Page 130 of A Dagger in the Ivy

He’s dressed in the royal colors, a deep-emerald tunic embroidered with gold, the intricate patterns almost too elaborate, as if he’s wearing the kingdom itself upon his chest. The tunic fits him perfectly, accentuating his tall, muscular frame, and is cinched at the waist with a black leather belt, the buckle shaped like a lion’s head—an arrogant symbol of his perceived strength. Over this, he wears a black cloak that sweeps the ground behind him, the edges lined with more gold thread, making him appear larger than life.

His blond hair gleams in the sunlight, but it’s his face that draws the most attention—a smug, self-satisfied smile curves his lips, his eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and malice. He surveys the crowd as if they are all beneath him, nothing more than pawns in his grand game. When his gaze finally lands on me, his smile deepens, becoming more of a sneer, as if he knows every dark thought in my head and finds themamusing.

I feel a chill run through me, a mix of revulsion and anger twisting in my gut. This is the man who holds the kingdom in his grasp, the one who wears the crown’s colors as though he’s already claimed the throne. The sight of him makes my blood boil, yet I force myself to remain calm, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he unsettles me.

The queen comes back around and steps forward, raising a delicate hand to quiet the murmuring crowd. The jewels in her crown catch the light, sparkling as she looks out over the gathered nobles and courtiers. Her expression is serene, masking whatever turmoil lies beneath as she smiles graciously.

“My royal subjects, lords and ladies,” she calls out, her voice clear and regal, cutting through the evening air. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. We are here to celebrate a union that will strengthen our kingdom and bring us all closer together.” She pauses, her eyes sweeping across the courtyard, landing on the king, who strolls toward the table without a care in the world. “Please, take your seats. The celebration is about to begin.”

A ripple of movement follows her words as everyone begins to find their places, the low hum of conversation resuming as the evening’s festivities officially commence.

I sit beside Torbin, my posture rigid and my smile strained. The weight of the engagement ring on my finger feels like a shackle, binding me to a future I did not choose. Around us, the courtyard is filled with laughter, discussions, and the clinking of glasses, the celebration in full swing. Yet, beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of unease. From where I sit, I can just see the pathway that leads to the stables from the courtyard. The forest stands tall just beyond it, and I gaze at it, like it’s calling to me, like it’s offering me a route through which to escape.

Nadya, who sits a few chairs down from me, catches my eye and gives me a reassuring nod. I’ve been so buried in worry that I haven’t taken a moment to appreciate how beautiful she looks. Her soft, lilac gown complements her dark skin, and the dainty, black ringlets cascading from the clips atop her head frame her cheekbones perfectly.

King Silas stands at the head of the main table, and all eyes turn to him. “Esteemed guests, friends, and family, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate a union that will bring strength and prosperity to our kingdoms. My son, Prince Torbin, is taking the next step into his destiny, promising to marry the beautiful Princess Celeste Westergaard, Commander of the Royal Regiment and heir to crown in Delasurvia.”

There is polite applause, and I force myself to maintain the façade of a contented bride-to-be. Torbin’s hand rests on the arm of his chair, deceptively relaxed. But I can feel the tension in his grip, the barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface.

“This alliance is not just a union of two individuals,” King Silas continues, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles. “It is a union of our lands, a pledge of mutual support in these turbulent times. Together, Hedera and Delasurvia will stand strong against the threats that seek to tear us down.”

He speaks with conviction, and the crowd nods in agreement, unaware of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. I glance at Torbin, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains inscrutable.

“Princess Celeste,” the king says, turning his attention to me. “Your courage and leadership have earned you the respect of all who know you. I have no doubt that you will bring honor to our family and strengthen the bond between our kingdoms.”

He’s such a hypocrite. He doesn’t care about who I am or what I’ve done. He only cares that he gets a foothold in Delasurvia. Not that he will accomplish that. Torbin will steal it all out from under him, and the king has no idea.

I nod politely, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me. I have to remember to play the part. Just for a little longer. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It is an honor.”

King Silas smiles, a gesture that does little to warm the coldness in his eyes. “And to my son, Torbin,” he continues, “I am proud to see you step into this new chapter of your life. May you both find happiness and strength in each other and produce healthy offspring who will one dayfollow in your footsteps.”

The crowd applauds again, and Torbin nods curtly, his jaw tight. I can sense the turmoil within him, the storm that is about to break. But no one will heed my warning.

“Let us raise our glasses.” The king lifts his goblet. “To the future of our kingdoms, and to the union of Prince Torbin and Princess Celeste.”

The crowd erupts in cheers, and I copy the queen by lifting my glass, the wine inside trembling slightly with the unsteady motion of my hand. I steal a glance at Dante, standing at the edge of the crowd, his eyes locked on mine. As I take a sip, the wine is bitter on my tongue, a reminder of the bitterness I must swallow to keep up this charade.

The engagement celebration is in full swing, the pristine lawns of the castle glowing under the light of a thousand lanterns. The queen has outdone herself, arranging for a spectacle that is impossible to ignore. Jugglers weave through the crowd, tossing brightly colored balls and flaming torches into the air, their movements fluid and mesmerizing. Nearby, firebreathers take turns exhaling plumes of fire, the flames casting flickering shadows across the faces of the awestruck guests. A group of musicians plays lighthearted tunes on strings and flutes, their melodies lilting and cheerful, encouraging laughter and conversation. It’s clear that the queen has poured her heart into this celebration, determined to create an atmosphere of joy and festivity, even if it feels fake. I watch it all, the forced gaiety around me, and can’t help but sense the desperation behind her efforts.

The air is thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but beneath my calm exterior, my nerves are on high alert. The king’s speech still echoes in my ears, his words a constant reminder of the heavy burden I carry. Torbin’s presence beside me is an unwelcome shadow, his proximity only adding to my unease.

My hand rests on the feel of my dagger sheathed at my thigh. Dante stands a few paces away, his eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced vigilance of a soldier. His falchion hangs at his side, its blade glinting ominously in the lantern light.

When Torbin decides to make his rounds and mingle with theguests, I remain seated, unable to stomach the fake politeness and small talk. Every time my gaze lands on Dante, his eyes are on me, the look of longing lingering behind storms of grey. We keep our distance from each other, knowing the king and Torbin would disapprove of us even speaking to one another.

Though I strain to hear it, the sound of howling wolves resonates in the distance. I grow still, my heart skipping a beat as the realization sinks in. The wolves, the guardians of the fae, aren’t just expressing their unrest. Their howls are a warning, a signal meant for me. A chill races down my spine, and the hairs on my arms stand on end as if sensing the danger that lurks just out of sight. The wolves are trying to tell me something, trying to warn me that something sinister is approaching.

I stand, my fingertips brushing the feel of my dagger’s hilt.

High-pitched, whistling shrieks pierce the air.

Silence falls over the gathering, and I follow the direction of everyone’s gazes to the edge of the nearby woods. Shadows shift and move, the underbrush rustling with unnatural vigor. My heart pounds as I realize the impending danger.

I catch sight of Torbin across the courtyard. Instead of fear or surprise, his expression twists into something darker—a sinister sneer curling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, cold and calculating, flash with a twisted satisfaction. He knows exactly what’s coming. The shrieks that send chills down my spine only seem to thrill him, as if this chaos is all part of some cruel game. A game he’s not only playing, but winning. The sight of his wicked smile makes my blood run cold.

And then the horde breaks into view.

The first carnoraxis emerges from the treeline, its grotesque form illuminated by the lanterns. The beast stands over seven feet tall, its emaciated frame covered in grime and jagged bone protrusions. Its eyes glow with a malevolent hunger, and its elongated fingers end in razor-sharp claws. More creatures follow, a horrifying pack of flesh-eating demons racing toward us with terrifying speed.

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