Chapter Seven — An Invitation in the Dark
Was I destined to be cast away once we were united by sacred ceremony?
The question lingered as I walked the corridor, my steps muffled by thick rugs, the brooch from the queen heavy in my pocket.
I didn't hear the knight until he spoke.
"You walk like a prisoner counting her steps to the gallows."
I turned sharply. He leaned against the shadowed wall, helm tucked under one arm, his dark hair falling just to his jaw. The torchlight caught in his eyes — brown, rich and deep as worn leather, holding a quiet resilience that made them hard to look away from.
"I didn't see you there," I said.
"That's the point," he replied easily, pushing away from the wall. "The prince told me to keep an eye on you. And when one watches long enough, patterns appear… though not all patterns wish to be found."
"Did he also tell you to speak in riddles?"
One corner of his mouth quirked. "No. That's a habit of my own."
We walked side by side down the hall, his armor shifting quietly with each step.
"You know why you're here," he said finally, though it wasn't a question.
"I know what the queen told me," I answered.
"That's part of it. But the queen likes to dress truth in silk. The prince doesn't." His gaze flicked to me, assessing. "Do you want my version?"
"I don't recall asking for it."
"Then take it as a gift." His tone softened — not kind, exactly, but deliberate. "Your name isn't just a crown jewel. It's a key. And keys are dangerous things. People kill for them. People lose kingdoms for them. And sometimes," he paused, "the ones holding them end up buried with them."
I stopped walking. "Are you warning me?"
"I'm telling you to see the board for what it is," he said, meeting my eyes. "The prince will protect you if it serves his purpose. But purposes change."
"And yours?"
For the first time, his expression shifted — a flicker of something unreadable. "My purpose is to keep the board from flipping over entirely."
We reached the end of the hall where the double doors to my chambers stood open. He didn't follow me in.
"Rest well, my lady," he said, but there was an edge beneath the formality, as though he wasn't sure I would.
And for the first time since entering the palace, I realized that Kael wasn't the only man here playing the game.
I had barely stepped inside when a maid hurried toward me, her cheeks flushed, skirts rustling in her haste.
"My lady," she panted, "the prince wishes to see you. Privately."
---
The maid's words clung to me like damp silk as she led me through the quieter wing of the palace. The halls here were narrower, the windows taller, moonlight spilling in through stained glass in fractured color. My pulse matched the rhythm of her brisk steps, though I told myself I wasn't nervous.
We stopped before a pair of carved oak doors, each inlaid with scarlet lacquer in the shape of a rose. The maid knocked once, then pushed them open without waiting for an answer.
Kael stood inside, not on his throne but near a broad window overlooking the gardens. The moon silvered his hair, casting his features in cold light. He did not turn when I entered.
"Leave us," he told the maid.
The doors shut behind me with a muted thud.
"You sent for me," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"I did." His gaze stayed fixed on the gardens. "Do you know what Lord Ferrow asked me for this afternoon?"
"I was there."
His head turned just enough for me to catch the faintest lift of his brow. "Then you know it would be in your best interest not to be sarcastic with me… or snarky, as you sometimes are. There are men in this court who would take far less offense — and deliver far greater punishment."
"It does concern you," he continued, moving closer, the shadows following him until the faint scent of cedar reached me. "You are Vale. Vale controls the pass. The pass controls the realm's eastern trade."
"You've mentioned that before."
"And yet," he said softly, "I think you still believe this is about land."
His eyes held mine — dark, unreadable — as he reached for a decanter on the table. He poured two cups of deep red wine, offered one to me.
"What is it about, then?"
He took a slow sip before answering. "Influence. Loyalty. The kind you cannot buy with coin or bind with contracts."
"And you think marrying me will secure that?"
"I think," he said, stepping even closer, "that marrying you will make certain no one else can use you against me."
His hand lifted, fingers grazing a loose strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear with unhurried precision. The touch was gentle, but deliberate — as though he was reminding me that even the smallest part of me could be claimed.
Something in the way he said use you — and in the way his knuckles lingered for the briefest moment against my cheek — sent a shiver through me. Not entirely unpleasant.
"Tell me, Serenya," he murmured, "when the queen spoke to you today, did she warn you against me?"
I kept my face neutral. "She advised me to choose my loyalties carefully."
He smiled faintly, as though my answer amused him. "Wise advice. I wonder which way you'll lean when the board tips."
Before I could speak, he turned away, setting his cup down with deliberate care. "Lord Ferrow will not be sending troops to your lands. I gave him my answer tonight."
"What did you tell him?"
"That if he tried, I would strip Greymarch of every privilege it enjoys under my father's reign. And I would see to it personally."
The calm in his voice was more unsettling than anger.
He faced me again, the faintest smirk curving his mouth. "You should rest. Tomorrow, the court convenes — and you will be seated at my side."
The way he said it, it was not a request.
I left his chambers with the taste of wine still on my tongue, uncertain whether I had been summoned for conversation… or to be reminded who held the pieces on this board.