Page 41 of A Dagger in the Ivy

I still can’t look at him. “That’s true, yes.”

“How was it for you? Did your special power take time to develop?”

There’s a thickness in my throat. Will he think less of me when I tell him the truth? Should I hide it from him? I wouldn’t want him to lie to me, so I take a deep breath, slowly lifting my gaze to meet his. “I am still waiting for my power to manifest.”

He tilts his head, but there is no judgement in his eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“My uncle thinks that it is simply taking longer because I’m half-blooded.” I say it more to convince myself, but deep in my heart, I can’t bring myself to believe it. But what is the alternative?

“He’s probably right.” Torbin’s smile helps me relax a bit.

But beneath the surface, a nagging sense of unease lingers, a small voice whispering warnings in the back of my mind. For now, I push it aside, determined to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace and connection with Torbin.

By the time we return to the castle, dusk has settled over Hedera. As Torbin hands over his horse to a stableboy, the sky is tinged with streaks of peach and orange. He places a hand on the small of my back as he escorts me to the castle.

The day has been long, with not only our picnic, but a pleasant walk around the lake, where Torbin recounted his very first kill while hunting. An infectious pride seeped from his pores as he told the tale. If I hadn’t experienced significant blood and gore from my many battles, I might have recoiled from his words. But the soldier in me wasn’t fazed at all.

Once inside the castle, Torbin catches sight of a man lurking near one of the tapestries and tightens his lips. The man wears a grey cape and dark clothes, his stringy, brown hair pushed back from his pockmarked face. There’s a crookedness to his jaw that leads me to believe it’s been severely broken at some point.

Torbin turns to me. “Celeste, I’m so glad we were able to spend some time alone together. The day couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“I agree. It was lovely.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, however. It seems a prince’s duty never ends.”

I look over his shoulder at the mysterious, lurking man, and I realize it’s the same man who spoke to him in whispers the night of the ball. “Who is that?” I ask.

“That’s Osrem. He’s a chancellor of sorts. Keeps me informed of important occurrences in the realm I should be aware of.”

“He speaks with you often. There must be something crucial taking place for him to seek you out.”

Torbin lets out a small laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing urgent. Osrem tends to overreact and make mountains out of molehills. Still, I find it wise to take in every bit of news and weigh the details myself.”

I nod. “Sounds sensible.”

“Thank you for understanding.” He lifts my hand and kisses it gently. “I am so lucky that my betrothed is so insightful.” He dips his head to me before turning to join Osrem.

I remain where I am while the prince and his so-called chancellor disappear down a corridor. Taking in a deep breath, I suddenly feel the weight of the day push down on me. Being out all day long reminds me of the excursions I go on with my squad members, and a pang of loneliness seizes my heart. But I will see them in a few weeks, so I just need to hold out until then.

I make my way to my room, but before I turn the corner to my corridor, a figure approaches from the opposite end. My breath hitches when I realize it’s Dante.

His glare radiates his loathing, a palpable tension that tugs at my conscience. With each step, I feel his disapproval like a physical force, pressing down on me with relentless insistence.

I hesitate as I draw near, my gaze flickering uncertainly over his stern countenance. For a moment, I consider simply passing by, allowing the silence to linger between us like an unspoken truth. But something compels me to act, a voice within urging me to address the rift that has formed between us.

With a determined breath, I pivot on my heel, my footsteps faltering as I turn back to face him. “Dante.”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

“I want… I need to speak with you.”

He slowly faces me, his expression unchanging. His features are etched with a severity that sends a shiver down my spine. But despite the daunting obstacle before me, I refuse to back down.

“I… I wanted to apologize. I understand now why you must hate me. But you have to know, I had no idea. For whatever transgressions my father may have committed, I am truly sorry.”

His gaze flickers for the briefest of moments, a subtle shift in the intensity of his scrutiny. But just as quickly, the hardness returns, his features settling into an implacable mask of stoicism.

“I had no part in his actions,” I continue, desperation creeping intomy tone. “I was unaware of what regulations he enforced. But I am not my father, Dante. Please, try to understand.”

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