Page 6 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)

Elowyn

The Great Hall of Masks was a cathedral of hunger tonight.

The chandeliers dripped silver light, each crystal prism pulsing faintly with glamour until the air itself shimmered.

Illusions threaded through the space, woven with the precision of a spell: phantom birds with wings of starlight glided through the rafters; blossoms of silver unfurled and fell like drifting snow; mirrored floors reflected us all twice over, so every movement became a thousand.

Perfume thickened the air, sharp florals laced with something richer, darker , the scent of enchantment meant to stir hearts and cloud judgment.

The courtiers gathered in their masks like carrion birds at a feast. Some wore delicate veils shaped like constellations, others great sweeping plumage that glinted with gemstones. All of them whispered, their words slithering through the air.

“The beast prince will break.”

“Or perhaps she will.”

I ignored them all. My face was hidden behind a mask of onyx edged with silver, my gown a waterfall of twilight silk.

Every gesture was rehearsed, each step the echo of a lifetime of training to play the pawn.

But my heart pounded hard enough to feel it in my fingertips.

Tonight, I would be bound. Tonight, I would prove I was not disposable.

My mother presided at the dais, veil of silver trailing from her mask like liquid moonlight. Iriel lounged at her side, his mask leaving his smug smile visible. He looked at me with the satisfaction of a wolf circling a wounded deer.

And there, Rhydor.

The dragon prince stood at the far end of the hall, broad and unadorned, as though contempt alone shielded him from the glamour pressing down on the rest of us.

His cloak was singed at the hem, his armor plain, his stance unyielding.

He looked like he despised every inch of this hall. The courtiers whispered again, hungry.

The herald’s staff struck the floor. “Flame and twilight, bound for the survival of two realms.”

Rhydor was led to me at the center of the mirrored floor. Every mask tilted forward, breath held, as we faced one another. His eyes were storms, dark and searing.

“Clasp hands,” Vaeloria commanded.

I pressed my palm to his.

The world shattered.

A surge of energy roared through me, silver and fire colliding in a torrent that burned and froze all at once. My breath caught. His did too. Sparks leapt from our joined skin, crackling in the air. Glamour faltered; illusions warped, fracturing as though unable to hold steady around us.

The courtiers gasped. A thousand whispers rose at once, murmurs of omen, of danger, of prophecy.

Rhydor’s grip tightened fractionally on mine. For a heartbeat, we were both caught, neither of us able, or willing, to pull away.

The vows came, sharp as knives.

“For peace,” I said, voice steady though my pulse raced.

“For survival,” he answered, his tone cutting, iron-edged.

Barbs hidden in silk.

The court hummed with approval, though they fed more on the tension than the promise.

When the ceremony ended, the feast began.

Music swelled from the galleries, harps and flutes layered with glamour until the notes pressed against my skin.

Illusions spilled anew , dancers of shadow twined among us, spectral vines curling across the walls, blossoms of light drifting down like snow.

Servants poured opal wine, trays of fruit glistening as though cut from jewels.

But the court’s whispers never ceased.

Kyssa sat rigid among the dragons, her collar gleaming defiantly. Yet the courtiers swarmed, circling with barbed tongues.

“Spare bride.”

“Rejected twice.”

My mask hid the flash of anger that burned through me.

I longed to rise, to slice their laughter with words sharp enough to bleed.

But I remained still, every inch serene, every line of my body honed to control.

Rhydor ignored them as well, his face carved from stone, his indifference stoking my fury even more. Did he not see? Did he not care?

I sat in silence, smile flawless, heart smoldering. If he thought me a pawn to be dismissed, he would learn otherwise.

The feast dragged on, laughter cutting like knives, music swirling until it rang hollow in my ears.

When at last the courtiers began to drift toward their intrigues, I slipped from my place at Mother’s side.

Through corridors lit with silver flame I walked, the weight of my gown whispering behind me, until I reached the wing where the dragons had been quartered.

His chamber door was guarded, but they let me pass. Of course they did. This was expected. They wanted me to go to him.

I stepped inside.

Shadowlight bathed the room. The walls pulsed faintly with illusion, breathing in time with the wards.

A false sky of constellations shimmered across the ceiling, though beyond Shadowspire no stars ever burned.

The air was cooler here, tinged with the iron tang of dragonfire, even though no flame burned.

Rhydor stood at the table, broad back to me, removing his gauntlets. He turned when he heard me, his eyes narrowing.

“Princess.” His voice was gravel, low and sharp.

I moved closer, the silk of my gown hissing over the floor. “Husband.” The word tasted strange, but I made it deliberate.

His gaze darkened. He did not speak, only watched as I lifted my hand.

I let glamour flow.

The air thickened at once, sweet with moon-bloom and spice. My mask shimmered faintly, my skin glowing with pearlescence, my lips darkened, my eyes deepened into shadowlight. My voice softened into a cadence that tugged at desire.

“Do you see me now?” I asked, stepping closer until the heat of his body brushed mine.

His jaw clenched. His breath hitched despite himself. I saw the flicker of hunger in his eyes, the way they dropped to my lips before darting away.

“You play with fire,” he said roughly.

“I play with shadow,” I murmured, fingers brushing the back of his hand. Sparks flared, hot and sharp, our skin crackling with energy. He flinched, but he did not pull away.

My glamour thickened, scent and shimmer heightening the allure. I leaned closer, angling my body toward his. His gaze betrayed him again , pupils dilating, chest rising faster, hunger warring with suspicion.

The desire between us was heavy, undeniable, as though the bond formed at the ceremony refused to be silenced.

I could have leaned in. I could have pressed my lips to his, felt the heat of his fire consume me. For a moment, I wanted it.

And then I stepped back.

The glamour snapped away, leaving only me, breath steady, mask serene. I left him standing there, fists clenched, eyes burning with fury and want both.

“Good night, Prince Rhydor,” I said, my voice silk.

I turned, the train of my gown whispering as I left his chamber.

In the hall, the guards’ eyes flicked to me, curious, wary. I did not falter.

Only when the shadows swallowed me did I allow the smile to curl my lips.

I had proved my point.

I was not disposable.