Page 9
Chapter Nine
Valen
The dining hall’s burnished silver walls catch the flickering glow of the candelabras that line the room. The stained-glass windows I’ve always admired fracture the waning sunlight into fragmented patterns that play across the long table like shards of glass. The harshness of the space is softened only by the deep purple drapes and the matching table runner, which seems to stretch endlessly and is laden with enough platters of food to satisfy an army.
At the head of the table, my father, King Orvyn Greymourn, sits like a statue carved from the same burnished silver that adorns the palace. His broad shoulders and commanding presence are tempered only by his hair, now more white than blond, a constant reminder that time is catching up with him. No doubt that’s why he’s forcing my hand. He wants to ensure the future of his kingdom. Beside him sits my mother, Queen Vynestra Greymourn, her emerald-green eyes cutting through every word and movement like finely honed blades. I inherited her warm, inviting smile, though hers has been perfected by years of courtly maneuvering. Lance, my sixteen-year-old brother, lounges on our mother’s right, clearly less interested in diplomacy and more focused on demolishing a plate of roasted pheasant.
I’m seated to the left of my father with Stella at my side. Her gown catches the light and makes her look every bit the regal fiancée I’ve promised my parents she is.
My father clears his throat, breaking the polite hum of conversation like the strike of a gavel. “Stella,” he begins, his voice steady and measured, the same tone that reverberates through court sessions. “Valen tells us you met under rather extraordinary circumstances.”
My stomach tightens. I force myself to focus on my wine, swirling it as if the motion could settle my nerves. Stella, however, doesn’t falter.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she says. “We met at a festival in the northern provinces, where I’m from. Valen quite literally saved me from being trampled by an overzealous crowd during the celebrations.”
My mother’s long hair slides from her shoulders as she tilts her head, her smile widening. “How chivalrous of you, Valen.”
“It was nothing,” I mutter, though my cheeks burn under the attention.
Stella catches my eye. “You’re being modest. You were very heroic.” She flashes me a conspiratorial grin and turns back to my parents. “He insisted on ensuring I was safe, and we ended up spending the rest of the evening together. We walked through town and talked for hours before we stopped to sit and gaze at the stars. Before we knew it, the sun began to rise.” She places her hand over mine on the table and stares into my eyes like I’m the only man she’s ever known, ever wanted. “As Valen walked me back home, I knew then that I’d already fallen for him.”
The room blurs—my parents’ watchful gazes, Lance’s curious smirk—all of it fades into insignificance. All I can see is Stella. Her gaze is so genuine, her smile so achingly sincere. She’s so good at this charade that even I almost believe her.
And for one treacherous second, I let myself wonder—what if it weren’t a lie? What if her words were true? What if I was the object of her affection—her laughter, her trust, her love? The possibility unfurls in my chest like a banner in the wind before I can force it back into the shadows where it belongs.
Her hand is warm, her delicate fingers resting lightly against mine, holding me steady while simultaneously upending my balance. My skin prickles under the weight of her nearness. My heart leaps and squeezes, races and slows with how much I want to believe her.
My thumb smooths over hers, an involuntary motion, and the tenderness in her gaze deepens. She’s honeyed whiskey, my favorite drink, and all I want is to get drunk.
I clear my throat, breaking the spell before it can pull me under completely. A small, calculated smile curves my lips, a careful mix of sheepishness and charm. I squeeze her hand, a silent acknowledgment of her skill and a reminder to myself of what’s at stake.
For better or worse, she’s convincing everyone in this room of our love. Including me.
My mother’s gaze softens. “It seems fate has brought you together.”
“Perhaps it has,” Stella agrees.
“And your family?” my father asks. “We were disappointed when we learned they wouldn’t be in attendance. What are their thoughts on the engagement?”
A shadow passes over Stella’s face. “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, my parents died when I was young, and I’m an only child.” Her voice is brittle, and she clears her throat. This time, when I squeeze her hand, it’s because I know she’s telling the truth. “But if they could meet Valen, I know they would love him. My father liked to call me ‘his little princess.’ Wherever he is, he’s surely gloating that he knew my fate all along.”
Her smile is bittersweet, the ache of her loss woven so deeply into her expression that it silences the room. Even Lance pauses midchew. Before I can overthink it, I wrap my arm around Stella’s shoulders and press a kiss to her temple. The gesture is impulsive, surprising us both, but it feels natural, the most honest thing I’ve done all evening.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide with emotion I can’t quite place, before her lips tip into a radiant smile that banishes the momentary heaviness.
Across the table, my mother exchanges a glance with my father, their approval palpable even without words.
Lance, ever the opportunist, seizes the moment. “So, Stella, what’s it like being engaged to my brother? Is he as boring as he seems?”
“Lance Greymourn, don’t disparage your brother,” my mother scolds through her grin.
Stella’s laugh is bells ringing, and it hits me how easily she’s charmed my family. How easily she’s charmed me.
“Not at all. He’s kind, brave, and far too smart for his own good. And he has a wicked sense of humor,” she adds, winking at my besotted little brother. “Though I suspect he saves most of it for you.”
“And what of your future plans, Stella?” my father asks, steering the conversation back to business. “Have you considered what it means to be part of the royal family? The responsibilities that come with it?”
Stella nods, her expression sobering. “I have, Your Majesty. It’s not something I take lightly. I’ve seen how much Valen loves his people and how deeply he cares for this kingdom. I may not have been born with royal blood, but I’ll do everything in my power to support him and serve Swords.”
“And the matter of heirs?” my mother asks. “The continuation of our line is vital. Have you thought about what it means to raise a family in service to the crown?”
“I understand the importance of ensuring the future of the Greymourn legacy, yes. I believe I would embrace motherhood wholeheartedly. If we were to have children—”
“When,” my mother interjects. “When you and the crown prince have children.”
Stella swallows, and her shoulders stiffen. “My children will be good people, Your Majesty. They will be brave and compassionate and unapologetically themselves. Who better to serve the crown than humans who value other humans?”
The room stills. Even my father’s sharp gaze softens, though he hides it well behind a thoughtful expression. My mother studies Stella for a moment longer, her green eyes glittering.
“You have a unique perspective,” my mother finally says. “It’s not what I expected to hear, but perhaps that’s precisely what makes it worth listening to. That will serve you well in the years to come.”
My father nods. “Valen, I think I can also speak for the queen when I say you’ve chosen well. I feel this is a good match, and we’re pleased to welcome you into our family, Stella.”
Mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, her usual steely demeanor melting as she looks between us. “Yes, my dear, we are very much looking forward to your wedding next week.”
Stella beams, her gratitude so effortless it feels real. She thanks them graciously as I marvel at her composure. She’s pulled this off flawlessly, so why does the weight of our deception sit heavily in my chest?
They didn’t merely accept our story—they accepted her . They see her as one of us now, someone they trust not just to stand beside me but to carry on our family’s legacy. The thought of breaking that illusion, of watching their faces when I tell them my dear lady wife has met with an untimely end, turns my stomach sour. Spending these past days with Stella, I’ve seen firsthand how magnetic she is, how easily she draws people into her orbit. I shouldn’t be surprised my parents aren’t immune, but somehow, I am.
My mother wipes the corner of her eye with a silk handkerchief, the rare sight of her misty gaze further twisting my gut. “Welcome to the family, Stella.”
My breath catches in my chest, and I can’t help but think: What have I done?
* * *
Stella exhales a long, slow breath, her posture finally easing as the tension of the evening ebbs away. She leans back against the plush seat, her hands resting loosely in her lap as the carriage gently sways along the path back to the cottage.
“You were incredible tonight,” I tell her, breaking the quiet that’s settled between us. “My parents, Lance—they were utterly taken with you.”
She offers me a small smile, the exhaustion etched into her features tempered by a flicker of pride. “I’m just glad it’s over. I didn’t realize how exhausting it is to pretend to be someone else.”
I study her, my gaze lingering on the tight coils of her hair as they glint in the dim lantern light, the curve of her lips as they quirk into that faint, weary smile. Marek’s words from the other day rise unbidden in my mind. “She’s open to…temporary entanglements. Carnal ones.” He’d said it casually, but I’d caught the glint in his eye that told me he was serious.
And I’ve noticed it too—the way Stella’s gaze lingers on me or Marek when she thinks we’re not looking. There’s a hunger there, subtle but unmistakable. It’s a pull I’ve felt as well, despite my best efforts to ignore it. Knowing Marek has warmed to her only adds fuel to the fire. He’s made it clear he’d be open to exploring what’s brewing between the three of us, though he’s left the decision in my hands.
But I’ve held back. The situation is delicate and messy enough already. But sitting here now, watching her in the muted glow of the lantern, it’s getting harder to remember my conviction. The soft light casts shadows over the hollow of her throat, the gentle curve of her breasts. Her very presence stirs something in me that’s becoming harder to ignore with each passing moment.
Temptation coils low in my stomach, an ache that’s been building steadily since the night she arrived. I clench my fists in a futile attempt to keep my thoughts in check. What would it hurt, really? To give in, to indulge in the connection that’s already thrumming between the three of us?
When the carriage stops, I step out first, extending a hand to Stella. She hesitates only briefly before placing her warm, soft fingers in mine, allowing me to help her down. We walk to the door in silence, but before she can open it, I reach into my coat pocket and pull out an envelope.
“This arrived just before dinner,” I say, holding it up. “From one of my riders.”
She takes it, her fingers trembling slightly as she breaks the seal and unfolds the parchment. I step closer, leaning in to read over her shoulder. The words are simple but electrifying. A woman matching Elara’s description has been seen in the Kingdom of Pentacles. We will reach the kingdom by morning and will report back any findings.
Her breath hitches, her hands clutching the letter tightly. When she turns to me, her eyes are bright with hope. “This could be it,” she whispers, a radiant smile breaking across her face.
Before I can respond, she rises onto her toes and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is soft but urgent, her hope pouring into me.
The kiss is over almost as quickly as it began. She pulls back, her doe brown eyes wide. “Oh my God,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Apology not accepted,” I growl, my fragile restraint snapping as I crush my mouth to hers. Her lips part beneath mine, her hands fisting in the fabric of my jacket as every ounce of my pent-up desire rushes into the kiss and I lose myself in her taste.
The cottage door creaking open jolts us apart. Marek stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“Well,” he says flatly. “This is disappointing.”
Stella’s blush deepens, her lips still swollen from our kiss. “Shit. Marek, I—”
Before she can finish, Marek strides forward, closing the distance between them in two long steps. He grabs her waist, pulling her flush against him, and silences her with a kiss that’s every bit as commanding as it is unexpected. Stella’s fingers clutch his sleeves as he takes his time, proving his point.
When Marek finally pulls back, she looks dazed, her lips parted and her eyes slightly unfocused.
He smirks, his voice a low rumble. “Next time,” he says, his gaze mine, “don’t start without me.”
Behind them, I grin, the last shreds of my resolve crumbling into dust. “Noted,” I reply, shoving them inside and kicking the door shut behind me. Screw my convictions. Life is messy, and I’ve never been afraid to get dirty.