. “Of course, my dear. You shall have what you need. I will inform the gardeners to assist you.”

Torbin shifts beside me, his gaze fixed on his mother. “She’s always been good at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “She has a way of making people feel heard.”

I nod, though my attention is drawn to the next petitioner, a lord in rich attire. “Your Majesty.” His tone is formal and respectful as he bows. “I seek your favor in a matter of land dispute. My neighbor claims a portion of my estate as his own, but I have the deeds to prove otherwise. I request your intervention. ”

Queen Eleanor listens intently, her fingers interweaved. “Bring your documents to the court, and I shall have my advisors look into it. Justice will be served.”

As the line moves forward, I notice the variety of requests—some small, some monumental. Each person speaks with hope in their voice, trusting in the queen’s wisdom and generosity. A part of my heart opens up for her, impressed with her character, her desire to connect with her people and address their needs, no matter how diverse.

Torbin leans closer, his voice a whisper in my ear. “It’s quite the spectacle, isn’t it? A mix of genuine need and political maneuvering.”

“Mm-hmm.” I keep my eyes on the queen as she continues to listen and respond with grace. “But it’s also a reminder of her power and influence.”

“Yes,” Torbin agrees, a hint of admiration in his voice. “And one day, you’ll have that same power. Or perhaps something greater.”

I glance at him, uncertain how to respond. The weight of his words settles on my shoulders. It’s hard for me to imagine, sitting on a throne—whether it be in Hedera or Delasurvia—and deciding the fate of the people.

Another lord approaches, his attire even more elaborate than the previous supplicant. His cloak is embroidered with gold thread, and a jeweled brooch fastens it at his shoulder. He bows deeply before the queen, a practiced smile on his lips.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, his voice smooth and confident. “First, allow me to express my admiration for your exquisite beauty. You are by far the fairest queen to have lived. And your long, golden hair shines like the finest silk, a true testament to your grace.”

I catch the king lifting his eyes, his jaw stiff as he regards the lord.

Queen Eleanor smiles graciously, inclining her head. “Thank you for your kind words, Lord Alistair. What request do you bring before me today?”

Lord Alistair’s eyes flicker briefly to the king, who watches him with a stony expression. Undeterred, he continues. “I come to you with a matter of trade. My lands produce the finest wines in the realm, but we lack the proper roads to transport our goods efficiently. I request your assistance in constructing a new trade route to enhance our commerce.”

The queen nods thoughtfully. “Trade is indeed the lifeblood of our kingdom. Improving infrastructure benefits us all. I will consider your request and speak with the council about the possibilities.”

Lord Alistair bows again, his gaze lingering on the queen. “Your Majesty, your wisdom, generosity, and beauty are unmatched. I am deeply grateful.”

As he steps back, the king’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. He leans forward, his voice low but carrying a sharp edge. “It seems some men forget their place, fawning over the queen as if she were an object to be admired.”

Lord Alistair releases a nervous laugh. “I am simply relaying the truth, King Silas.”

The king straightens. “You will address me as ‘Your Majesty’ or you will lose your tongue.”

Queen Eleanor’s smile remains, but I see a flicker of tension in her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Alistair,” she says smoothly, dismissing him with a nod. “Your request will be taken under advisement.”

The lord retreats, obviously ignoring king’s displeasure. The tension between the king and queen is palpable, and I glance at Torbin, who shifts uncomfortably beside me.

I lean closer to Torbin. “It seems not all admire your mother for her wisdom alone.”

He smirks, his eyes flicking to his father. “It takes a strong man to handle such admiration. Clearly, my father struggles with it.”

I can’t help but smile at Torbin’s candor, though I keep my gaze trained in front of me, watching as the next petitioner steps forward. The queen composes herself, her regal demeanor unshaken, but the king’s lingering glower serves as a stark reminder of the delicate balance of power and emotion within the royal court.

After an hour of listening to petitions, the queen stands and announces that dinner will be served for the nobles in the ballroom. It’s not a moment too soon, either, since my stomach has begun grumbling. Any citizens who remain are escorted out of the castle. Torbin offers his arm, and I hook mine through it as we follow the swarm of lords and ladies.

In the ballroom, long tables are covered in pristine, white linens, adorned with glittering candelabras that cast a warm, golden light over the room. Silver platters piled high with delicacies—glazed fruits, spiced breads, and fine pastries—glimmer invitingly. Crystal goblets catch the light, filled with deep red wine and sparkling water. Servants move swiftly and silently, their uniforms crisp and spotless, as they ensure everything is perfect for the evening’s festivities.

The air hums with anticipation, the soft murmur of conversations blending with the gentle strains of a string quartet playing in the corner. The musicians’ fingers dance over their instruments, creating a melody that is both haunting and beautiful. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses fills the space, and for a moment, I feel light and worry-free.

I stand at the entrance, taking in the scene. The beauty of the hall, with its rich decorations and vibrant flowers, sweeps me up in the magnificence of it all. The wisteria’s purple blooms remind me of simpler times, of the gardens at home where I would play with my brother and our mother would watch over us with a gentle smile.

The servants are busy carrying dishes to the tables, and the scent of herbs mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and roasted meats waft from their platters.

“Our table is this way.” Torbin leads the way, nodding to lords and ladies we pass.

We take our seats, and I feel a million eyes on me. Despite the merriment in the room, I feel like I’m suffocating.

The clinking of silverware and the low hum of conversation fill the grand dining hall, the candlelight casting a warm glow over the lavish spread. Queen Eleanor rises gracefully from her seat, her deep-purple gown shimmering as it catches the light. She gently taps her glass with a silver spoon, capturing the attention of the lords and ladies gathered around the tables. The music fades to a stop, and everyone smiles at the queen in anticipation .

“Esteemed guests,” she begins, her voice calm yet commanding, “I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude for joining me on this merry occasion. It warms my heart to see so many familiar faces. Lord and Lady Benton from Waterlee. Lord and Lady Marope from Zionstone. And of course, the nobles of Hedera, the charming Lady Edgings, the flattering Lord Alistair, to mention a few.”

I follow her line of vision and catch Lord Alistair inclining his head.

Beside the queen, the king shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“But there is more to this gathering than celebrating my trip around the sun. I am pleased to make a joyous announcement tonight. As you all know, my son, Prince Torbin, is engaged to the lovely Princess Celeste of Delasurvia. I’ve been busy drawing up plans, and I am thrilled to be able to declare that the wedding will take place in three months’ time.”

A collective murmur of surprise and delight ripples through the room, merging with applause. My heart skips a beat, and I struggle to maintain my composure. Three months? It’s happening so soon. I glance at Torbin, who seems unperturbed, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Queen Eleanor continues. “We believe this union will bring prosperity and strength to our kingdoms, as I know it brings me pride and hope. And of course, I am planning a lavish engagement celebration to honor the blossoming love between the future monarchs of Hedera. So let us lift our glasses and celebrate this momentous occasion.”

“Hear, hear,” some voices call out. Wineglasses are raised and clinked, and the musicians begin playing another song.

I feel a knot tightening in my stomach. The suffocation I felt before has now intensified. My mind plays back the king’s words in the deal we made; he only gave me until the wedding to continue my military duty. The idea of giving up my command of the regiment already felt like a heavy burden, but now with the wedding so close, it’s becoming a reality faster than I can manage. My mind races with thoughts of the responsibilities and the sacrifices I’ll have to make.

Torbin’s hand reaches for mine under the table, a gesture no doubt meant to be reassuring. But instead, it feels like a chain, binding me to a future I’m not ready for .

“To the future king and queen,” the crowd cheers. I nod, my face a mask of composure, but inside, I’m anything but.

As the feast continues, it is clear that the nobles and royals are accustomed to partaking in gluttonous ceremonies, giving no care to the starving people outside of the castle. Even the sweet queen indulges herself, as she did at my welcome ball. With every sip of wine, her lips and cheeks redden.

The chamberlain comes into the room with a trumpeter beside him. The sound of the trumpet silences the crowd, and the chamberlain straightens, his hands glued to his sides.

“A gift for the queen, from His Majesty, King Silas.” The chamberlain extends his arm toward the entrance.

I couldn’t possibly have guessed what gift the king would give his wife, so I’m taken aback when three performers dressed in bright colors roll into the room on unicycles, each holding torches. The crowd gasps as the performers breathe blasts of fire into the air.

I clutch a hand to my heart, fearing the flames will catch and set the castle on fire, but apparently, the king has found experts.

The musicians change their tune to something faster and more fitting to the act, and the partygoers applaud at every breath of fire the performers release.

The queen smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach her eyes. Her gloved hands remain folded in her lap as she takes in her husband’s gift.

One of the unicyclists rolls closer to our table, turning in a circle in front of the queen. With an appreciative nod, the queen claps for him. As the performer blasts fire in a long stream above the table, the queen flinches. Her hand hits a few of the wineglasses, knocking them over, and red liquid splashes across the table. In the queen’s attempt to right the situation, her impeccably pristine gloves become soaked with wine.

The performer stops his routine, jumping down from his perch. “Your Majesty, my apologies!”

Servants rush to help the queen. She stands, her arms held up at chest level as she looks in horror at her gloves. Without another word, she flees from the table .

Instinctively, I push my chair back and follow her. Torbin calls out to me, but I don’t look back. The queen’s two maidservants are fast by her side as she rushes to a nearby room. They hurry inside, and I’m sure they mean to close the door before I get there, but my fae speed gets me in the room before they get a chance.

“Celeste.” The queen gapes at me, flustered. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Her maidservants nervously fumble with the queen’s gloves as the queen shifts her position. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to see the gloves.

No. Not the gloves.

Her arms. Her hands.

Though Queen Eleanor is quick to push the exposed skin of her hands and arms behind her back, she’s not fast enough for me to miss the bruising around her forearms and wrists and the cuts on her palms and fingers. Her eyes are wide, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“Your Majesty, what happened?” I take a step toward her.

She retreats two steps, her breath hitching. Biting her lip, she turns to one of her maidservants. “Fetch another pair of gloves. Now.”

The young woman does as the queen commands, hurrying past me out of the room.

“Your Majesty,” I say again, “did someone hurt you?”

The queen’s expression immediately changes, her chin held high and her mouth in a straight line. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one would dare hurt me.”

“But you have bruises. Cuts.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Yes, yes. I dropped a wineglass and was too impatient to let the shards lie. In my efforts to get rid of the mess, I suffered a cut or two, but it’s nothing serious.”

I suppose that could be true. I do remember hearing her—at least I believe it was her—crying in that private room and glass breaking. She had had a lot to drink, and if she had dropped a glass and attempted to pick up the shards, she could have very well have cut herself. But the bruises? My eyes travel down her arms, but I can’t see past her elbows, since she has the rest hidden behind her back .

She can see the question in my eyes. “It seems the wine makes me a bit clumsy as well. But I do hope you can keep the carelessness of my movements between us. It wouldn’t do well for the kingdom to think of their queen as an uncoordinated drunk.”

“But if you’re hurt—”

“ Celeste !” Her outburst seems to have shocked herself. She swallows hard and quickly composes herself. “You would do well to remember your place. I will not have a guest in my home throwing about accusations, especially accusations that would bring defacement to the throne. You should know that disloyalty is handled extremely seriously in Hedera.”

I open my mouth to object, but despite the sharpness of her words, there is a pleading look in the depth of her eyes. I can feel her sorrow, her desperation.

And in this moment, I am sickened by the king.

There is no way I can voice my opinion, my speculations, without being accused of blaspheming against the king. Especially without proof. Though it claws at my heart, I give her a nod. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

I incline my head and turn to leave the room. But I vow to find a way to make this right. I cannot stand to allow the queen to suffer for long. Somehow, I will stop the injustice.

When I head back to the ballroom, I find Torbin coming toward me.

“Where did you disappear to?” He takes my hand, and there is something off about his expression.

Does he know?

My stomach twists, and there is anger bubbling inside me. But if I’m wrong and accuse him, I would not only start a dispute, but I would be breaking my word to the queen.

“I just wanted to make sure your mother was all right.” I force a smile. “Beyond a ruined pair of gloves, she assures me she’s fine.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Come join me.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “There are some nobles I’d like you to meet.”

Though I’m not in the mood to speak to anyone, especially anyone new, I maintain a cheery disposition. “Lead the way.”

The grand hall buzzes with chatter and laughter as Torbin leads me through the crowd, his hand moving to rest lightly on the small of my back. The nobles’ curious gazes follow us, whispers trailing in our wake. I straighten my posture, summoning the composure expected of a princess.

When I glance around, I see that the firebreathers are gone. The king sits back in his chair, drinking his wine, in front of him a half-eaten plate of food. He watches me, as if evaluating me, his jaw set and his lips pressed flat. A part of me wants to let him know that I am aware of what he’s doing—at least what I believe he is doing. But at the same time, I have no proof, and I know my uncle would advise me to play the part until I do.

I offer the king the smallest of smiles and dip my head for him before turning back to the couple to whom Torbin has escorted me.

“Celeste,” Torbin says warmly, his voice carrying over the din, “I’d like you to meet Lord Edwin and Lady Isolde.”

Lord Edwin, a stout man with a jovial smile, steps forward and bows deeply. “Your Highness, it is an honor to finally meet you. Prince Torbin speaks highly of you.”

I return his bow with a graceful nod. “Thank you, Lord Edwin. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lady Isolde, tall and elegant, curtsies with practiced grace. Her emerald-green gown shimmers under the chandeliers, matching the sparkle in her eyes. “Princess Celeste, welcome to Ivystone. We are delighted to have you here.”

Torbin’s hand subtly tightens on my back, a reassuring gesture. “Celeste brings a strength and grace that will surely benefit our kingdom,” he says, his pride evident. “I am confident our alliance will be prosperous.”

As we move on, Torbin introduces me to more nobles—Lord Harrick, with his stern countenance and deep voice, and Lady Vivienne, who compliments my gown with a genuine smile. Each introduction is accompanied by Torbin’s kind words and gentle gestures, his admiration for me clear.

I can see how much this means to him—or perhaps to his reputation—and despite my initial reservations, I begin to relax. The nobles’ polite responses and warm greetings ease the tension in my shoulders. Torbin’s confidence and charm seem to smooth over any awkwardness, and I can’t help but feel a growing sense of belonging.

As we finish our circuit, Torbin leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You handled that beautifully.”

I smile up at him. “You’re kind, my prince. And you flatter me.”

“I meant every word of it.” His hand, still on my back, moves in a gentle circle.

My skin grows warm, a sense of longing growing deep in my lower belly. But I tell myself to concentrate on the party for now.

Over Torbin’s shoulder, I spot the queen returning to her seat. She wears a new pair of silky gloves and smiles to her guests as if nothing is wrong. Her gaze does not meet the king’s, and he only regards her for a second, as if making sure she has not caused a scene.

“I don’t know how she can stand him.” The voice is low but within clear earshot of Torbin and me. I turn to find it comes from Lord Alistair, the man who complimented the queen’s hair, speaking with another lord whose name I’ve forgotten. Neither of the lords notice that Torbin is standing nearby, their focus on the king’s table.

Torbin stiffens, and I see a flash of anger in his eyes. I feel the need to pull him away from the chatter. Citizens speak ill of their monarchy all the time, but it is just talk, meaningless banter. There’s no reason for Torbin to hear this. Lord Alistair obviously is fond of the queen and must be saying these things out of jealousy.

Lord Alistair continues. “She deserves better than that foul, incompetent, sad excuse of a man. And the sad part is she doesn’t even see it. He’s even had a child with another woman, and she’s accepted it. He’s manipulated her, convinced her that she’s less than she is. The weasel.”

Torbin’s knuckles are white from the fist he’s making. “What say you?” His voice is loud and his tone sharp, obviously not able to hold himself back anymore.

The lords fluster, the man beside Lord Alistair spitting his wine in surprise.

“Prince Torbin, I d-didn’t see you there.”

The crowd grows silent, all eyes on the prince and Lord Alistair.

“How dare you speak ill of your king and queen.” Torbin grabs the lord by his jacket. “How dare you insinuate that my mother has made any mistakes or is weak in any way.”

I take a quick step back. What is he doing? He seems unhinged.

“N-No, Your Highness, I was simply saying—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Torbin pulls his arm back and throws a punch, his fist smashing into Lord Alistair’s jaw.

I gasp and stumble back more.

The crowd murmurs and shrieks, and someone pulls me away as Torbin’s second punch knocks Alistair to the floor.

“You insult my family in their own home? You are no lord. You are no true supporter of the crown. You are a fucking traitor!” Torbin throws himself on top of the lord and delivers another punch. His voice is booming now, louder than ever before. “You commit slander, libel, and you offend the dignity of the king.”

Lord Alistair moans in pain, his face bloody and his left eye swelling. His counterpart has since fled the room.

There are no more words leaving Torbin’s mouth. His teeth are clenched, and his face is red with rage as he grabs the man by his head with both hands and slams it into the marble floor.

Oh gods!

Blood pools around the lord’s head. His eyes are void of light, and his mouth hangs open.

Fucking hell. He’s killed him.

Torbin is frozen, staring at the blood as his mouth parts slightly. He seems shocked at what he’s done.

The guards run in, but I can see they are unsure what to do. Their presence seems to have startled Torbin out of his trance. He glances around, his breathing heavy, and he pushes himself off the body of Lord Alistair.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can’t wrap my head around what I’ve just witnessed. Before Torbin can spot me, I slink back into the crowd, slipping between the people and ducking my head. My senses are on high alert, my nerves telling me to flee.

As Torbin stands up straight and checks his surroundings, his eyes don’t find me, but his gaze meets the curious and shocked faces of the onlookers. He falters for a moment before straightening his clothes and squaring his shoulders. He swallows hard before he speaks. “This man has committed treason, and the punishment is death. If anyone dares speak ill of the king or queen, the consequences will be the same.”

Torbin turns to face his father, who remains in his chair as if the entire incident didn’t just happen. Beside the king, Queen Eleanor stands, her face pale and her gloved hands pressed against her mouth.

“Guards,” the king calls out, placing his wineglass on the table. “Dispose of the body at once.”

The king’s men do as he says, and Torbin pulls on the lapels of his suit as he watches. The crowd parts to give them room, but they can’t stop staring. Once the body is taken away, Prince Torbin scans the room again, but I have already slunk back through the crowd. When he is turned the other way, I slip out undetected.