Page 129 of A Dagger in the Ivy

“Of course.” She narrows her eyes. “But if you’re planning on running, you let me know. I’m coming with you.”

I let out a small laugh as she leaves my room, but it’s not like the idea of running hasn’t occurred to me. My mind has been playing out wild fantasies of Dante begging me to run away with him. I wrap my arms around myself, my mind drifting to the memories of our stolen moments together—his touch, his whispered words.

I think I might be reckless enough to abandon all this and let the politics sort themselves out, but the logical part of my mind reminds me of the consequences.

I spot the pot of powder on my traveling chest and spontaneously decide to wrap a bit of the powder in a handkerchief, just in case I do decide to flee. I tuck the handkerchief into the fold of my dress’s sash at my waist, flattening it so no one can tell that it’s there.

After patting my dagger, hidden beneath the skirt of my dress, strapped to my thigh, I take a deep breath and summon the courage to face the royals. No matter what happens tonight, I need to be prepared.

The tingle is still present within me, but I’ve managed to keep it at a low hum. I’m sure Ezra will help me control it, but for now, I have to tuck away the thought. This magic or power or curse won’t do me any good if I don’t know what it is and am oblivious as to what to do with it.

I step out into the hall and turn down the corridor. Sir Holden walks behind me, my sworn protector. If only he knew what was really going on here. I’m half-tempted to tell him, but I know it could cost him his head. And I’m not sure he would even believe me.

There’s already a sheen of sweat coating my forehead, and my heart pounds in my ears as we head toward the grand hall. Each step feels likea step closer to my destiny, and I can only hope that I have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

The queen has arranged for the engagement celebration to take place in the courtyard. Despite the vibrant bustle of activity that surrounds me, my heart cinches with the burden of secrets and uncertainty. The opulent decorations adorning the castle grounds seem to mock my inner turmoil, their vivid hues a stark contrast to the shadows that cloud my mind.

Silken banners sway gently in the breeze, their rich colors shimmering in the afternoon sun. Fragrant floral arrangements adorn every corner, their intoxicating scent mingling with the tantalizing aroma of exotic spices and succulent delicacies being prepared for the feast. Tables groan under the weight of sumptuous dishes, each more decadent than the last. Gilded platters overflow with succulent roast meats, exotic fruits, and delicate pastries.

As servants scurry about, laying out fine linens and arranging silverware with meticulous care, I cannot shake the feeling of foreboding that grips my heart. With each passing moment, the weight of my burdens grows heavier, threatening to crush me beneath their overwhelming weight.

The warm, evening air is filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. I weave through the growing crowd, my eyes scanning for familiar faces. I don’t see the king, Torbin, or Dante. By one of the buffet tables, Nadya speaks with a beautiful woman whom I believe to be Lady Patricia.

The queen catches my attention, standing near the fountain, her expression a carefully crafted mask of composure, though I can see the strain in her eyes.

I approach her with a curtsey, trying to keep my voice light. “Your Majesty. Everything looks lovely. How are you?”

The queen exhales, a little too sharply. “So much to do, Celeste. Organizing all the details… It never seems to end.” She gives a thin smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Added to all this, I have to replace the tower maester. Such unfortunate timing.”

I grimace at the mention of the tower maester, and I wonder if she suspects anything. Deep down, I feel as if she’s aware of much of the hidden agendas and secret occurrences but is in no position to do anything about them.

Just like me.

I step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “If you need to talk, Your Majesty, I want you to know I’m here for you.”

The queen’s eyes flicker with a flash of uncertainty, but she quickly blinks it away, her forehead smoothing out the small cluster of wrinkles that momentarily appeared. In an instant, her composure snaps back into place. “Don’t be silly. Everything is fine. I’ve just had a lot to take care of, that’s all.”

I place a gentle hand on her arm, hoping to break through the wall she’s so desperately trying to keep up. “Please, Your Majesty. You can trust me.” I lower my voice. “Whatever is happening, I can protect you.”

For a moment, her mask slips again. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a deep, haunting sadness there. “No one can protect me,” she whispers, the words so quiet, I almost miss them.

But before I can respond, a group of servants approaches, their arms laden with trays. “Your Majesty,” one of them interrupts, “where would you like the cake?”

The queen pulls away from me, her expression once more serene and untouchable. “Over there, by the fountain,” she says, pointing with a steady, gloved hand. “Oh, it’s simply beautiful!” And just like that, she abandons our conversation, moving to oversee the preparations with an air of calm that I know is only skin-deep.

I watch her go, a hollow feeling settling in my chest. She and I know that something is very wrong here, and I’m not sure how much longer either of us can keep up this charade.

When I turn around, I spot Dante coming out into the courtyard. He stands near the far end of the garden, a brooding figure among the lively crowd yet somehow more striking than anyone else. He’s dressed in deep charcoal, the fabric of his tunic rich and finely tailored, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his slim waist. The dark colorcontrasts with the ivory of his shirt beneath, the high collar just visible, adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise-formidable presence. His dark hair, usually a bit unruly, is neatly combed back, though a few rebellious strands fall over his forehead, softening the sharpness of his features.

He looks both regal and dangerous, a man of power and mystery, yet there’s an undeniable vulnerability in the way he stands slightly apart from the others, as if he doesn’t quite belong here.

And when his eyes meet mine across the distance, a spark of recognition passes between us, grounding me in the midst of all this chaos. He’s the only person in this crowd who feels real to me.

There’s an immediate lightness in my chest, and I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upward. It takes every ounce of restraint to not run to him. His eyes tell me he understands, that he feels the same.

I let out a slow breath. It will be okay. This is just a party. We still have until the day of the wedding to figure out how to get out of this.

The murmur of the crowd hushes as Torbin steps into the courtyard, commanding attention without uttering a word. I turn my head slowly, already dreading the sight of him yet unable to look away.

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