Page 47 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

Nadya and Indira bustle around me, their deft hands adjusting the intricate details of my gown. I stand in front of the full-length mirror, the reflection of the frowning woman staring back at me almost unrecognizable. The deep-purple dress clings to my frame, the luxurious fabric shimmering under the candlelight. The bodice is adorned with delicate embroidery, ivy leaves woven in silver thread that trail down the skirt, giving the impression of vines wrapping around me.

The sleeves are sheer, ethereal, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being scandalous. My hair, usually tied back in a practical braid, is now styled into an elaborate updo, small tendrils escaping to frame my face. Around my neck hangs the necklace Torbin gave me, matching the earrings that dangle from my ears.

Indira steps back, her eyes critical as she surveys her work. “You look stunning, Your Highness. Like a true queen.”

Nadya nods in agreement, but her eyes are soft with concern as she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Breathe, Celeste.”

I try to take a deep breath, but it feels like there’s a vise around my chest. Torbin’s words echo in my mind, a constant reminder of the consequences if I were to flee. I can’t let my people down. I can’t let myself be seen as weak.

“Just one more piece, Your Highness.” Indira hands me a velvet box.

I take it from her but don’t open it yet. “What’s this?”

“The prince instructed me to give this to you. He said you should wear it.” Indira smiles at me. It’s a bittersweet sight because she rarely smiles, but she doesn’t know about the hidden agendas hiding beneath the mask of the engagement.

I open the small, velvet box, and even though I dread what it symbolizes, I can’t help but admire the ring inside. A large emerald, as green and vibrant as the forests of Hedera, sits at the center, its deep color mesmerizing. Surrounding it is a halo of tiny diamonds, each one sparkling like dew on morning leaves. The band, crafted from silver filigree, winds delicately around the emerald, forming intricate patterns that are both elegant and timeless. It’s a ring fit for a queen, designed to dazzle and command attention—a future I never fucking wanted.

Indira watches me expectantly, and I force a smile, though inside I feel the weight of what this ring represents. The emerald glints up at me, a cruel reminder of the life I’m being coerced into. I slip it onto my finger, the cool metal heavy and foreign against my skin. It’s undeniably beautiful, but it’s also a symbol of my entrapment, a polished and perfect representation of the chains that bind me to Torbin.

“Thank you, Indira.” I give her a small nod. “I think I’m all set now. You did a magnificent job.”

“It was my pleasure, Your Highness.” With a look of pride on her face, Indira gathers the supplies and leaves me and Nadya alone in my chambers.

“Nadya, I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper. “Pretending everything is fine, playing the role they want me to play, knowing that there’s a war coming that no one is prepared for.”

“Your squad must have found the camp by now.” She places a reassuring hand on my arm. “They must be on their way. You just have to keep up the ruse a bit longer. When your uncle and your squad can back you up, you can take action and end this game of pretend. ”

I know she’s right. I let out a sigh, steeling myself to get through this engagement celebration. If I’m lucky, we can get through it quickly, and then I can retreat to my room.

“Are you ready?” Nadya asks. “I’ll be right here beside you. Or as close as Torbin will allow, anyway.”

“Yeah.” I look down at the ring again. “Actually, can I have a minute alone? I’ll be right out.”

“Of course.” She narrows her eyes. “But if you’re planning on running, you let me know. I’m coming with you.”

I let out a small laugh as she leaves my room, but it’s not like the idea of running hasn’t occurred to me. My mind has been playing out wild fantasies of Dante begging me to run away with him. I wrap my arms around myself, my mind drifting to the memories of our stolen moments together—his touch, his whispered words.

I think I might be reckless enough to abandon all this and let the politics sort themselves out, but the logical part of my mind reminds me of the consequences.

I spot the pot of powder on my traveling chest and spontaneously decide to wrap a bit of the powder in a handkerchief, just in case I do decide to flee. I tuck the handkerchief into the fold of my dress’s sash at my waist, flattening it so no one can tell that it’s there.

After patting my dagger, hidden beneath the skirt of my dress, strapped to my thigh, I take a deep breath and summon the courage to face the royals. No matter what happens tonight, I need to be prepared.

The tingle is still present within me, but I’ve managed to keep it at a low hum. I’m sure Ezra will help me control it, but for now, I have to tuck away the thought. This magic or power or curse won’t do me any good if I don’t know what it is and am oblivious as to what to do with it.

I step out into the hall and turn down the corridor. Sir Holden walks behind me, my sworn protector. If only he knew what was really going on here. I’m half-tempted to tell him, but I know it could cost him his head. And I’m not sure he would even believe me.

There’s already a sheen of sweat coating my forehead, and my heart pounds in my ears as we head toward the grand hall. Each step feels like a step closer to my destiny, and I can only hope that I have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

The queen has arranged for the engagement celebration to take place in the courtyard. Despite the vibrant bustle of activity that surrounds me, my heart cinches with the burden of secrets and uncertainty. The opulent decorations adorning the castle grounds seem to mock my inner turmoil, their vivid hues a stark contrast to the shadows that cloud my mind.

Silken banners sway gently in the breeze, their rich colors shimmering in the afternoon sun. Fragrant floral arrangements adorn every corner, their intoxicating scent mingling with the tantalizing aroma of exotic spices and succulent delicacies being prepared for the feast. Tables groan under the weight of sumptuous dishes, each more decadent than the last. Gilded platters overflow with succulent roast meats, exotic fruits, and delicate pastries.

As servants scurry about, laying out fine linens and arranging silverware with meticulous care, I cannot shake the feeling of foreboding that grips my heart. With each passing moment, the weight of my burdens grows heavier, threatening to crush me beneath their overwhelming weight.

The warm, evening air is filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. I weave through the growing crowd, my eyes scanning for familiar faces. I don’t see the king, Torbin, or Dante. By one of the buffet tables, Nadya speaks with a beautiful woman whom I believe to be Lady Patricia.

The queen catches my attention, standing near the fountain, her expression a carefully crafted mask of composure, though I can see the strain in her eyes.

I approach her with a curtsey, trying to keep my voice light. “Your Majesty. Everything looks lovely. How are you?”

The queen exhales, a little too sharply. “So much to do, Celeste. Organizing all the details… It never seems to end.” She gives a thin smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Added to all this, I have to replace the tower maester. Such unfortunate timing. ”

I grimace at the mention of the tower maester, and I wonder if she suspects anything. Deep down, I feel as if she’s aware of much of the hidden agendas and secret occurrences but is in no position to do anything about them.

Just like me.

I step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “If you need to talk, Your Majesty, I want you to know I’m here for you.”

The queen’s eyes flicker with a flash of uncertainty, but she quickly blinks it away, her forehead smoothing out the small cluster of wrinkles that momentarily appeared. In an instant, her composure snaps back into place. “Don’t be silly. Everything is fine. I’ve just had a lot to take care of, that’s all.”

I place a gentle hand on her arm, hoping to break through the wall she’s so desperately trying to keep up. “Please, Your Majesty. You can trust me.” I lower my voice. “Whatever is happening, I can protect you.”

For a moment, her mask slips again. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a deep, haunting sadness there. “No one can protect me,” she whispers, the words so quiet, I almost miss them.

But before I can respond, a group of servants approaches, their arms laden with trays. “Your Majesty,” one of them interrupts, “where would you like the cake?”

The queen pulls away from me, her expression once more serene and untouchable. “Over there, by the fountain,” she says, pointing with a steady, gloved hand. “Oh, it’s simply beautiful!” And just like that, she abandons our conversation, moving to oversee the preparations with an air of calm that I know is only skin-deep.

I watch her go, a hollow feeling settling in my chest. She and I know that something is very wrong here, and I’m not sure how much longer either of us can keep up this charade.

When I turn around, I spot Dante coming out into the courtyard. He stands near the far end of the garden, a brooding figure among the lively crowd yet somehow more striking than anyone else. He’s dressed in deep charcoal, the fabric of his tunic rich and finely tailored, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his slim waist. The dark color contrasts with the ivory of his shirt beneath, the high collar just visible, adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise-formidable presence. His dark hair, usually a bit unruly, is neatly combed back, though a few rebellious strands fall over his forehead, softening the sharpness of his features.

He looks both regal and dangerous, a man of power and mystery, yet there’s an undeniable vulnerability in the way he stands slightly apart from the others, as if he doesn’t quite belong here.

And when his eyes meet mine across the distance, a spark of recognition passes between us, grounding me in the midst of all this chaos. He’s the only person in this crowd who feels real to me.

There’s an immediate lightness in my chest, and I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upward. It takes every ounce of restraint to not run to him. His eyes tell me he understands, that he feels the same.

I let out a slow breath. It will be okay. This is just a party. We still have until the day of the wedding to figure out how to get out of this.

The murmur of the crowd hushes as Torbin steps into the courtyard, commanding attention without uttering a word. I turn my head slowly, already dreading the sight of him yet unable to look away.

He’s dressed in the royal colors, a deep-emerald tunic embroidered with gold, the intricate patterns almost too elaborate, as if he’s wearing the kingdom itself upon his chest. The tunic fits him perfectly, accentuating his tall, muscular frame, and is cinched at the waist with a black leather belt, the buckle shaped like a lion’s head—an arrogant symbol of his perceived strength. Over this, he wears a black cloak that sweeps the ground behind him, the edges lined with more gold thread, making him appear larger than life.

His blond hair gleams in the sunlight, but it’s his face that draws the most attention—a smug, self-satisfied smile curves his lips, his eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and malice. He surveys the crowd as if they are all beneath him, nothing more than pawns in his grand game. When his gaze finally lands on me, his smile deepens, becoming more of a sneer, as if he knows every dark thought in my head and finds them amusing.

I feel a chill run through me, a mix of revulsion and anger twisting in my gut. This is the man who holds the kingdom in his grasp, the one who wears the crown’s colors as though he’s already claimed the throne. The sight of him makes my blood boil, yet I force myself to remain calm, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he unsettles me.

The queen comes back around and steps forward, raising a delicate hand to quiet the murmuring crowd. The jewels in her crown catch the light, sparkling as she looks out over the gathered nobles and courtiers. Her expression is serene, masking whatever turmoil lies beneath as she smiles graciously.

“My royal subjects, lords and ladies,” she calls out, her voice clear and regal, cutting through the evening air. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. We are here to celebrate a union that will strengthen our kingdom and bring us all closer together.” She pauses, her eyes sweeping across the courtyard, landing on the king, who strolls toward the table without a care in the world. “Please, take your seats. The celebration is about to begin.”

A ripple of movement follows her words as everyone begins to find their places, the low hum of conversation resuming as the evening’s festivities officially commence.

I sit beside Torbin, my posture rigid and my smile strained. The weight of the engagement ring on my finger feels like a shackle, binding me to a future I did not choose. Around us, the courtyard is filled with laughter, discussions, and the clinking of glasses, the celebration in full swing. Yet, beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of unease. From where I sit, I can just see the pathway that leads to the stables from the courtyard. The forest stands tall just beyond it, and I gaze at it, like it’s calling to me, like it’s offering me a route through which to escape.

Nadya, who sits a few chairs down from me, catches my eye and gives me a reassuring nod. I’ve been so buried in worry that I haven’t taken a moment to appreciate how beautiful she looks. Her soft, lilac gown complements her dark skin, and the dainty, black ringlets cascading from the clips atop her head frame her cheekbones perfectly .

King Silas stands at the head of the main table, and all eyes turn to him. “Esteemed guests, friends, and family, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate a union that will bring strength and prosperity to our kingdoms. My son, Prince Torbin, is taking the next step into his destiny, promising to marry the beautiful Princess Celeste Westergaard, Commander of the Royal Regiment and heir to crown in Delasurvia.”

There is polite applause, and I force myself to maintain the facade of a contented bride-to-be. Torbin’s hand rests on the arm of his chair, deceptively relaxed. But I can feel the tension in his grip, the barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface.

“This alliance is not just a union of two individuals,” King Silas continues, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles. “It is a union of our lands, a pledge of mutual support in these turbulent times. Together, Hedera and Delasurvia will stand strong against the threats that seek to tear us down.”

He speaks with conviction, and the crowd nods in agreement, unaware of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. I glance at Torbin, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains inscrutable.

“Princess Celeste,” the king says, turning his attention to me. “Your courage and leadership have earned you the respect of all who know you. I have no doubt that you will bring honor to our family and strengthen the bond between our kingdoms.”

He’s such a hypocrite. He doesn’t care about who I am or what I’ve done. He only cares that he gets a foothold in Delasurvia. Not that he will accomplish that. Torbin will steal it all out from under him, and the king has no idea.

I nod politely, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me. I have to remember to play the part. Just for a little longer. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It is an honor.”

King Silas smiles, a gesture that does little to warm the coldness in his eyes. “And to my son, Torbin,” he continues, “I am proud to see you step into this new chapter of your life. May you both find happiness and strength in each other and produce healthy offspring who will one day follow in your footsteps.”

The crowd applauds again, and Torbin nods curtly, his jaw tight. I can sense the turmoil within him, the storm that is about to break. But no one will heed my warning.

“Let us raise our glasses.” The king lifts his goblet. “To the future of our kingdoms, and to the union of Prince Torbin and Princess Celeste.”

The crowd erupts in cheers, and I copy the queen by lifting my glass, the wine inside trembling slightly with the unsteady motion of my hand. I steal a glance at Dante, standing at the edge of the crowd, his eyes locked on mine. As I take a sip, the wine is bitter on my tongue, a reminder of the bitterness I must swallow to keep up this charade.

The engagement celebration is in full swing, the pristine lawns of the castle glowing under the light of a thousand lanterns. The queen has outdone herself, arranging for a spectacle that is impossible to ignore. Jugglers weave through the crowd, tossing brightly colored balls and flaming torches into the air, their movements fluid and mesmerizing. Nearby, firebreathers take turns exhaling plumes of fire, the flames casting flickering shadows across the faces of the awestruck guests. A group of musicians plays lighthearted tunes on strings and flutes, their melodies lilting and cheerful, encouraging laughter and conversation. It’s clear that the queen has poured her heart into this celebration, determined to create an atmosphere of joy and festivity, even if it feels fake. I watch it all, the forced gaiety around me, and can’t help but sense the desperation behind her efforts.

The air is thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but beneath my calm exterior, my nerves are on high alert. The king’s speech still echoes in my ears, his words a constant reminder of the heavy burden I carry. Torbin’s presence beside me is an unwelcome shadow, his proximity only adding to my unease.

My hand rests on the feel of my dagger sheathed at my thigh. Dante stands a few paces away, his eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced vigilance of a soldier. His falchion hangs at his side, its blade glinting ominously in the lantern light.

When Torbin decides to make his rounds and mingle with the guests, I remain seated, unable to stomach the fake politeness and small talk. Every time my gaze lands on Dante, his eyes are on me, the look of longing lingering behind storms of grey. We keep our distance from each other, knowing the king and Torbin would disapprove of us even speaking to one another.

Though I strain to hear it, the sound of howling wolves resonates in the distance. I grow still, my heart skipping a beat as the realization sinks in. The wolves, the guardians of the fae, aren’t just expressing their unrest. Their howls are a warning, a signal meant for me. A chill races down my spine, and the hairs on my arms stand on end as if sensing the danger that lurks just out of sight. The wolves are trying to tell me something, trying to warn me that something sinister is approaching.

I stand, my fingertips brushing the feel of my dagger’s hilt.

High-pitched, whistling shrieks pierce the air.

Silence falls over the gathering, and I follow the direction of everyone’s gazes to the edge of the nearby woods. Shadows shift and move, the underbrush rustling with unnatural vigor. My heart pounds as I realize the impending danger.

I catch sight of Torbin across the courtyard. Instead of fear or surprise, his expression twists into something darker—a sinister sneer curling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, cold and calculating, flash with a twisted satisfaction. He knows exactly what’s coming. The shrieks that send chills down my spine only seem to thrill him, as if this chaos is all part of some cruel game. A game he’s not only playing, but winning. The sight of his wicked smile makes my blood run cold.

And then the horde breaks into view.

The first carnoraxis emerges from the treeline, its grotesque form illuminated by the lanterns. The beast stands over seven feet tall, its emaciated frame covered in grime and jagged bone protrusions. Its eyes glow with a malevolent hunger, and its elongated fingers end in razor-sharp claws. More creatures follow, a horrifying pack of flesh-eating demons racing toward us with terrifying speed.

Panic erupts among the guests, their joyous laughter replaced by screams of terror. The pristine lawns are now a chaotic sea of fleeing nobles and overturned tables. The king’s and queen’s faces are pale with fear, their regal composure shattered. Guards rush to their sides, fulfilling their duty to protect their ruler.

“Get the king to the castle!” a guard shouts.

The kingsguard form a protective barrier around him as they escort him from the courtyard. The queen clutches his arm, her eyes wide and her jaw agape, but he shoves her away. She whimpers as she falls to the ground.

I run to her side to help her up. Tears stream down her face as her chin quivers.

I grab Sir Holden and move the queen to his side. “Take the queen to her private chambers. Lock the door and don’t let anyone inside!”

Concern pulls his brows downward. “But, Your Highness, what about you?”

I wrestle with my gown and pull out my dagger. “I can hold my own. Take her, now!”

The carnoraxis are fast upon us. Dante is already moving, his falchion slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first beast to reach us lets out a guttural roar, its maw snapping shut inches from my face. I drive my dagger into its side, feeling the resistance of its thick hide before the blade finds purchase in softer flesh.

The beast screeches, a blood-curdling sound that only fuels the chaos. Blood sprays, a dark, viscous fluid that stains my dress and the grass beneath. Dante swings his falchion, severing the head of another carnoraxis, its body collapsing in a heap at our feet.

“Stay together!” I shout to the remaining guests, my voice cutting through the din. “Find cover! Get inside the castle.”

As I look toward the castle doors, I spot Sir Holden standing between the queen and one of the creatures. I gasp as the carnoraxis lunges and swipes at Sir Holden’s leg, drawing blood. But Sir Holden doesn’t falter. He swings his sword, his second attempt making contact and slicing the creature through his middle. Limping, Sir Holden reaches for the queen and hurries into the castle.

A fallen kingsguard lies motionless at my feet, his throat slit by carnoraxis claws. I crouch and take his sword, switching it to my dominant hand while palming my dagger in the other.

The carnoraxis are relentless, their high-pitched whistles and shrieks creating a symphony of horror. They pounce on the fleeing nobles, their claws rending flesh and bone with sickening ease. Blood splatters the pristine lawns, turning the celebration into a scene of carnage.

Through the chaos, I see the king being hurried inside the castle by his guards. Torbin, however, is in pursuit, his focus solely on his father. And there’s a look in his eye that doesn’t speak of wanting to protect him.

It’s hate.

Torbin’s going to kill him.

I want to stop him, to call out and alert the guards, but the words die in my throat. Another carnoraxis lunges at me, its eyes blazing with hunger.

I parry its claws with the sword, the impact jolting up my arm.

Dante is at my side, his falchion a whirlwind of steel as he fights off the beasts. “We can’t let them reach the castle!” he shouts, his voice a rallying cry.

We fight side by side, a deadly dance of steel and instinct. The night is filled with the sounds of battle, the screams of the wounded, and the relentless roar of the carnoraxis. My muscles burn, my breath comes in ragged gasps, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. For the people huddled in fear at Ivystone, I must fight.