Page 17 of A Dagger in the Ivy

The next few minutes feel like I’m stuck in a dream that rushes by me. The courtiers greet us, and servants are instructed to bring our trunks of belongings inside. The bustle of activity makes me uneasy, but I try to concentrate on the task at hand. The chamberlain and the high commander of the kingsguard, whose names I’ve already forgotten, lead us up the stairs to the castle entrance.

My uncle walks beside me, and Nadya follows a few steps behind. I resist the urge to wring my hands or bite my lip, forcing myself to remember that the whole court may be watching me and judging my every move. I keep thinking my tiara is slipping, but I push the thought away. As we enter the grand hall of Ivystone Citadel, the grandeur of the place makes me lightheaded. This is nothing like Bennett’s castle—my castle. And even our castle is a far cry from the simple, primitive quarters of the Garrison. Here, the opulent décor, the intricate tapestries, and the regal air of the place take my breath away.

Farther inside the citadel, extravagant wallpaper and plush furnishings evoke the refinement of noble aesthetics. High ceilings adorned with intricate moldings lend an air of sophistication to the chambers within. Elegant vases stuffed with fabulous flowers and hand-woven rugs add a touch of opulence, contrasting with the rugged stone walls.

Ivystone Citadel seamlessly merges historical charm with the societal shifts of the modern day. The clang of armor and the clash of swords have given way to the clinking of fine flatware and the murmur of refined conversations, marking a transition from the fortifications of the Age of Dragons to a citadel that stands as a testament to a changingworld.

My thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and unease. In a few moments, I’m about to meet my future husband. I haven’t seen Torbin in years, not since we were children playing in the palace gardens. I’m not sure if he even remembers me. And even though I know this is the right strategy for Delasurvia, it’s still a strange feeling knowing I’m going to be somebody’s wife. Especially when I don’t really know anything about him.

The chamberlain turns to us, and for the first time, he looks directly at me instead of my uncle. “Your Highness, the king and queen await you in the throne room.” He bows slightly, his arm extended toward the doorway.

Since I’ve forgotten his name, I simply give him a smile and a nod.

My uncle must recognize the reason behind my silence and cuts in. “Thank you, Master Zimmerman.”

I take note of his name and inhale in a deep breath, readying myself to enter the throne room. Once past the doorway, I find it hard to breathe. My attention is immediately drawn to the figure of King Silas Copperhammer, seated upon his ornate throne in the center of the dais. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, he carries himself with a regal bearing, his tall frame exuding an aura of authority and command.

The king’s striking-white hair and beard, meticulously groomed, gleam in the soft light shining through the colored glass of the ceiling-high stained-glass windows behind him, framing a face weathered by years of rule and wisdom. His features are stern yet distinguished, with intense, blue eyes that seem to miss nothing within his domain. Deep lines etched beside his eyes are evidence of a life filled with both burdens and triumphs.

Draped in rich, emerald-green robes that symbolize his royal status, King Silas exudes regality. The intricate, gold embroidery along the edges of his robe highlights his wealth of his kingdom. The heavy fabric of his attire, along with the ornate belt cinching his waist, adds to his formidable appearance.

Seated on a lavishly adorned throne, King Silas holds himself witha posture of dignity and power. The carved armrests of his throne feature detailed motifs, reflecting the rich history and culture of Hedera. His hand rests lightly on the armrest, a subtle gesture that speaks of both control and contemplation. Despite his stern demeanor, there is a glimmer of deep thoughtfulness in his expression, hinting at the complex decisions and responsibilities he bears as king.

My father was friends with this man, once upon a time. They had a falling-out, but I never discovered the reason behind it. The way the king is scrutinizing me now, I wonder if he’s still holding a grudge.

My gaze drifts to King Silas’s left, where Queen Eleanor sits upon her throne beside him. This woman sits like a goddess. She embodies regal elegance and grace. Her fair complexion is complemented by delicate features, and her pale-blue eyes possess a serene and gentle expression, hinting at wisdom and compassion. Her platinum-blonde hair cascades down her back like spun gold, a striking contrast to the rich hues of her royal attire. High cheekbones and full lips are complemented by the soft curve of her jawline.

She wears a luxurious, high-necked gown in a soft lavender hue, which accentuates her graceful figure. The gown is adorned with delicate lace and subtle embroidery, exuding sophistication and refinement. The colored light makes her diamond earrings sparkle. Her hands are covered in velvet gloves, clasped upon her lap as she studies me.

As her eyes meet mine, I sense a depth of emotion within, hidden beneath a façade of regal composure. Perhaps she is simply worried about who her son is going to marry.

One step below the dais and near the wall stands a man in green-and-black robes. His brows practically meet above his nose, and his eyes are so clear, they are almost white. He must serve some purpose in the court, but I can’t tell yet what it might be.

I glance around the room, curious to see Torbin, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Shouldn’t he be here to greet me?

“Your Majesties,” Master Zimmerman announces, drawing my attention away from the white-eyed man, “I present Her Royal Highness Celeste Westergaard of Delasurvia, chaperoned by her uncle, GeneralKormak Moorgrin of the Delasurvian Royal Regiment.”

The king stands, and the queen follows suit. His features change, a sudden, welcoming smile appearing on his face, burying the previous scrutiny. I can’t help but wonder if it’s fake.

My uncle bows, and I drop into the curtsey he made me practice back at the Garrison.

“Ah, yes.” The king dips his head only slightly. “Welcome to Ivystone, Princess.”

“We are honored that you have agreed to the union with our son.” Queen Eleanor’s voice has a slight tremble to it I can’t ignore. I’m suddenly paranoid that she doesn’t approve of me.

Not that it matters. If I don’t have a say in this arranged marriage, I’m willing to bet she doesn’t, either.

“Celeste, don’t be rude.”

I don’t turn toward my uncle but listen to his advice. “Thank you so much for having me. It is I who am honored.” That should do it. I give my kindest smile so they believe I’m being authentic.

“We do apologize for our son not being here to greet you with us.” Queen Eleanor casts a glance to the door across the room as if expecting him to enter.

“Nonsense,” King Silas puts in. “Men may feel the need to answer to the whims of women, but Torbin is a prince. He’s always done what he pleases, and he will arrive when he sees fit.”

His words are extremely off-putting. I look to the queen to see her reaction, but she has dropped her eyes to the floor.

“It is our fault,” Uncle Kormak announces. “We have arrived earlier than expected.”

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