Page 19 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

Thin, but not lithe, with a low brow and square jaw.

Seth didn’t need to repeat his words from the other day.

The grim look on both our faces showed we remembered the conversation well enough.

His history of cruelty. The rumours about his past wives, now buried in the same plot outside of Ville-Fleur.

When I refused his favour, he stiffened, his practised smirk twisting into something fouler. Thinking quickly, I offered my hand for him to kiss. He took it, and from the merest touch of his hand, I felt his anger at my rejection.

As he leaned in, I read each emotion as swiftly as I could. He was beyond indignant, there was more to it. I hadn’t only wounded his pride, I could feel he didn’t believe I deserved to wound him. There was hatred there, one attached to my sex. I had felt it before, and no doubt would again.

His kiss sickened me, and I wiped the back of my hand against my dress for the tenth time as we finally left the arena behind us for that day.

My tired eyes drifted closed as the same woman from the morning pulled at my hair yet again, freeing the pins before twisting my hair into yet another elaborate knot.

All I had done all day was observe the twenty-odd short bouts, and yet, I felt completely exhausted. My back hurt from holding myself straight, my jaw hurt from holding it locked, and I wanted nothing more than to eat a hearty meal and get some sleep.

But it was only just falling into the evening, and the new dress lying on my bed proved how far away I was from rest. The underlayer was the fairest shade of shell pink I’d ever seen, like the inside of a young oyster.

Atop it, the sheer gossamer layer was the palest gold.

It would look white at first glance, the usual shade for brides, and there was no way that was accidental.

I was barely present in my body as she pulled me into the dress.

It was far lower cut on my body, the corseted cups of the bust barely covering me as they pushed my breasts up.

The hem was several inches shy of the floor, showing off the dainty golden slippers the Thread had chosen.

She dusted my face with a shimmering powder, before coating my tanned collarbones with the same.

Then she took a step back, assessing me as a painter would their canvas. “You’re done.”

“Thank you for your help.”

She just huffed and swiped the coin pouch from the bed, pointing at me as she reached the door. “Tell your master to get better with his directions. All he told me for tonight was ethereal . He had to tell me three different words before I got that he wanted you to look sweet and airy.”

I held back a smile as she left. Then I pulled on the long white gloves to protect me from the torment of others’ minds, at least up to my elbows.

But there was flesh on show, and it made me uncomfortable to know that an accidental brush of my upper arm could allow me into someone’s mind. I would have to be careful.

A knock came at the door, and I told him to come in, expecting the Thread.

I turned to the entrance as it opened, playing with the pearl drop necklace.

But it wasn’t the Thread.

Another man entered the room, one I’d known for years but had never seen like this. This wasn’t my usual Seth, with an easy smile and his constant drab robes. This was Prince Septillis of Droundhaven.

He was still far from brightly dressed, with his black trousers and overcoat covering a dark grey shirt, but it was all finely tailored.

It brought out his jaw, and the extra darkness made his paleness more alluring, just as it had on Langnathin.

I had always thought Seth quite handsome, despite our shared Moontouched colouring.

But with clothes that actually fit him, he had moved from his overworked scholar look to a man of means.

I raised my eyes from my appraisal of his clothing to his eyes and found him near slack-jawed. He stared, his eyes poring over me from head to toe, catching on every detail, every gem set into the bust down to my golden slippers.

He met my eyes, and the intensity in his expression made my breath catch. “You look…”

“I know,” I said, looking down at my skirt to deflect from the weight of his gaze. “It’s a lot.”

“That’s an understatement.”

I twisted my fingers together, my cheeks heating. “Don’t make me panic more than I already am, please.”

Finally, a trace of humour returned to his tone. “As you wish, my lady.”

I latched onto it with a grin. “Don’t start that, or I’ll be forced to call you ‘my prince’.”

But he only stared at my mouth, making no reply. Whatever this was, whatever had changed between us in the last few days, I don’t think I liked it.

“You look different,” I said, trying to dispel the tension.

“Good different?” he asked, a ghost of his usual smile flickering to life.

“You look handsome,” I replied. “But you don’t look happy to be out of your robes.”

He sighed. “I was never old enough to attend the balls before I went to Eavenfold. I don’t understand the customs, and my shoes are uncomfortable.”

I laughed, staring at his shiny black leather shoes. I twisted my own foot, showing him my slight heel. “Well, that makes two of us. At least you don’t have to dance tonight. I’m dreading it.”

Again, that odd silence fell.

We’d never been like this, there was never anything in our silences but comfortable companionship. This was different, and his stare twisted my stomach into anxious flutters.

I only waited, hoping he would tell me what was bothering him. He had been off all day, and I guessed it was jealousy. I’d always been his on Eavenfold. We were each other’s only friend, and now, he had to share my time and my attention.

He swallowed, and looked at the dark window. “Would you have rejected my favour, if I had offered it today?”

“Of course not,” I said with a nervous smile. “What might you have offered? A lovely grey piece of scratchy fabric? I’ve always wanted more grey in my life.”

He flinched. “I was being serious.”

My mouth went dry, and all I could do was watch him, this boy I’d grown up with, as he ran his fingers through his white hair.

“When he called you perfect today,” Seth trailed off, before meeting my eyes with fervour. “If I had known the power in a simple compliment like that, I would have called you perfect every day.”

My heart pounded. “Seth—”

“No, I need you to know before it eats me alive,” he interrupted. “To me, you have always been perfect. Every single one of our Brothers saw it too, and that’s why they treated you so horribly. You terrified them, Tanidwen.”

My body shook with the words. Why now? Why today? I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t think that’s why they hated me.”

“Tanidwen Treleftir,” he said, stepping towards me. “When your Fate was read out, that you must wed the victor of the Games, do you know what my first thought was?”

I forced myself not to take a step back. “How unlucky?”

He chuckled a little to himself as he took another step. “No. I was far more selfish. The thought was, are Brothers allowed to compete?”

“Seth.” His name fell from my lips, and he stepped forwards once more until he was right in front of me.

He took one of my gloved hands in his. “The answer was no, of course. I asked Thread Ersimmon myself the night you were given the Fate, just before I discovered I was invited to attend,” he admitted with red cheeks as he rubbed the back of my hand.

I only stared at him.

“I know I am no fighter. I know I have no skill on horseback or with a blade.” He raised his tortured pale eyes to mine and gave me his saddest smile yet. “And yet I would have competed, if I were allowed to, for even the smallest chance of winning you as my bride.”

If there was air left in that room, I had no idea how to find it. “I don’t know what to say.”

He nodded, and I saw then that his eyes were shining.

“Then let me finish. I know you must do what you need to do. You deserve to have your power. Whomever you must marry, I will never desert you. I have my Service to do, and then I will likely be sent to Droundhaven. But I am here for you. Write to me. Visit me, if you can.”

“I will,” I replied. “I will write, and visit.”

He squeezed my hand. “You promise?”

“I promise,” I said. That was all I could promise him, but I meant it.

He searched my face, and smiled once more. “I—I had hoped all of this might be different. But I will always be here for you.”

My throat thickened, and I felt the threat of my own tears. “Thank you, Seth.”

He breathed out hard, dropping my hand and composing himself. He turned away from me, clenching his fist and rolling back his shoulders. I felt my hands shaking as he turned back to me. “Shall we?”

I nodded. “We must.”

He forced a bright smile onto his face and offered his arm.

I took it readily and leaned on him as we left the room.

If I had guessed at a fragment of his feelings before, still nothing would have prepared me for that declaration.

It spun in my mind, his words repeating and bleeding together.

Nausea and uncertainty clamoured in my body, and I felt so confused.

I was honoured, of course, that he might choose to spend his life by my side. But part of me found it baffling. We’d never been anywhere, never met anyone else. How could he be so sure? I was his childhood love, perhaps, but there was so much left of ourselves to discover, let alone anyone else .

Thread Ersimmon waited in the corridor for us, and I wondered if he had heard anything, or if he simply assumed we might need to speak alone. He hadn’t changed from his earlier attire, and by his drooping eyes, I assumed he’d only recently woken up from a nap.

He looked me up and down, nodding at my appearance. Then, he handed me a hook of beads. White, this time. “Are you ready?”

I positioned the beads and released a heavy breath, making the glass on the tiny threads move and sway. “I’m ready. Does your offer still stand?”

The Thread raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Duc de Fleur. Make him never sniff in my direction again.”

Ersimmon nodded, no criticism or judgement in his gaze. “Consider it done.”

Together, as a three, we walked through the maze of corridors towards the ballroom. My stomach was coiled from the conversation with Seth, my skin clammy already from the stress of what was to come next, and my head already aching from the weight of the pins.

But nothing could prepare me for the sight when the guards opened the ballroom doors.

Standing in the centre of the room, taking a cup of wine from a server’s tray, was a man I had hoped not to see for some time. A man who wasn’t supposed to be competing.

I took him in from head to toe, the red silken shirt tucked into black dress trousers. He wore no coat, his oiled dark hair combed back and plaited.

The Dragon Prince turned as the three of us stepped in together, and his blood-red eyes met mine.