The Dravenhold Grand Hall shimmered with light and opulence, a thousand candles reflecting in polished marble floors and mirrored walls. Gilded columns stretched upward, framing frescoes of past victories, while the chandeliers swayed slightly with the music — a waltz delicate enough to make nobles preen but slow enough to make Marin's feet itch. If I have to stand here swaying any longer, I'll fuse to the floor, she thought dryly. The air was warm with perfume and candle wax, threaded through with the faint metallic tang of polished silver. The scent of honeyed pastries drifted from the refreshment tables, tormenting her with the promise of sugar she couldn't yet reach. If Kael really cared about my survival, he'd let me near the food.
She was already wishing for a quiet corner and a plate of pastries, but Kael's words from earlier echoed in her head: "Stay near me. Do not wander." His voice from that moment had been low, almost protective, and though he stood several feet away now, she could still feel the way his eyes lingered on her — watchful, measuring, a tether she both resented and secretly relied on. Protective or controlling? …Probably both.
Easier said than done when everyone seemed to want to greet "the General's bride." She curtsied for the fifth time in as many minutes, smiling politely, her hands gripping the skirts of her pale blue gown as though sheer willpower might keep her from tripping on them. The hem brushed her ankles in a way that felt almost malicious, as if the fabric itself was waiting for her to make a fool of herself. If this dress had a personality, it would be snickering. As she moved from greeting to greeting, she caught snippets of murmured commentary — "Poor thing, she looks nervous" … "Nervous? That's the woman who tripped into the trade minister last month" — and forced her smile to stay fixed. Wonderful. I'm a walking ballroom anecdote.
Kael stood nearby, tall and still, his sharp black uniform catching the candlelight in subtle silver threads. His watchful gaze swept the room like a blade — not just for security, but to measure who might be a friend, a foe, or a disaster waiting to happen. She caught him glancing at her once, the faintest flicker softening his features before he schooled them again. Great. He's either checking if I'm safe or waiting for the moment I face-plant.
Which, in Marin's case, was almost always both.
When the envoy from Varennes approached — a tall man with hair like polished copper and an expression so polished it might have been lacquered on — Marin thought she could manage polite conversation.
"Lady Draven," he said smoothly, bowing with a calculated smile. "An honour to meet the woman who tamed our Wolf."
Marin nearly inhaled wrong. Tamed? What am I, some kind of wolf-whisperer? She darted a look at Kael. His eyes narrowed, but beneath the steel was something warmer, as if he didn't entirely mind the implication.
"Wolf?" she said under her breath to Kael. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
His lips curved faintly. "Depends on which one of us they're talking about."
She curtsied in reply, but the heel of her slipper caught her skirt. Oh no. Not now. Not—
The bow pulled the bodice seam just a little too far.
Riiip.
Not a discreet sound — this was the court-wide "something expensive just died" kind of rip.
Her balance tipped forward, but instead of falling directly into the envoy, her flailing leg clipped a passing servant. Oh no, oh no, oh— The startled man stumbled into another guest — who happened to be standing dangerously close to the envoy. There was a gasp, the clatter of cutlery hitting the marble, and a wine glass shattering as the chain reaction sent the envoy reeling backward. He collided with a table, knocking over more glasses, and spilling a goblet of wine across his own coat. Marin caught glimpses of onlookers — wide eyes, half-covered mouths, a pair of ladies clutching each other to stifle laughter.
"Please tell me that wasn't my fault," Marin whispered.
Kael's voice was bone-dry, but his eyes flicked over her quickly as if checking for injury before answering. "Do you want the truth, or the polite answer?"
The shock and embarrassment loosened something hidden; as he lurched, a folded packet slid from his inner pocket. Papers. That's never good. It skidded across the polished floor, stopping just in front of Marin's slipper. She stared at it for a beat, unsure whether to pick it up, when the nearest of Kael's captains stooped with a frown, his curiosity sharpening into suspicion.
Kael was there in three long strides, the crowd parting instinctively. His hand came to rest on Marin's arm, steady but gentle, grounding her after the commotion. She felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric, the subtle strength in his grip keeping her upright. If only his hand weren't so steadying, I could stay mad about being ordered around.
"What's this?" the captain asked, offering the recovered papers to Kael. The General's eyes flicked over the contents once, his jaw tightening, posture straightening into an unmistakable threat. "Forgeries," he said flatly, his voice carrying across the stunned hush. "Treaty signatures meant to bind Dravenhold into surrendering border forts."
Gasps swept the ballroom, whispers breaking out like wildfire. The envoy stammered something desperate, but the guards were already closing in. Kael's thumb brushed lightly over Marin's wrist — a fleeting, private reassurance — before he stepped forward to issue crisp, lethal orders that brooked no delay.
"Next time," he murmured to her as he moved away, "warn me before you start dismantling my enemies."
"I didn't—" she began, then stopped. …Is this what dismantling enemies looks like? "…You're welcome?"
When the envoy was dragged away, the music hadn't yet resumed. Nobles stared openly at Marin, their whispers a blend of shock, curiosity, and amusement. She felt the weight of their eyes like a physical thing, her cheeks burning hotter than the ballroom lanterns. I should have just hidden under the dessert table. Someone in the back murmured something about "dangerous luck" and another called her "the silk calamity," which she decided, with grim pride, would make a decent tavern nickname.
"I— I didn't mean—" she began, her voice small against the vast hush.
Kael leaned closer, his presence shielding her from some of the stares, his tone low for her ears alone. "You saved the kingdom, Marin." The warmth in his voice was so at odds with his icy command moments before that it made her heart skip. Oh no. Don't do that. Don't make my knees weaker than they already are.
"I ripped my dress and kicked a servant," she muttered, half-defensive, half-embarrassed.
"You also exposed an enemy agent." His hand stayed warm and steady on her arm, fingers curling just enough to anchor her. "Though I'd prefer you not combine the two in the future."
"Sorry," she said under her breath, "next time I'll trip more strategically."
The corner of his mouth — just barely — twitched upward. His gaze softened, lingering on her face in a way that made the rest of the room blur at the edges. Why is he looking at me like that? Stop it. No, don't stop.
"…You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she whispered.
His smirk deepened slightly. "Immensely."
"Great," she deadpanned. "I'm glad my public humiliation is such quality entertainment."
When they finally left the hall, Marin tugged the shawl Kael had draped over her shoulders to hide the rip. The cool air of the corridor felt like freedom. Sweet, seam-free freedom. Their footsteps echoed softly along the marble, the distant hum of the ballroom fading behind them.
"I'm never wearing silk again," she muttered.
Kael's tone was infuriatingly calm. "We'll see about that. Silk seems to suit you… though perhaps reinforced seams next time."
She groaned. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
The faintest smirk ghosted his lips. "Not while it keeps saving lives." His gaze slid toward her for a moment, and she felt an odd flicker of warmth at the look — not that she was going to admit it out loud.
She shot him a look. "If I ever save the realm in wool, you're buying me cake."
His brow arched. "Deal. But only if I get a slice."
By the time they reached the end of the corridor, Marin was muttering about seamstresses and sabotage while Kael was clearly suppressing a laugh — which, to her mild irritation, made his shoulders shake just enough to give him away.
"Go ahead and laugh," she grumbled. "Just remember — next time I fall over, it might be on you."
"That," he murmured with infuriating amusement, "might be the one tactical disaster I look forward to."
She stopped walking, tugging gently on his sleeve until he faced her. "Careful, General, you might get exactly what you wish for." Her voice was lighter than she intended, and before she could think better of it, he stepped closer, his shadow mingling with hers.
For a moment, neither spoke — the only sound was the soft echo of their breathing in the empty hall. Then, almost without warning, his hand cupped her cheek, cool from the night air, and she found herself leaning in. His kiss was slow but certain, tasting faintly of wine and something sharper she couldn't name. It stole her breath in a way that had nothing to do with tripping.
When they parted, his forehead rested against hers for a beat, his voice low. "That," he said, "is the kind of disaster I'd never try to avoid."
Of course he would look forward to my downfall if he gets to catch me, she thought, dazed but smiling. And maybe — just maybe — I wouldn't mind if he did.