Chloe.
In which my engagement goes from mildly dramatic to potential international incident.
You'd think that after the dramatic reveal of my engagement to the terrifying, possibly-not-human war prince, the ceremony itself would be simple.
Yeah. No.
The engagement party was in full swing now, with enough gold in the hall to fund three small kingdoms and enough tension to suffocate a dragon.
I was sitting beside Kieran, now dressed in a flowing ivory gown that Seraphina had aggressively forced me into twenty minutes before the ceremony. My tiara was crooked. My soul had left my body. And my mother, Rachael, had been muttering about posture and royal grace ever since the music started.
"Smile more," she hissed under her breath, fanning herself with the composure of someone two seconds from homicide. "You look like you want to murder someone."
"I do."
"Not tonight."
Across the banquet table, nobles drank imported wine and laughed a little too loudly. The Caelorthian delegation sat like polished statues, their expressions unreadable. Every time I tried to ease the tension with a joke or half-hearted smile, Kieran would lean in just slightly and say something like,
"You're doing well. They fear you less when you look soft."
Um. Thanks?
I risked a glance at my brother Rhys, who sat two seats down with his arms folded and the royal crown slightly askew on his curls. He'd been watching Kieran all night like he expected him to turn into a snake and bite my face off.
Kieran, naturally, didn't seem to care. He'd given Rhys one nod. That was it. One. Single. Nod.
Honestly, I was impressed my brother hadn't started a diplomatic brawl.
"So," Rhys said finally, swirling his wine and glaring at Kieran, "Do you plan to smile at all tonight, or is brooding your full-time job?"
Kieran looked at him.
"I smile when there's something amusing."
"And nothing about this engagement is amusing?"
Kieran turned to me then—slow, deliberate.
"Parts of it are... entertaining."
I nearly choked on my champagne.
The musicians changed tempo, launching into a song that apparently signaled the first official dance. I tensed. My palms were sweaty. Kieran stood and offered me his hand like he was asking me to walk into a battlefield.
"Shall we?"
I gave him a look. "Is 'no' an option?"
He arched a brow. "Would you rather I carry you?"
"I swear to the gods, if you princess-carry me in front of this entire court—"
I took his hand.
His grip was warm, firm, and entirely unfair to my nervous system.
We stepped onto the dance floor.
Now, to be clear: I can dance. I was trained. I've had lessons since I was five. But dancing with Kieran felt like being choreographed by fate itself. He didn't lead so much as command the dance. He moved like he knew every motion I'd make before I made it.
And the entire room watched.
My mother dabbed her eyes dramatically. Seraphina mouthed "OMG" from the sidelines. Rhys looked like he was trying not to leap over the table.
Then it happened.
Mid-spin, as Kieran caught my waist and guided me into a turn, a Caelorthian noble—one I hadn't noticed earlier—stepped out of the crowd. Drunk. Sloppy. And stupid.
"Your Highness," he slurred, bowing with the grace of a potato. "May I have the next dance?"
I blinked. "Um, I—"
Before I could even form a polite refusal, his hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.
The world tilted.
Because in less than a second, the noble was no longer standing.
He was on the ground. Clutching his throat.
And Kieran—Kieran hadn't even drawn a weapon. He'd just moved. Fast. Too fast. The kind of fast that made time feel drunk.
His hand was still outstretched. His expression unreadable.
"Touch her again," he said calmly, "and I'll rip your arm from its socket and use it to stir my tea."
Silence.
Horrified, mortified silence.
I stared.
Rhys stood. Rachael looked faint. The noble scrambled back, sputtering apologies. And Seraphina? Seraphina clapped.
"Slay," she whispered. "Literally."
The music didn't resume. The court buzzed with tension and terrified whispers.
Father cleared his throat and tried to laugh. "Ah, youthful passion. Ahem. Let's... continue with the festivities."
But everyone was staring at Kieran.
And not one of them moved to stop him.
Later, as the crowd dispersed and the ceremonial toasts dwindled, I stood alone on the palace balcony, the cold wind biting at my cheeks.
"Was that necessary?" I asked when I heard Kieran approach.
He didn't answer right away.
"I don't like being touched," I added.
"Neither do I," he said simply.
I turned. "You terrified everyone."
"Good."
"Even my mother."
"Especially your mother."
I blinked. "...You're insufferable."
"You'll grow used to it."
I huffed, then looked at him for real. He was staring at the stars like he'd seen them from different skies. Like he wasn't used to being on the ground.
"Why me?" I asked. "You don't know me. You barely speak to me. Why agree to this?"
He looked at me then. Something flickered in his eyes.
"Because you're the only one in that room who didn't flinch."
I swallowed.
"You think that means I'm brave?"
"I think it means you're dangerous. In the right way."
Silence.
The moonlight brushed against his face, and for the first time, I saw something behind all that control. Not softness. Not quite.
But something like... loneliness.
And then he ruined it by saying,
"Also, your sister is terrifying."
I snorted. "Yeah, she is."
We stood in silence a bit longer.
Then, quietly, he added, "I won't let anyone hurt you. Not even the ones wearing crowns."
I looked at him.
And for the first time that night, I didn't feel cold.
I felt seen.
And maybe a little doomed.
But mostly...
Warm.
Inside, the music resumed. Toasts were made. The world kept spinning.
But out there, on the balcony, it felt like something had shifted. Like this wasn't just a political arrangement anymore.
It was a declaration.
And I wasn't sure who I was more afraid of:
The war prince who would burn a man alive for touching me.
Or the girl who had let him.