Chapter Eight — The Court's Stage
The court smelled faintly of incense and sharper things — ambition, calculation, fear.
High arched windows spilled light across polished marble, gilded pillars rising like the trunks of some ancient forest. Nobles stood in clusters, their silks whispering as they leaned close to trade the kind of words one wouldn't dare commit to ink.
Kael sat on the throne at the dais's center, the same scarlet cushions I'd seen before now haloed by banners of crimson and gold. The weight of his gaze swept over the room like a blade across whetstone, sharp enough to silence any conversation it touched.
I stood to his right, half a step back — close enough for the court to see I was meant to be here, far enough that it would look like I was under inspection. Which, I realized, I was.
The queen sat to Kael's left, serene as a painting, her crown catching the light in delicate filigree. She looked every bit the image of grace and yet, when her eyes met mine, I caught the flicker of warning there.
Lord Ferrow was the first to approach the dais. His bow was deep enough to look respectful but not so deep it couldn't be taken as begrudging.
"Your Highness," he said to Kael, "the matter of troop movements—"
"You were given my answer last night," Kael cut in, his voice smooth but final. "If you've come to argue, you're wasting your time and mine."
A ripple went through the court — the audible tightening of spines and holding of breath.
Ferrow's mouth pressed thin, but he stepped back without another word.
I leaned slightly toward Kael, keeping my voice low enough for only him to hear.
"That will definitely win you favor."
His head turned, his eyes locking on mine with the slow, deliberate precision of a predator spotting movement.
"Sarcasm," he murmured, "isn't what I expect from my future wife. But I'll break that habit soon enough."
Heat crawled up my neck — part indignation, part awareness that half the court was pretending not to watch us.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His mouth curved in the barest smirk. "Yes."
The next petitioner approached, sparing me from answering. But Kael's hand brushed against mine where it rested on the arm of the throne — a fleeting contact that felt more like a claim than a comfort.
The rest of the proceedings blurred into a parade of grievances and negotiations, each noble measuring their words carefully beneath the prince's gaze.
Through it all, Kael's posture never shifted from that relaxed dominance, and his control over the room was absolute.
When the final matter was addressed, Kael rose. "Court is adjourned." His voice carried to the farthest corners of the chamber without him raising it.
As the nobles filed out, I felt a presence at my other side. The knight — silent, steady, his eyes scanning the dispersing crowd.
But when Kael stepped down from the dais, his hand closed lightly, but unmistakably, around my elbow.
"Walk with me," he said. It was not a request.
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The Walk
He didn't speak at first, and neither did I. His pace was steady, his grip firm enough to guide me without giving me room to drift away. The murmurs of the court faded behind us, replaced by the muted hush of the private wing's corridors.
We turned down a narrower hall, the air cooler here, the only light coming from torches that threw tall, wavering shadows along the stone walls. I recognized the wing — this path led toward the gardens and the smaller council rooms.
"Did you enjoy your first morning as the court's centerpiece?" he asked at last, without looking at me.
"Enjoy isn't the word I'd use."
He glanced at me then, the faintest curve to his mouth. "I could have kept you in the background. Let the court guess at your place here. But I didn't. I put you at my side, Serenya. Do you know why?"
I didn't answer right away, wary of whatever trap the question might hold. "To make a statement."
"To make the statement," he corrected. "That you belong to me — and by extension, that Vale belongs to me. The sooner they understand that, the fewer problems I have to deal with later."
"You make it sound as though I'm property," I said, testing the words.
He stopped walking, turning fully to face me. The torchlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the cold intent in his eyes.
"You are mine. That isn't insult, Serenya — it's reality. You can fight the word if you like, but it won't change the truth."
My pulse stumbled, though whether from anger or something else, I wasn't certain. "And if I choose not to accept that truth?"
His smile was almost gentle, which somehow made it more dangerous. "Then I'll give you time… until the vows are spoken. After that, you won't have the luxury of choosing."
The weight of his words lingered between us.
He turned and resumed walking, leaving me to follow. I did, because I suspected standing still would be read as defiance — and because part of me wanted to know exactly where this path ended.
It ended in the gardens, moonlight spilling over manicured hedges and marble statues. The night air was cool, touched with the scent of jasmine.
Kael stopped near a stone bench and finally released my arm. "The queen will expect to speak with you again soon. When she does, remember this — she serves the realm, not you. If she advises something that contradicts me, you will choose my word over hers. Always."
"And if I don't?" I asked, meeting his gaze.
He stepped closer, so near I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes — the marks of someone who has smiled often, but never without reason. His voice dropped, low and absolute.
"Then you'll learn exactly how little patience I have for betrayal. Even imagined betrayal."