Page 123 of Blackheart

People would say it, if they were not already. The world had said it about Xavian, but he was used to it. His whole life he’d grown up in Clarke’s shadow. At least he was respected as a warrior and leader. I was nothing more than Clarke’s bastard sister. If I didn’t have the King's Mark, no one would even believe that much.

I tensed my hands on the vanity, staring back at someone I hardly recognized.

The tiara was beautiful. If someone else were wearing it, I would surely know they were regal. I supposed that was the point.

In the reflection, I made eye contact with my brother, who still stood in the doorway. “Lady Jocelynn did say appearances for such matters are important.”

“Jocelynn is usually right about these things,” he mumbled, as if she had given him the same speech.

She had emphasized multiple times in the past day how wealthy some of the attendees would be, and how the men and materials they could provide would be invaluable. If all I had to do was dress up, it was the least I could do. Or so I kept telling myself.

My smile fell flat. “Xavian?”

“What?” he snipped, as if he had somewhere better to be. He was grouchy today, even for… well, him.

Maybe he wasn’t the best person for moral support, but he was the only one who might understand the immense pressure closing in on me.

“I know you’re still upset about the bladebreather incident, but…” I stopped myself, shaking my head. Why were vulnerable moments such torment? Why could I not just get my words out?

“What is it?” he pressed.

It was like a wall was blocking my speech.

“Tell me.”

I swallowed. “I’m worried I’m not doing enough. I keep trying to find a purpose, like yesterday in Moonhill, but every single time, I fail. I’m afraid I’m going to fail again tonight.” I stared back at myself as I spoke, searching through seas of black oblivion in my own eyes, hoping to find a spark of light.

“That’s ridiculous.” He plopped onto my bed, dark curls falling around his face.

"Thanks for the advice, Your Highness," I said, narrowing my eyes.

He scoffed dramatically. “You crossed the Sea of Blades to deliver the deed, nearly died every damn day, and you are doing your duty by accepting a betrothal. By this time next year, Castivian may have another heir, and you’ll have contributed more than anyone else could for this kingdom. Get a grip on your pride. Act like you represent lands worth fighting for. We are the last of the Lyons blood.”

“But what about my actualpurpose? Just being an heir can’t be my entire life?”

Yes, I was getting married. I’d already resolved not to bother the man beyond fulfilling our marital duties. Like most men, he surely had plenty of mistresses and other affairs to keep him occupied. I only hoped he would leave me alone, apart from producing an heir.

One child. For now.

Xavian sighed and rubbed his head. “Some people get so caught up trying to find their purpose, they forget to actually live. Don't let that happen to you, Elora.”

He didn't understand what I was saying at all.

Thankfully, a knock thudded downstairs. I glanced at Singer and the Orb on the nightstand, then back in the mirror. They would clash entirely with the elegant outfit.

I left them safe where they belonged and followed Xavian down the stairs, holding my dress and trying to keep the tiara from slipping right off.

Xavian answered the door with a sharp eye, cracking it wide.

My breath hitched.

Riven stood tall in a black, lavish jacket and pants that hugged his muscular build. Heat flashed through my core. His hair was slicked back, offering a full view of his tan, freckled skin and soft eyes.

“Don’t make me fucking kill you later,” Xavian mumbled.

“You should come with,” Riven taunted, noticing Xavian’s loose white shirt and baggy pants.

“Ha. I have correspondences to tend to, and a brothel calling my name—but thank you for the invitation.” Xavian flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on a pillow.