Page 6

Chapter Six

Stella

Midday sunlight streams through the palace’s stained-glass windows as I wander along a secluded corridor, clutching a stolen apple in one hand. The kaleidoscope of colors splashes across the polished floors and walls, shifting with each step I take, as if the Universe Herself is painting me a path.

“She always does this,” I mutter, half to myself, half to Her. “Throws me into the deep end of chaos and expects me to figure it out. What kind of divine lesson am I supposed to learn from this?”

The morning has been a blur of exploration and avoidance, slipping between quiet hallways and lush gardens while ensuring I wasn’t spotted by anyone important—or anyone at all. The Universe might have dropped me here for a reason, but She hasn’t exactly provided a clear manual.

The grounds are breathtaking though. Ornate silver fountains burble in hidden courtyards, and perfectly trimmed hedges and flower beds filled with vibrant purple blooms line cobblestone paths. It’s the kind of aesthetic that screams storybook royalty. I hadn’t meant to venture so far from Marek’s cottage, but curiosity—another one of Her nudges—had gotten the better of me.

“Is this part of the plan?” I ask Her, taking a bite of the apple as I cross an archway that opens into another garden. “Because I could really use a little more clarity right now. A sign would be nice. Or, you know, instructions. Something.”

The Universe remains silent, not responding with words, as usual.

With my stomach grumbling and my nerves steadying after dodging a pair of guards, I decide it’s time to head back. I told Valen and Marek I wanted some fresh air and time to gather my thoughts, a vague excuse they accepted with varying degrees of skepticism. Marek had insisted on shadowing me at first, but I assured them I wouldn’t be seen. Valen finally managed to convince Marek to give me space. They had other pressing matters to attend to, and having a personal bodyguard would only draw attention to me.

Now that I’ve had my fill of adventuring for the day, at least where avoiding discovery is concerned, the walk back gives me plenty of time to replay yesterday’s events in my mind. The market with Valen had been surreal, enough laughter and teasing banter and being trailed by the brooding storm cloud Marek, that I felt like I was in some kind of reality show. Valen had played his role to perfection. Honestly, so had I—maybe too perfectly.

But it’s not the market that lingers in my mind. No, it’s the cottage. My cheeks heat as memories rush in. Watching Valen and Marek lay bare their own private world of passion and trust had been…electrifying. “And then there was Marek,” I say aloud, shaking my head at the thought. A shiver runs through me at the memory, my skin prickling as though his hands are still on my thighs. His mouth had been relentless, and he’d held me still, like he couldn’t handle the thought of me slipping away. I hadn’t stood a chance.

The Universe stays quiet, but there’s a whisper of energy in the air. She’s watching, waiting for me to make sense of it all.

I shake the thoughts free as the cottage comes into view, the silver veins running through the stone walls almost glowing in the sunlight. The door is slightly ajar, and I pause just before stepping inside, drawn by the low murmur of voices within.

As I peek around the corner, Valen and Marek lock in a kiss. It’s slow and intimate and filled with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. Valen cradles Marek’s face in his hands, while Marek fists the front of Valen’s shirt.

True love might be the rarest thing in the world, but it’s easy to recognize, and the prince and his captain are most definitely in love.

“Is this the point where You remind me finding love is possible?” I mutter under my breath, addressing the Universe once again. “Because I’m not buying it.”

After kicking my ex-fiancé to the curb, I’ve sworn off relationships for good. The only kind of marital engagement I’ll ever agree to again is the kind I’m in right now—a fake one. Still, I’d never begrudge anyone else their happiness. Valen and Marek’s love isn’t mine to question. It’s theirs to revel in.

I clear my throat and step inside, leaving the Universe to Her quiet plotting in hopes She doesn’t have any more surprises in store.

Valen pulls back first, his smile warm and easy when he sees me. Marek, predictably, is more reserved, though he doesn’t outright glower at me, so I’m calling it a win.

“How was your walk?” Valen says.

“Were you seen?” Marek interjects, his brows drawing together as he crosses his arms.

The tension in his tone catches me off guard, though it probably shouldn’t. Even after last night, it’s clear he doesn’t trust me. A tiny pang settles in my chest, but I push it down. Of course he doesn’t trust me—I’m a stranger who fell out of the sky and landed in his prince’s lap.

“I made sure I wasn’t,” I reply coolly, tilting my chin up just slightly. “I’m not reckless, and I’m certainly not stupid.”

Before the tension can thicken further, Valen cuts in. “I forgot to ask you how you slept. I hope you didn’t wake up with a stiff neck. I didn’t want to disturb you last night.” He looks from me to Marek and back again. “Either of you.”

“No stiff neck here,” I say with a small smile, glad for the shift in focus. “Which is good, because I’m not a fan of anything being stiff on me.”

Marek almost chokes on his coffee, and an amused grin plays at the corners of Valen’s mouth.

“I don’t mean on me,” I stammer, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I mean, I don’t like it when my body parts are stiff. It’s great when yours are, because that’s, you know, useful for you, and it feels good. Holy shit, Stella, stop talking .”

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been good with people. Not just talking to them but really connecting with them, understanding what they need even when they can’t put it into words. It’s why I became a social worker—to help people rebuild their lives when everything around them feels like it’s falling apart.

In my job, words are tools. A well-placed phrase can ease tension in a room, defuse anger, or inspire hope in someone who’s ready to give up. I’ve guided people through impossible situations, coached families through heart-wrenching decisions, and talked countless individuals off metaphorical ledges.

But apparently, put me in a morning-after situation with two ridiculously attractive men I barely know, one brooding and distrustful, the other dangerously charming, and suddenly everything I say sounds like an SNL skit.

I can feel the Universe watching me, and She is loving this. She’s probably cackling to Herself, tossing back popcorn as I dig myself a bigger hole.

Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about it. Probably both.

“Oh my God,” I groan, absolutely mortified. “Can we just pretend the last three minutes never happened?”

Marek says “Hell no” at the same time as Valen’s chivalrous “Of course.” The two share a look, Valen’s stern and Marek’s unapologetic, which earns a shrug from the captain and an exasperated sigh from the prince.

“Are you hungry?” Valen asks, politely changing the subject and offering me yet another escape from my embarrassment.

“Starving,” I admit, grasping for the lifeline.

He gestures to a nearby table where bread, cheese, and fruit are spread out like a still-life painting. “Help yourself.”

I make myself a plate and sit down as Valen pours me a generous mug of coffee. It smells strong enough to strip paint but tastes like ambrosia. As I eat, the awkwardness of earlier starts to fade, replaced by that damned curiosity.

“So, Towerfall,” I begin, glancing between Valen and Marek, who have settled into their seats at the table. “You’re saying this is an actual realm. Like, not just a kingdom or a country but a whole other world?”

“Sort of,” Valen replies, leaning back in his chair with an ease that’s almost unnerving. “You come from your world…” He holds out his left hand, palm down. “And we are here, in ours,” he explains, placing his right hand on top of his left.

“That’s how the elders have talked about it in tales—like the layers of an onion,” Marek adds. “But we don’t have any proof—”

“We do now.” Valen smiles and gives me a wink. “As I was saying, Towerfall is its own realm, divided into four kingdoms: Swords, Cups, Wands, and Pentacles.”

I pause, my mug halfway to my lips. “Wait—Swords, Cups, Wands, and Pentacles? Like the suits of a tarot deck?”

Marek raises a dark brow. “You know of them?”

“Know of them? I’ve been obsessed with tarot since I was a teenager.” I set my mug down with so much excitement, coffee sloshes over the edge. “Each suit represented different energies—Swords for intellect and conflict, Cups for emotion and intuition, Wands for creativity and passion, and Pentacles for material wealth and stability.”

Valen’s lips curl into a small, intrigued smile. “Fascinating. It seems your world mirrors ours in some ways.”

“Mirrors…yes,” I murmur, the thought sending a pulse of electricity down my spine. “Do the people here reflect the traits of the suits? Like, are folks in the Kingdom of Swords all about logic and strategy? Are the people in Cups more…emotional?”

Valen exchanges a look with Marek, who gives a reluctant nod before answering. “There are tendencies, yes. In Swords, we favor intellect and order, but that often comes with its own conflicts. Cups are known for their emotional depth, but that same thing can lead to chaos. Wands are fiery and innovative, always pursuing their ambitions, sometimes recklessly. And Pentacles are grounded, loyal, and resourceful, though they can be overly cautious and greedy.”

My mind races as I soak in the details. “And you two—do you see yourselves as representations of certain cards? Though there are only seventy-eight cards in a deck, and we saw that many people yesterday alone, so I guess that can’t be a thing…can it?”

Marek’s jaw tightens, his gaze fixed on me. “If you’re asking whether we see ourselves as symbols, I’d say we’re more complicated than that. People aren’t one thing, no matter how much they might wish to be.”

I nod, mulling over his words. He’s right, of course. In tarot, cards are tools—snapshots of a moment, not static definitions of a person’s identity. But still, it’s hard not to wonder.

“It’s not totally impossible though. There’s a chance that people here could be tied to specific cards.” I press. “Not just figuratively but…literally. Like, someone might actually embody the Wheel of Fortune or Death.”

Valen tilts his head. “What makes you say that?”

I shrug, though my heart is pounding. “It’s just a thought. The connections between this place and the decks I use back home are too strong to ignore. If this realm was somehow…woven into the energy of the cards or vice versa, it makes sense that certain people would connect on a deeper level with one specific card.”

Valen leans forward. “And what would you say if I told you that’s not just a theory? That there are tales of individuals who are believed to carry the essence of those archetypes?”

I freeze, goose bumps prickling my skin. “I’d say I have a lot more questions.”

“You always seem to,” Marek grunts.

“You’ll find your answers in time, dear Stella,” Valen says, patting the back of my hand. “Towerfall is vast, and it has more secrets than either of us could ever tell you.”

I absentmindedly grab a hunk of bread and sit back, trying to process everything. If this world really does correlate with the cards I’ve spent my life fascinated by, then the Universe has just thrown me into the ultimate lesson. And for the first time, I wonder if this isn’t just about finding Elara or even getting back home. Maybe instead, I’m here to uncover something far bigger than myself.

“But the good news is our little performance at the market yesterday worked.” Obviously pleased with himself, Valen smiles, plucks a grape from the platter, and pops it into his mouth. “My parents have requested that I bring you to dinner for an introduction.”

I pause midbite, setting down my bread. “Dinner? As in, with the royal family?”

Valen nods. “I was able to talk them out of an engagement ball, but dinner is a must, I’m afraid. They’re eager to meet my future bride and hear the story of our whirlwind engagement.”

His use of the phrase “my future bride” makes my stomach flip, and not in a good way. But I nod. “All right. Let’s do it. What do I need to know to make this believable?”

Valen’s eyes light with approval, as if he hadn’t expected me to move forward so easily. “You’ll need to visit the modiste in town to procure a mix of day dresses and formal evening gowns that are custom to you and not just what Marek was able to locate yesterday. Dinner is tomorrow night. Between all the details you’ve already mastered and the few things Marek and I have left to teach, you’ll have all the knowledge required to present yourself as a charming, if somewhat adorably obscure, subject of the Kingdom of Swords. Once my parents are convinced, it should be smooth sailing until the wedding day.”

“Wedding day,” I echo, the words landing in my stomach like lead. I take a deep breath and clear my throat. How real is the marriage if it’s in a different realm? “Right. Smooth sailing. No pressure.”

Valen’s smile is the kind that’s meant to be reassuring. “You’ll do fine. Marek and I will be with you every step of the way.”

I glance at Marek. While Valen is trying to be encouraging, Marek’s silence is anything but. He finally nods curtly, and I’ll take it.

“In the meantime,” Valen continues, “I’ve dispatched my fastest riders to the other three kingdoms to search for signs of Elara’s whereabouts. If they find anything, they’ve been instructed to send word back immediately.”

I blink, the news catching me off guard. “You did that…for me?”

Valen’s grin softens, and for a moment, I see the man beneath the prince, someone who seems to genuinely care. “Of course. You helped me by agreeing to this arrangement, and I made a promise to you as well. It’s only fair I do what I can to help you in return.”

A lump rises in my throat. I know he has no reason to truly care, no obligation to be so considerate. This could all be an act, part of his grand strategy to win me over, but there’s no trace of guile in his tone or expression. Unlike how he acted when I first got here—heavy-handed and mildly manipulative—now his kindness feels genuine.

“Thank you, Valen,” I say, meaning it. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“Please, Stella, helping you find your friend is the least I can do. What you’re doing for us means more than I can say.”

He reaches over to take Marek’s hand, threading their fingers together. The stoic man’s dark eyes soften as he gazes at his lover, and the quiet affection between them is so palpable it almost makes me look away. But I don’t. I let myself see it. And maybe I let the ice around my heart melt a little too.

“All right, let’s get you to the modiste, shall we?” Valen says, breaking the moment.

I rise from my seat, smoothing my palms over my stomach in a vain attempt to ease the knots of nerves there. Back home, I’m a pro at navigating difficult conversations, at stepping into the chaos of people’s lives and helping them find their footing again.

But deceiving royalty in a strange land? That’s an entirely different kind of challenge. I’m used to helping people confront their realities, not spinning new ones out of thin air. Pretending to be in love with a prince while keeping my story straight is a level of bullshitting I don’t know if I’m cut out for.

Still, what choice do I have? If this is what it takes to find Elara, then I’ll step into the role of Valen’s besotted bride-to-be. And honestly, as far as fake engagements go, I can think of worse things than pretending to be in love with a prince, especially one as disarmingly charming as Valen.

I shield my eyes from the sun as we step outside. A small carriage waits with two gray stallions hitched to it. Nearby, a white mare grazes, her glossy coat and storm-gray saddle almost gleaming in the afternoon light. Marek holds the carriage door open for me, his expression unreadable as ever.

My attention catches on Valen as he swings up onto the mare, settling into the saddle like he was born there.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” I ask, frowning at the sight of him taking a separate mount.

The mare dances beneath him, eager to take off at his command. Valen grins down at me, his blue eyes sparkling with something that can only mean trouble. “Apologies, Lady Stella. Unfortunately, I have other matters that require my attention,” he says, his voice formal and loud enough for the driver to hear. “Enjoy your day with the charming Captain Drayk.”

Charming, my ass.

Before I can retort, Valen gives the mare a gentle nudge, and she takes off in a blur of movement across the meadow. His laughter drifts faintly on the wind, and I swear it’s aimed directly at me.

Marek clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. “Are you getting in, or shall we chase after him?” he asks dryly.

I huff out a breath and climb into the carriage. “Let’s just get this over with.”