Chapter3
These men… fy faen. They were wild, uncouth—shameless to the bone. They sat with legs sprawled like they owned the earth beneath them, drank from their goblets as though they were carved from bark, not fine silver, and spoke with mouths full, laughter spilling out with no regard for decency. And their idea of entertainment? Bare-breasted dancers swaying to drumbeats, like beasts who'd never stepped foot in a court.
Selene could scarcely believe she was to leave with this pack of heathens. Her heart, traitorous thing, gave a sudden jolt at the thought. But she didn't let it show. She tucked the panic deep beneath her ribs, locked it down tight. No, not now. Her brothers and sisters were watching—tense, brittle. If she cracked, they would all fall to pieces. She must be their strength, their stillness.
She lifted her glass of wine with grace, the crimson liquid catching the golden torchlight. She held it aloft toward Thorne—a quiet signal: We host them. We endure.
But they were no guests. They sprawled in the Duskari great hall like it was their hunting lodge. The firelight flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows over worn boots kicked up on carved tables, over muddy cloaks draped on ancestral chairs. And then—him. Prince Zerek.
Her eyes found his face, that insufferable smirk etched in place. He had some girl—laughing, draped over his arm—while he hand-fed her morsels from his plate.
So many engagements broken, so many promises turned to ash, and now this—this was the one she was to marry? It made her stomach twist.
Selene had always hated the idea of marriage—of leaving behind everything she'd built. Since their mother's death, she had stepped into the role without hesitation. She ran this household. She loved it, though she rarely let herself admit that. She knew, in her marrow, her absence would break things in ways her family hadn't yet begun to imagine.
Take Aeris, for example. Wild thing. Thoughtless and fierce, too full of fire. Who would tether her now? Father, bless him, loved her too deeply to see her recklessness for what it was. Thorne and Eiran—too afraid of wounding her spirit to ever speak sharply. And Nyra…
Selene sighed—silently, deeply—Her sisters wouldn't know what to do. Not with the men, not with the politics, and certainly not with the burden she was about to leave behind. They were beautiful, brave in their own ways, but not ready. Not yet.
Her gaze drifted—and there he was. Soren.
He lingered at the far end of the hall, near the heavy oaken doors, as still as ever. Most would overlook him, as usual. But not Selene. She knew the signs. The way he stood, half-turned, eyes already scanning. She knew what he was up to before he even moved.
"Excuse me," she murmured—not that anyone heard her. The music thundered on, crude drums and clashing tankards blending with the rough laughter of their 'guests.'
She crossed the hall, skirts whispering around her legs like waves over stones. Soren was crouched low now, reaching for a platter of roasted meat with a cloth half-folded in his hand—already lined with pilfered bread and fruit.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice brushing against his back like a breeze in the trees.
He started. Just barely. But for Soren, that was a jolt. His sharp blue eyes found hers, widened, then narrowed with guilt. He shifted the cloth behind him, as if it would somehow undo what she'd seen.
"I already saw it," Selene said softly, a smile threatening to tug at her lips. "Is Aeris making you steal food from the great hall again?"
Soren's face changed in a way few had ever seen. A flicker of emotion passed through—pity, guilt, devotion, all in one. Strange, on him. He was usually blank as stone. Only Aeris ever cracked his surface.
"She is hungry," he said simply. "Starving."
Selene turned her face away, hiding the laugh that rose up like a bubble. Only Aeris could make Soren, their stoic shadow, sneak meat like a guilty child.
He had sworn himself to her when they were still small—just a boy with a wooden sword and too much silence, and a girl with fire in her eyes and a crown of bruises on her knees. Though the family had long accepted him as one of their own, Soren had never let go of the role he'd chosen: protector. Not brother. Guard.
Selene had grown fond of that part of him. Steady, unflinching, reliable. But she also saw the way he looked at Aeris sometimes. As if she were a sunrise only he remembered. It wouldn't end well—not if Father found out. Not if the world saw.
Still... she thought, what harm is there in loving someone, truly?
Her chest ached suddenly with the question. Could she ever have something like that? Something tender, something free?
No.
She crushed the thought like a dying ember. There was no room for it. Not for her. Not when the man she was promised to—bound to—was the same man who had killed her brother. Cut him down like an animal. Right there. In front of her.
Zerek.
There would be no love. Not for her. Only duty. Only survival.