Page 8
Chapter Eight
Stella
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as the carriage sways gently over the cobblestone road. The amethyst gown I’m wearing is undeniably beautiful, its silk fabric flowing over my curves like water. The bodice is decorated with delicate silver embroidery that forms jagged patterns reminiscent of frost fractals on a winter morning. The sheer, weightless sleeves cascade down my arms and flare softly at my wrists, and a small train spills onto the seat beside me, the hem catching glimmers of light from the softly swaying lamp inside the carriage.
It’s a gown fit for a princess-to-be, which only makes me feel like more of an imposter. My chest is tight, and I can’t shake the thought of Elara. I keep telling myself she’s safe somewhere, but uncertainty gnaws at me.
When Valen came to the cottage for breakfast this morning, he mentioned he hadn’t yet received any messages from his riders. I’d hoped to hear some news by now, but I knew going into this that it could take weeks. Still, hope is lodged heavily in my chest.
I smooth the fabric over my knees and glance at Marek. He’s sitting beside me, his strong thigh pressing against mine. The contact is subtle but solid, a quiet reminder that I’m not entirely alone. He looks every bit the captain of the guard dressed in his uniform—a tailored coat of deep, regal purple, trimmed in burnished silver.
“You’ll be fine, sorceress ,” he says, cutting through the swirl of my thoughts. The word that began as an accusation, laced with suspicion and distance, has softened into something close to affection. Marek shifts slightly, leaning so close his shoulder brushes mine. “You bewitch everyone you meet. The royal family will be no different.”
I take a deep breath and try to will myself to embody his same unwavering confidence. “I hope so. I’ve been in enough emotional and stressful situations that I should be able to handle myself, but this…” My gesture takes in the general opulence of the carriage. “This is different.”
Marek’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. “We’ve practiced your backstory and answers to every possible question. You could recite them in your sleep by now. If this reckless plan fails, it won’t be due to your performance.”
“If Valen and I don’t pull this off…” I stop myself, unable to voice the potential consequences. Instead, I clasp my hands in my lap and stare down at the silver embroidery on my bodice as it catches the light. “I don’t want to let you guys down.”
“Stella…” His voice softens in a way I don’t expect, drawing my gaze to his. “Regardless of how this dinner turns out, I promise you won’t have let us down.”
His words pull at my heart, the place I’ve carefully kept locked away. I hold his gaze longer than I should, and the air between us shifts. It’s heavy, charged, much like it had been days ago at the modiste shop. My eyes fall to his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips before darting back up to meet his smoldering gaze. He’s magnetic, drawing me closer without either of us moving.
My pulse quickens, heat coiling low in my belly as I imagine what it might feel like to close the distance, to let go of the restraint that’s been holding us both in place. Because since the modiste shop, there’s been nothing. Nothing at all. Not one word or touch or indication that Marek or even Valen might act on the tension simmering beneath the surface.
And the tension is there, so thick I could choke on it.
I’d expected Valen to act, to orchestrate another scenario like he had that night we’d gone to town, something deliciously intoxicating that would obliterate the space between us. Instead, both men have kept a polite distance. A polite, proper, absolutely maddening distance despite the lingering glances that leave me wishing I’d tumbled into Towerfall while holding my vibrator.
“I appreciate that, Captain,” I say finally. “But I’m going to do everything I can to make sure at least one of us gets our fairy-tale ending.”
The carriage slows as we approach the palace’s front steps. Through the window, I catch sight of Valen waiting for us. He’s a vision dressed in his official attire. His jacket is a striking white with silver embellishments that catch the light like frost on a winter morning. A deep purple sash crosses his broad chest, and his regal, composed demeanor is offset by the warmth in his smile as his eyes meet mine.
The carriage rocks to a stop, and Marek steps out first, his boots striking the cobblestones with a thud. He turns and extends a hand to me. I place mine in his, and the strength of his grip sends a pulse of steadiness through me as I step down onto the pathway.
Valen approaches, his expression shifting to something unreadable as his gaze flickers between Marek and me. “You look stunning.” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”
I glance up at Marek, whose features are back to their usual impenetrable mask. But there’s something in his eyes …pride, maybe? Whatever it is, it gives me confidence.
Looping my arm through Valen’s, I nod. “Let’s go charm the royal family.”
Together, we ascend the wide stone steps of the palace, the grandeur of the building looming above us. It’s a fortress of silver and burnished steel with black stone accents that break up the shimmering facade. Purple banners hang from high parapets, their edges embroidered with silver. Sharp, angular stained-glass windows refract light into jagged rainbows that spill across the dark stone steps.
“Just be yourself,” Valen murmurs as we near the towering entrance. “They’ll see what I see—an extraordinary woman any man would want as his wife.”
With the disastrous end to my real engagement lingering like a bruise, the compliment only tightens my stomach. I doubt Marek has shared that story with him. If Valen knew, he’d understand just how hollow his sentiment rings. Still, I force a smile and square my shoulders, steeling myself to give the performance of a lifetime.
The marble corridors of the palace are vast and echo with the soft tap of my slippers against the floor. Silver veins run through the stones beneath my feet and gleam under the soft glow of sconces shaped like swords, their blades crossed and crowned with candles. Stained-glass panels filter the light into muted purples and blues, and gilded mirrors line the walls.
Valen’s hand remains lightly over mine, which rests in the crook of his elbow. His arm is as tense as a bowstring, the only sign that he shares my worries, as he leads me through the labyrinth of opulence.
Finally, we stop in front of a pair of massive double doors, each carved with an ornate coat of arms and inlaid with silver. My breath sputters in my throat as I realize what’s beyond them—the dining hall where the king and queen of the Kingdom of Swords are waiting.
“Ready?” Valen asks, his blue eyes searching mine. His expression is calm, but the faint lines of tension around his mouth and the stiffness of his muscles betray him. For all his confidence, I see the truth: he’s just as nervous as I am. Perhaps even more so. After all, his future—and Marek’s—hangs in the balance.
Despite my new identity as a love Grinch, I genuinely want to help Valen and Marek. Their love is rare. It’s the kind of bond that makes people believe in something bigger than themselves, and I’m determined to do everything I can to make sure they come out of this with the freedom to ride off into the sunset together. Advocating for people caught in impossible situations, navigating emotions, building trust—this is what I do. And this situation is no different.
With that in mind, I pull my shoulders back and grin up at him. “I’m ready.”
“If I forget to say it later, thank you for this, Stella.” He lifts his hand and brushes a stray curl from my face, the gesture so tender it momentarily stills the frantic beat of my heart.
“You’re welcome, Valen.”
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, with a regal sweep of his arm, he calls for the doors to open, and the crown prince of the Kingdom of Swords leads me into the first dinner of the rest of my life.