Next came a man with dark, brooding hair and eyes the unusual, vibrant blue of a summer sky, almost like a paler version of Caldan's storm-grey. He was tall, powerfully built, with a quiet intensity that drew the eye. Arin had seen him before, glimpsed in the palace corridors, but never this close. He was clearly a prince, by his bearing.
Beside him, a woman with elegant auburn hair and a face carved from ice stared blankly ahead, her gaze sweeping over the ruined observatory with an almost weary disdain. Her gown was a deep emerald, rich and heavy.
Their eyes, one by one, took in the scene: the shattered glass, the wind whistling through the gaping windows, the splatters of blood on the stone floor, the torn fabric that was once Caldan's tunic. And then, their gazes landed on Arin. Barefoot, her own tunic ripped to bind his wound, her dark chestnut hair wild around her face, standing inches from a bruised, bleeding Caldan.
Queen Armyra's icy composure, usually impenetrable, slipped. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, narrowed as she took in her son's bruised jaw and the angry red stain blooming on his side. She rushed forward, her velvet robes swirling around her, her gloved hand reaching out to cup Caldan's face. Her touch was possessive, almost fierce.
"Caldan," she breathed, her voice low, a strained whisper of concern. Her thumb gently brushed the darkening bruise on his jaw. Her eyes, cold as winter ice, flicked to Arin, burning with an accusation that needed no words. "Who did this to you? Who dared lay hands on a prince of this realm?"
Before Caldan could even open his mouth, Lady Irevya's voice dripped like venom, slithering into the already tense air. Her red hair seemed to shimmer, reflecting the faint dawn light. "She did, Your Majesty. Look at her—filthy, wild. A peasant's dagger in royal flesh, no doubt." Her eyes, flat and black, raked over Arin, filled with unbridled contempt. "It's written all over her face. The hunger of the low-born, always reaching for what isn't theirs."
Arin felt a hot flush crawl up her neck, a mixture of rage and fierce indignation. "I am not a peasant, Lady, and my dagger was not in royal flesh. The Prince was wounded, and I helped him to safety." Her voice, though rough, carried a raw defiance that startled even herself.
Irevya's eyes flashed, surprised by Arin's sharp retort. She stepped forward, her hand lifting, poised to strike. Her elegant fingers, adorned with a single heavy gold ring, tightened into a claw. "How dare you speak to me, girl? Do you know who I am? A common street rat, daring to bare her teeth at a Princess of the Kaerythene Dynasty!"
Arin didn't flinch. She simply stared back, her chin lifted, her gray eyes unwavering, daring the woman to follow through. The sting of the word "rat" was familiar, a mark of her past, but she wouldn't let it break her. She wouldn't cower.
But before Irevya's hand could connect with Arin's face, Caldan intercepted her wrist. He moved with a speed that belied his injury, his fingers closing around Irevya's arm with a quiet, steely grip. A snap, a subtle click of bone, echoed in the tension-filled chamber. Irevya gasped, her face twisting in a fleeting grimace of pain.
Caldan's voice was low, cutting like steel on stone. "She saved my life, Aunt. You would do well to remember that."
Silence. Everyone froze. The guards, the royal family, even the howling wind seemed to hold its breath. Armyra's eyes, fixed on her son, were unreadable. Irevya, her face pale, stared at Caldan, a flicker of something unidentifiable—shock? fury?—crossing her features.
The heavy silence stretched, broken only by the distant sounds of the palace awakening and the persistent howl of the wind through the shattered windows. Caldan still held Irevya's wrist, his gaze unwavering, a silent warning. After a beat, he released her, and she snatched her hand back, rubbing her wrist with a faint hiss of pain, her eyes still locked on him, a mixture of resentment and bewildered respect.
"An assassin, Mother," Caldan finally said, his voice flat, addressing the Queen. "He attacked me in my study. We escaped through the hidden passage." He gestured vaguely towards the tattered remnants of his tunic, stained crimson. "He came for my throat."
Queen Armyra's gaze flickered to the bloodstains on the stone floor, then back to Caldan, her silver eyes narrowing. "And you say this… girl… is responsible for you being alive?" She glanced at Arin, then back at her son, a strange calculation in her expression. "Where did he come from, this assassin? And why was he not stopped before reaching your chambers?"
"He moved with a speed I've rarely encountered," Caldan admitted, a rare note of grudging respect in his tone. "And as for his origins, that is what we must uncover." His gaze flicked to Arin, a brief, knowing look passing between them. "She intervened, as you saw. She's remarkably… resourceful."
The dark-haired man, the prince with the storm-blue eyes, finally spoke, his voice deep and measured, laced with a quiet curiosity. He took a step forward, his gaze fixed on Arin, unwavering and intense. "You helped him escape? From an assassin?"
Arin met his gaze, unflinching. "He was injured. I simply… assisted him in finding this passage." She kept her voice even, devoid of any boast. It was the truth, after all.
Lady Irevya scoffed, her voice still dripping with venom. "Assistance? Or perhaps a convenient distraction? Caldan, you bring a common girl into your tower, to your private study, and suddenly you are attacked?" Her words were laced with heavy implication, her dark eyes glittering with suspicion. "It seems rather… opportune."
Caldan's eyes hardened, a dangerous glint in their depths. "Would you rather I were dead, Aunt? Is that what you are implying?" His voice dropped to a low, perilous growl, a threat barely veiled. The air in the chamber seemed to grow colder, thicker.
Irevya flinched, taking a step back, her composure momentarily ruffled. "Of course not, nephew! I merely ask questions. What is a court without questions, after all?" Her smile was thin, brittle.
The auburn-haired woman, the ice-wrapped rose, finally stirred, her voice soft, almost a whisper, yet carrying a surprising weight. Her eyes, though still distant, held a flicker of sharp intelligence. "And the bruise on your jaw, Prince Caldan? Was that also part of this 'assistance'?" She swept her gaze from Caldan's face to Arin's, lingering there.
Caldan's lips curled into a dry, humorless smirk. "That was… a misunderstanding," he admitted, his gaze briefly meeting Arin's, a fleeting spark of shared memory passing between them. "A moment of… spirited disagreement. Nothing more."
Arin felt a flush creep up her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and defiance. A punch. She had actually punched a prince of the realm. And he was admitting it, in front of his entire family. It was absurd. And infuriating.
Queen Armyra, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the scene, assessing every detail. Her silver hair seemed to gleam in the growing light. "Regardless of the methods," she said, her voice regaining its usual cool command, "my son is alive. And this girl stands here, unharmed. There is a debt owed." Her gaze, sharp and assessing, settled on Arin. "You saved my son. What do you want in return?"
Arin opened her mouth to answer, the word "freedom" already forming on her tongue. The simple, raw desire to be free of this gilded cage, free of the princes and queens and their deadly games. But Caldan cut her off, stepping between them, subtly yet decisively positioning himself in front of her.
"She has already been rewarded, Mother," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Lady Irevya's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. "By whom?" she demanded, her voice rising in a sharp crescendo. "And with what? A commoner doesn't simply walk away from saving a prince without a debt being paid. What coin, what favor, has she extorted from you, Caldan?"
Caldan's lips curled into a dangerous, slow smirk, a cold fire in his eyes. He glanced back at Arin, a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance that was gone before anyone else could catch it. "She's still breathing," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble. "And that, Aunt, in this viper's nest of a palace, is reward enough. Don't you think?"
His words hung in the air, a veiled threat wrapped in a careless statement. A clear message that he had claimed her, in some twisted way, that her life was now inextricably linked to his. Arin felt a cold shiver run down her spine. It was a terrifying truth.