Chloe.
The engagement ceremony was still in full swing, and I was still pretending to enjoy it. My cheeks ached from forced smiles, and my ears buzzed from the sheer volume of strained politeness and sycophantic laughter.
Rhys had taken up post at my side like the good big brother he pretended not to be. He was the picture of bored nobility—straight-backed, aloof, wine glass swirling in one hand while his eyes swept the room like he was expecting an assassination attempt any second.
"You know," he said, tone low, "this would be easier if your fiancé looked a little less like a walking execution."
I followed his gaze to Kieran, who stood across the hall, speaking to a few generals and high lords. Even from here, the air bent slightly around him. He wasn't doing anything. Just existing. And yet everyone kept a cautious distance, like he was a flame they were trying to praise without getting burned.
I couldn't blame them.
"He looks great," I said, sipping my wine.
Rhys raised an eyebrow. "You mean terrifying."
"That too."
Seraphina bounced up between us, as if summoned by sarcasm. "What are we talking about? Kieran's terrifying handsomeness? Because I vote yes."
"Go away," Rhys muttered.
"No. I want to see Chloe's face when he calls her 'princess' in that freaky low voice again." She clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "'Princess.'"
"Stop."
She giggled and skipped off before either of us could swat her.
I turned to Rhys. "Do you think this will work?"
"The marriage?" He tilted his head. "Honestly? I don't know. But I do know he hasn't taken his eyes off you since he walked in."
That would've been sweet. If it hadn't also felt like being studied by something ancient and patient.
Still, when Kieran began making his way toward me, my spine straightened automatically.
People parted for him. No one asked him to dance, no one tried to draw him into idle gossip. He was still, deadly, untouchable. Until he reached me.
"Princess," he said.
His voice was the same as before—deep, calm, and smooth like something meant to tempt and warn at the same time.
"Prince," I said, trying to match his cool.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
I gave him a look.
He nodded. "Fair enough."
We stood together quietly for a moment. He didn't seem to mind the silence. If anything, he seemed content to just be there, close, letting the world buzz and spin around us while we stood still.
"Do you ever smile?" I asked.
Kieran blinked. "Why?"
"Because it would scare everyone more than your death stare."
That earned me a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. A hint of something. Almost a grin.
And then she arrived.
Mirelle of House Thalor.
Draped in seafoam green satin, with a neckline cut deep enough to scandalize the clergy and a smile just as sharp. She sauntered up, eyes fixed on Kieran like I wasn't even there.
"Your Highness," she purred, curtseying far too low. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
Kieran turned to her slowly. "You are?"
"Mirelle," she said, her voice somehow breathy and smug at once. "Daughter of Duke Thalor. My family has deep ties to Caelorth. Perhaps you've heard of us."
"I have."
She beamed. "Then you must know my mother was considered the most beautiful woman of her time."
Kieran gave no reaction. Just a polite, neutral silence.
"I've heard," Mirelle said, stepping closer, "that you enjoy poetry. Perhaps we could speak more privately about our shared interests?"
I arched a brow. Bold.
Kieran didn't flinch. "I don't enjoy poetry."
Mirelle faltered. "Oh. I was told—"
"You were told wrong."
I tried very hard not to laugh.
Still, Mirelle recovered quickly, brushing a hand over her chest. "Well, if there's anything you need—anything at all—I'd be honored to offer you my time."
That was it. I'd had enough.
I stepped forward, smiling sweetly. "Lady Mirelle, I'm sure your time is as valuable as your neckline. But you seem to have forgotten that the prince is already engaged."
Her smile tightened. "Of course. I was merely being friendly."
"Mm." I looked her up and down. "If that was friendly, I'd hate to see what desperation looks like."
Seraphina, who had appeared behind me like a specter of chaos, clapped once. "BOOM."
Mirelle's cheeks went pink. "I didn't mean—"
"You did," I said. "And it's fine. Happens often. But if you're going to shoot your shot, maybe wait until the target isn't already claimed."
Kieran didn't say a word. But I felt his hand brush against the small of my back. A light touch. Subtle. Possessive.
Mirelle's smile disappeared entirely. She gave a stiff curtsy and walked away, heels clicking furiously.
Seraphina cackled. Rhys smirked. I just sipped my wine.
"That," Seraphina said, "was the best moment of my life."
Kieran looked at me, eyes quiet but focused. "You're efficient."
"She tries," Rhys said. "But that one was special."
I rolled my eyes. "You're all insufferable."
But I didn't stop smiling.
Later, after most of the guests had departed and the candles burned lower, I found myself alone with Kieran on the palace balcony. The night was cool. The stars, bright.
He stood beside me, arms behind his back, looking out over Veylinthia.
"She'll try again," I said. "Girls like Mirelle always do."
"I know."
"You're not going to make it easier for me, are you?"
"No."
I sighed. "At least you're honest."
He glanced at me. "You handled her well."
"She was annoying."
"She was testing you. Seeing if you'd fight for your place."
"And did I pass?"
Kieran's gaze lingered. "With distinction."
Silence again. But this time, it wasn't awkward. It was... familiar.
I didn't trust him. Not entirely. But there was something there. A quiet understanding. A thread tightening between us.
"Do you always let people underestimate you first?" he asked.
I smiled. "Only when I plan to ruin them later."
He nodded. "Good."
Then, to my utter shock, he lifted my hand and pressed a light kiss to my knuckles.
"You were born for this, Chloe of Veylinthia," he murmured. "Let them watch you burn."
And gods help me—
I was already burning.