Page 50 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

Nadya steps into my room, but I don’t look up right away. I’m still numb, still stuck in a mesmerized state of disbelief, from the events of the attack.

The air in Hedera is thick with unease. It’s been two weeks, and the citizens are still waiting for an official announcement from the royal court. The king and queen have been mostly shut behind doors of their private quarters. Moving through the corridors of the castle the past two weeks has been like walking on eggshells. The servants whisper in hushed tones, their eyes darting nervously, as if expecting calamity at any moment. The courtiers, usually so poised and composed, have been on edge—pacing the halls with furrowed brows and exchanging anxious glances. Even the guards, who normally stand stoic and resolute, have seemed restless, their hands gripping their weapons a little too tightly. It’s as if the entire kingdom has been holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break, and the uncertainty of what comes next hangs over us all like a dark cloud.

There’s been talk of shouting from the king and sobbing from the queen heard through the door of their private quarters. They don’t come to breakfast anymore, and even Dante hasn’t seen them since his brother fell. I’m sure they’re trying to figure out the right course of action to take.

“Celeste.” Nadya stands nearby, waiting for me to respond.

I have a feeling she’s been calling my name, but I haven’t heard her. “Sorry. What is it?”

“It’s the king. He wants to see you.”

My throat closes up. I’m not sure what to expect. Is he going to send me home, cutting all ties and ending his promise of aid to Delasurvia? Is he going to blame me for his son’s topple and demand I be punished? Does he still think I put him under some kind of fae spell?

“Thank you, Nadya.” I stand and take her hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just worried about you. About what’s going to happen to us.”

“Me too.” I pull her in for a hug. When I back out of the embrace, I give her a nod. “Wish me luck.”

Sir Holden falls into step behind me as I leave my room. He no longer limps, after he let me heal his leg. The king’s summons is like a weight pressing down on my chest, each step I take toward the door feeling heavier than the last. As I leave my room, the familiar surroundings of the corridor seem distant, blurred by the anxious thoughts swirling in my mind. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the soft patter of my footsteps on the cold, stone floor.

When I reach the doors to the king and queen’s private quarters, I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself. But it’s no use. My hand trembles as I knock. The door opens, and I hold back a squirm when Farvis stands before me.

“Hello, Your Highness.” Farvis extends his arm to the room. “The king awaits.”

Inside, the room is dimly lit, the air choked with tension. The king stands tall and imposing, his face unreadable, a goblet in his hand, while the queen sits beside him, her eyes red and swollen, as if she’s been crying for hours. She looks at me with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, a silent message that she’s here to support whatever decision the king is about to make.

I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening as I step farther into the room, feeling as though I’m walking into an uncertain fate. I glance to the side of the room and almost gasp when I find Dante sitting in an armchair. His eyes meet mine, his posture stiff, fingers gripping the arms of the chair. His lips twitch, and there's a slight furrow in his brow. I can tell he is as unnerved as I am having been summoned here.

It’s been hard to be able see each other since the attack, especially with the guards on high alert and watching every move everyone makes. Dante and I certainly haven’t been alone together since then, not that we haven’t exchanged looks and whispers expressing our wish to, whenever we’ve found the chance. I’ve basically been under lock and key, especially because I’m the one who pushed Torbin from the balcony. And we both thought it was too risky to use the secret passageways. At least for a little while.

“Celeste,” the king says, calling my attention away from Dante. “Have a seat.”

I sit on a settee across from the queen and fold my hands in my lap. When I shift, I feel the pull of my dagger’s strap on my thigh, reminding me that I still have some power here.

The king’s expression is grave as he surveys the room, his gaze lingering on each of us before he finally speaks. It’s Farvis’s nod that gets him to break his silence.

“Celeste, Dante.” The king’s voice is steady, but there’s an undeniable heaviness to his words, as if he’s carrying the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders. Which he is. “After careful consideration, and with great reluctance, I have decided that it is in the best interest of the realm to announce that Prince Torbin… is dead.”

The room seems to shrink around me, the air thick with disbelief. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, but I force myself to stay silent, letting the king continue.

“The people need closure,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “They need to know that their prince is no longer in the fight. To maintain order, and to prevent any further unrest, we must acknowledge his loss.”

“But we have no proof that he’s dead,” Dante puts in .

I look at him, noticing the way his shoulders slump and his jaw tightens. His gaze drops for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line, as if he's trying to hold back the weight of it all. He’s torn, I can tell. Despite the terror Torbin put us through, Dante still loves his brother and probably believes he can be saved. But he also knows Torbin is a threat.

“We all saw him fall, Dante.” The king sighs. “He is dead.”

He glances at the queen, who nods weakly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The king’s advisor, standing at his side, remains silent, his face a mask of stoic support.

“We cannot risk the uncertainty of his fate causing panic or dissent. The kingdom must move forward, and the throne must be seen as strong and unyielding.” The king’s words seem directed more toward Dante now. “The burden now falls to us to uphold the stability of the realm.”

I want to scream that it’s not true, that Torbin is still out there, somewhere, but the king’s authority is absolute. My heart aches with the realization of what this declaration will mean—for the kingdom, for the people, and for me. But I know better than to argue now, not here, not when the weight of the throne is pressing down on us all.

“What does that mean… for me?” I try to remain strong, but my nerves are threatening to unravel. “And the future of our realms?”

The king casts a quick glance at Farvis, who gives him another reassuring nod.

“I have decided that you are still an integral part of the overall strategy to keep both our kingdoms sustainable. A union is still the best viable option to uphold the bond.”

I furrow my brow, not certain what he means.

“I have decided that you will marry Dante,” he declares.

My eyes widen, and Dante’s jaw drops slightly.

“Marry…?” I can’t think clearly.

The king is demanding that I marry Dante. A part of me is thrilled because if I have to marry one of his sons, I’d much rather it be the one for whom I actually have feelings. But I know the king is not thinking about my feelings. It’s his way of keeping a hold on Delasurvia. He still wants the power and the control. However, I’m not sure the bond will count, since Dante is a bastard, holding no claim to the throne.

I turn my head to face the king. “But he’s not—”

“Yes, yes.” The king waves a dismissive hand. “I will legitimize him. In front of the kingdom, so that all will know he is no longer a bastard.”

Dante blinks, slowly getting to his feet. “Father…”

“You are all I have left.” The king’s features soften as he gazes at Dante.

I’m taken aback, not only by his declaration, but by the way he looks at his son. I’ve never seen this side of him.

But that doesn’t mean I altogether trust him.

“This plan, however, cannot be put into motion too quickly.” The king paces the room, his gaze far away. “The first step is to announce Torbin’s demise. And it is proper, after the death of a royal, to observe a period of mourning. Six months should be long enough to allow the kingdom’s people to recover. It is important that during this mourning period, you two are not seen together, especially not alone.”

Dante and I exchange a look.

With reluctance, I tear my gaze from him and nod to the king.

“After that, I will make my declaration, legitimizing Dante and announcing your engagement.”

I swallow, feeling as if I’m in a dream.

“Farvis, please see that Sir Holden escorts the princess to her room.” The king stares at me as if daring me to object.

I push myself to my feet, sparing Dante a longing glance. I want to go to him. I want to be enclosed in the warmth of his arms and feel his heartbeat against my skin. From the look he’s giving me, he must feel the same.

But I can’t do any of that. I can’t go near him. Not under the king’s watchful eye.

I go to the door, where Farvis is waiting to hand me over to Sir Holden.

Before I leave the room, I check over my shoulder and see Dante watching me. The storm grey of his eyes sends a shiver through me. He gives me a nod, and though we must keep our distance for now, I know we will find a way to be together soon.

When I tell Nadya the king’s plan, she shrieks happily and goes on and on about the thrill of a secret engagement. Though I am still stunned by the king’s decision and can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that Dante and I are being forced to wed, Nadya exudes all the hidden giddiness I’m feeling inside but won’t dare to show.

She finally settles down and goes into her room to read, while I take out some stationery. I need to get a message to my squad. I don’t think the king would approve of me letting anyone know about his plan, but I do need to alert them that the king’s guards won’t be looking for Torbin anymore. The Royal Regiment, however, will not give up. Mylo is still out there, searching for my uncle. And I need to make sure they keep me abreast of the situation.

When I finish the letter, I set down the pen.

“Celeste…”

I nearly choke as my uncle’s voice resounds in my head. Thank the gods! He’s alive!

But I don’t know where he is, and the raspy sound of his voice causes me to clutch my chest. I freeze, waiting for another word, any clue that might help me figure out where he is or if he’s all right.

“Outside…”

Outside? Outside where? The castle?

I jump to my feet. With my heartbeat in my throat, I open the adjoining door between my room and Nadya’s. She looks up at me from her book, questions in her eyes.

“What is it?” she asks, sitting up straight.

“I hear my uncle.” I swallow back the dryness in my throat, turning to fetch a cape from the wardrobe.

“Your uncle?” She runs into my room. “What? Thank the gods he’s alive! Where is he?”

“I think he’s here. Or he’s coming here. But he doesn’t sound good.” I pull the hood of the cape over my head and aim for the door. My heart is thrumming like a million horse hooves. “I need to go check.”

She stands. “Should I come?”

“No. Wait here. I’m not sure yet how freely we are allowed to roam the castle, and I don’t want the both of us to be scolded.”

“All right. Be careful.” Her hands wring together as she nods, and I make my way out into the hall.

I don’t even explain to Sir Holden where I’m going, allowing him to follow me down the corridor. I feel as if my footfalls are far too loud as I race toward the stairs. There are a few servants fulfilling their duties, but other than a slightly curious glance, they don’t pay me much mind.

The guards at the front of the castle watch me, but they remain at their stations. It helps that Sir Holden is with me. The cool, night air greets me as I step outside, my breath visible in the dim light.

I stand at the top of the stone steps, waiting for my uncle to speak again, damning the wind for being so loud. In the murky dusk, I spot the approaching silhouette of a horse galloping toward me, its hooves pounding the ground like a relentless drumbeat.

As the horse draws nearer, I recognize Mylo, his towering frame unmistakable even in the darkness. He rides with urgency, his eyes locked on the path ahead. My heart sinks when I see my uncle slumped in front of him, his usually proud posture replaced with a limp and lifeless form. The moonlight catches the blood on his clothes, and I feel a wave of fear and anger wash over me. A million questions enter my mind.

My feet carry me swiftly down the stairs to the iron gates, and I trip over my words as I ask the guards to open them for me. The iron gates groan open, and I run out to meet the horse. Mylo reins in his steed with a skilled hand, bringing it to a halt just a few feet from me. He dismounts with a fluid motion, his muscular arms gently lowering my uncle off the horse. Mylo’s face is lined with concern. “Celeste, he needs help.” His voice is strained and urgent.

I rush to my uncle’s side, my hands trembling as I touch his face. His skin is pale and clammy, his breathing shallow. He wears a blood-stained, Delasurvian uniform shirt and trousers, but no boots or jacket. His bare feet are blackened at the soles. “Uncle Kormak, what happened?”

His eyes flutter open, and he stretches out a weak hand that doesn’t reach me. “Celeste.”

Tears blur my vision as I look up at Mylo, who stands ready, his jaw set with determination. “We need to get him inside,” I say, my voice shaking but resolute.

Mylo nods, and I lead him through the gates, my uncle limp on our arms. Sir Holden hurries to help us, his face grim as he sees the extent of my uncle’s injuries. I hold on to my uncle’s hand, feeling the faint pulse of life that still clings to him, praying that it won’t slip away. But I have to let go of him when we climb the stairs, relying on Mylo and Sir Holden to carry him into the castle.

“There’s a room in the east wing,” Sir Holden says, indicating the direction with his chin.

I lead the way through the castle corridors, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The hallways seem endless, each turn a maze that threatens to swallow us whole. Mylo’s heavy footsteps echo behind me.

We reach an unused guest room, the door creaking as I push it open. The room is simple yet elegant, with a large canopy bed in the center, draped in rich, emerald-green fabric.

“Mylo, over here,” I direct, my voice tight with worry.

He lifts my uncle into his arms, strides over to the bed, and gently lays him down, his movements careful and precise. My uncle groans, his face contorted in pain as he settles onto the mattress.

I kneel beside the bed, my hands hovering over my uncle, unsure where to begin. The sight of his blood-stained clothes and the pained expression on his face fills me with a sense of helplessness.

I tear the shirt from his chest, my eyes scanning his skin. Whip marks, contusions, lacerations, burn marks… I hold back a sob as I look him over. He’s been fucking tortured.

“Sir Holden, can you fetch me a basin with clean water? ”

“Right away, Your Highness.” Sir Holden runs off, leaving us in the room.

“What happened?” I ask Mylo. “Who did this to him?”

“It was the Shadow Tsar. He left him for dead at the border.” Mylo shakes his head. “The Hederan guards found him and alerted me.”

“Left him for dead? I don’t understand.”

My uncle groans, his eyes barely flitting open, searching for my face. He tries to speak, but I place a hand on his arm—the only part of him that’s not covered with blood.

“Save your strength,” I urge him. “I need to heal you first.”

Sir Holden returns with the basin and a cloth, handing them over before backing up to give us space. I want to rush to clean off the caked-on blood, but I need to control my movements. My uncle seems to be hanging on by the narrowest of margins, and I don’t want to cause any more injury or hurt.

My instinct is to begin as close to his heart as possible. Laying my hands on his chest, I close my eyes and call upon my healing powers. I wish, now more than ever, that my powers were fully manifested. Now, when I need it the most.

“Please, hang on, Uncle.” The healing energy pulses through my fingers into him, but I feel as if something is wrong. Like something is trying to block the magic, slow it down. My mind races with fear and confusion. I want to kill the fucking tsar. “Uncle Kormak, can you hear me?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Stay with me, please.”

Mylo stands by the door, his expression grim. “He’s strong, Celeste. He’ll pull through. He has to.”

I can’t help but think he’s saying it more to reassure himself than me.

I don’t give up. Though it drains me, I push on, letting the healing energy flow into him. I can scarcely breathe through any of it until I see the color of the bruises lighten a bit. The lacerations change from bright red to a pinkish hue.

I can feel myself growing weak, but I don’t want to stop mending him.

When my hands begin to numb and the room starts swimming, I feel a strong hand on my shoulder.

“Celeste, you need to stop.” Mylo looks down at me with concern etched on his face.

Reluctantly, I let go of my uncle, my shoulders sagging. I don’t feel as if it’s enough, but my resources are depleted.

“It’s a good start,” Mylo says, hunching over and studying my uncle’s wounds. “But you need your powers to recharge. Otherwise, you can’t help him at all.”

I nod in defeat, resting my hand on Mylo’s arm. His presence is a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, but the uncertainty of the situation gnaws at my resolve.

I grasp my uncle’s hand, feeling the faint, erratic pulse beneath my fingers. “You’re going to be okay.” Please, gods, I pray it will be true.

The room feels colder, the walls closing in as I wait for my magic to work. I know it’s in him, the magic flowing through his body, and his magic should come back to full strength eventually, so he can heal himself. I can’t fathom the horrors the Shadow Tsar must have inflicted to weaken him so severely, stripping away even his own ability to heal.

Each passing second is an eternity, filled with the haunting echoes of my own fears. My uncle’s breaths come shallow and uneven, and I can see the pain etched deeply into his features.

My uncle licks his lips, his breath raspy.

“He needs water.” I get to my feet.

“Here.” Mylo unscrews his waterskin and holds the spout to my uncle’s lips.

He drinks, but it’s a struggle. Coughs burst from his throat, and I lunge to help him sit up. He winces at my touch, and I babble my apologies.

My uncle looks to me, but every now and then, his eyes roll back, like he can’t quite keep his focus and is being pulled into a state of catatonia. “Tsar… working with… siren.”

I want to question him, to extract the information from him, but I know it’s an effort for him to speak. I grasp his hand, forcing myself to be patient. Mylo and I exchange a look, and I can tell this is the first Mylo has heard these words.

“Seer… prophecy… third-born—” He winces from the pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

I try to shush him, not wanting him to exert himself. “It’s okay, Uncle. Rest first. You can tell me after you’ve recovered.”

I can’t stand to see him like this. It’s breaking my heart.

He squeezes my hand tightly, his eyes widening, piercing into mine as his lips move. It’s as if he’s not sure how much longer he can hold out and he has something vital to tell me.

“What is it?” I whisper, pulling his hand closer and leaning nearer to hear.

“Celeste… your father. He’s… alive.” With the last word spoken, my uncle expels a hoarse breath, and his eyes drift closed.