Not better, just… quieter. 

Before the advisors start whispering and the halls fill with polished lies, there’s a small sliver of peace. I take it where I can. The servants know my habits by now. Hot tea — no honey. A slice of bread, barely toasted. I eat standing by the window as the city wakes below me. 

Arathen breathes differently in the morning, too. Like it’s gathering itself for another long day. 

Kaelis meets me just outside the northern corridor, as he always does. 

He’s never late. 

I think he might not sleep at all. 

“Training court’s clear,” he says. “Unless you’d rather look respectable today. I am aware it’s not the place to take a princess.” 

I give him a dry look and tug at the edge of my dress. “What’s more respectable than sweat and bruises?” 

He doesn’t smile, but something flickers in his eyes — a spark of something that’s begun to feel familiar. 

The training yard is still cool when we arrive. The sun hasn’t cleared the outer wall yet, and the stone underfoot is slick with dew. 

A few guards linger at the edges, pretending not to watch. 

Kaelis draws two wooden blades from the rack and tosses one to me. 

I catch it — barely. “I thought you said I was improving.” 

He rolls his shoulders. “You are. Doesn’t mean I’ll go easy.” 

We circle each other slowly. 

He’s always still when he fights — coiled power, like he’s waiting to move until it matters. 

I, on the other hand, am all reaction. 

Our blades meet in a sharp crack of wood, and I stumble back a half step. 

“You’re too high,” he says, voice flat. “Again.” 

We repeat the drill. 

Again and again. 

Until my arms burn and my grip begins to falter. 

And then he stops. 

Just like that. 

I lower my blade, breathing hard. 

“Giving up already?” 

Kaelis steps forward, not close, but closer than usual. 

He rests the tip of his blade against the ground. 

“You lead with your right foot when you’re thinking too much.” 

I blink. “What?” 

“You hide it well. Most wouldn’t notice.” His voice drops a fraction. “But I watch you.” 

I look up at him. 

For a moment, the morning quiet is louder than anything else. Then he turns, just as the bells begin to chime the hour. 

Time to dress like a princess again. 

Time to play the part.

The corridor outside the court chamber is lined with banners — blood-red and gold, stitched with lions that once made me proud to wear them. Now they feel like warnings more than symbols. Teeth bared, claws drawn. 

I slow only once, tugging the edge of my dress sleeve lower over my wrist. 

The bruise is already darkening. 

Kaelis hadn’t gone easy, but I hadn’t asked him to. 

I’d rather hurt from something real than from all the pretending. 

The guards open the doors without ceremony. 

The chamber is already full — nobles in brocade, advisors draped in parchment and pride. My father sits on the throne like stone — unmoving, unreadable. Lady Maelis stands just behind his shoulder, as always. I think she might sleep there, folded behind the crown like a shadow stitched to it. 

I make my way forward, steps measured, spine straight. Every eye follows me. I wonder if they notice the lump on my left shoulder. 

The heat in my wrist. 

The sweat still drying at the back of my neck. 

“Your Highness,” Maelis greets, voice cool and crisp. “You seem... disheveled.” 

I offer her the faintest smile. “A morning bout with the blade, my lady. Some of us prefer steel to ink.” 

Her lips twitch into something tight and false. “I am aware of your proclivity and have long since given up on my attempts to stop you. But perhaps His Grace would prefer both.” 

I glance to my father. 

He says nothing — only nods toward the seat reserved for me at his right. 

I sit, slowly, adjusting the sleeve again, my skirt splaying beneath me. The bruise aches. So does the crown I’m not wearing. 

“As you know,” Lady Maelis begins, “the Prince of Evasia and his retinue arrive in three days' time. Preparations for the engagement banquet are underway, and it is expected you will take a more active role in hosting from this point forward.” 

I nod, though my stomach coils at the word engagement. 

There’s more. 

Trade routes. Border skirmishes. Names of lords and cities I’m supposed to care about — and do, in a way — but they all blur under the weight pressing against my wrist. And still, my father says nothing. 

I glance toward him once, hoping for something — a look, a word, a sign that I’m more than a pawn on this polished marble floor. 

But his gaze is fixed beyond me. 

And I begin to wonder if I was ever really there at all. 

Lady Maelis drones on about the ceremonial details — seating arrangements, diplomatic protocol, colors appropriate to wear when receiving a groom destined to ensure the kingdom’s survival. I sit still, back straight, letting her words slide across my skin like cold water. I imagine the bruise on my wrist darkening further with every syllable. 

When she finishes her report, she turns to me with that same patronizing tilt of her head. “You will, of course, be ready to greet the envoy with the dignity and elegance expected of Valenor’s heir. One we did not ask for, but one we are grateful to see has learned grace befitting a princess.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

I feel the whole room watching me. 

Measuring me. 

I lift my eyes and say, calm and clear, “And what would that entail, my lady? A practiced smile and a silence that makes everyone else more comfortable? I am aware that I am no prince, but I will run the kingdom one day.” 

A ripple moves through the court — a shifting of robes, a sharp intake of breath. 

Lady Maelis’s smile freezes for just a second too long. “Your Highness,” she says slowly, “this alliance is not about comfort. It is about peace.” 

“Peace?” I echo. “Or obedience?” 

My father’s voice cuts through the room like a drawn blade. “Enough.” 

I turn to him. 

He doesn’t shout. 

Doesn’t raise his voice. 

That would be too human. 

Instead, he levels me with a gaze that has silenced generals. “You will do what is required. You will marry the prince. And you will do so without further question.” 

For a moment, all I can hear is the crack of Kaelis’s wooden blade against mine from earlier that morning. 

The sting in my wrist. 

The sound of my own breath when I finally let go of pretending. 

I lift my chin. “Of course, Father. I’ll be the perfect daughter. The perfect princess.” 

The perfect lie.

I don’t remember leaving the chamber. 

One minute, I was seated beneath my father’s crown, choking on obedience. The next, I was in the corridor with cold stone underfoot and too many thoughts scraping the inside of my skull. 

The guards don’t stop me. 

No one does. 

Perhaps they’re too used to seeing me like this — the princess walking like a woman with nowhere to go. 

I take the servants’ corridor — narrow and dim, the kind they think I don’t know about. I’ve spent enough time hiding from people who smile too tightly and speak too sweetly. I know all the forgotten paths. 

When I reach the far end of the east wing, I stop and brace both hands against the wall. The stone is cool against my fingers. My breath comes too hard. 

I grit my teeth and whisper, voice low and sharp: “Peace. They call it peace. As if handing me over like a relic will quiet a war they started.” I laugh—quiet, humorless. It echoes too loudly. “And I’m to smile through it all. Because I have the right blood. Because I was born to be used.” 

“I’d be more worried,” a voice says behind me, “if you didn’t hate it.” 

I turn sharply. 

Kaelis leans against the far wall, arms crossed, one brow raised. He must’ve come down the stairs behind me without a sound. 

“How long have you been there?” I ask, more embarrassed than I want to be. 

“Long enough,” he says simply. 

I press a hand to the bridge of my nose. “You’re not going to give me the same speech as the rest of them?” 

Kaelis shakes his head. “No.” 

I look at him. 

He shrugs. “You’re right.” 

That stops me. “What?” 

“You’re right,” he repeats, pushing off the wall. “It’s not peace. It’s control with a polished name. You’re not being offered as a wife. You’re being packaged like a treaty scroll.” He says it like it’s fact, not cruelty. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

“And what would you do?” I ask, suddenly angry. “If it were you?” 

He pauses. “I would leave,” he says. “Or I would burn the whole thing down trying.” 

He doesn’t say you can’t. 

He doesn’t say don’t be foolish. 

I should walk away. I should thank him for his honesty, retreat behind some princessly mask, and pretend this never happened. 

But I don’t. 

Instead, I step closer — not enough to touch, but enough to feel the difference. 

The air between us tightens. 

My heart knocks once, hard, against my ribs. “And if I did leave,” I ask, voice low, “would you follow?” 

Kaelis doesn’t move. His eyes don’t narrow. His mouth doesn’t tighten. He just looks at me — really looks — like he’s weighing something too heavy to speak aloud. 

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t say no. 

And that silence sinks deeper into my skin than anything else he could’ve said. 

A beat passes between us — longer than it should be. 

Then Kaelis exhales through his nose and turns away, his voice rough again, businesslike. “You’ll need your wrist wrapped. That bruise’ll give you away.” 

And just like that, the moment folds back into its usual shape. 

I nod once and follow him down the hall. 

We don’t speak again. 

But I think, just maybe, he’s already following.