Page 48 of A Dagger in the Ivy

I stand at the entrance, taking in the scene. The beauty of the hall, with its rich decorations and vibrant flowers, sweeps me up in the magnificence of it all. The wisteria’s purple blooms remind me of simpler times, of the gardens at home where I would play with my brother and our mother would watch over us with a gentle smile.

The servants are busy carrying dishes to the tables, and the scent of herbs mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and roasted meats waft from their platters.

“Our table is this way.” Torbin leads the way, nodding to lords and ladies we pass.

We take our seats, and I feel a million eyes on me. Despite the merriment in the room, I feel like I’m suffocating.

The clinking of silverware and the low hum of conversation fill the grand dining hall, the candlelight casting a warm glow over the lavish spread. Queen Eleanor rises gracefully from her seat, her deep-purple gown shimmering as it catches the light. She gently taps her glass with a silver spoon, capturing the attention of the lords and ladies gathered around the tables. The music fades to a stop, and everyone smiles at the queen in anticipation.

“Esteemed guests,” she begins, her voice calm yet commanding, “I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude for joining me on this merry occasion. It warms my heart to see so many familiar faces. Lord and Lady Benton from Waterlee. Lord and Lady Marope from Zionstone. And of course, the nobles of Hedera, the charming Lady Edgings, the flattering Lord Alistair, to mention a few.”

I follow her line of vision and catch Lord Alistair inclining his head.

Beside the queen, the king shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“But there is more to this gathering than celebrating my trip around the sun. I am pleased to make a joyous announcement tonight. As you all know, my son, Prince Torbin, is engaged to the lovely Princess Celeste of Delasurvia. I’ve been busy drawing up plans, and I am thrilled to be able to declare that the wedding will take place in three months’ time.”

A collective murmur of surprise and delight ripples through the room, merging with applause. My heart skips a beat, and I struggle to maintain my composure. Three months? It’s happening so soon. I glance at Torbin, who seems unperturbed, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Queen Eleanor continues. “We believe this union will bring prosperity and strength to our kingdoms, as I know it brings me pride and hope. And of course, I am planning a lavish engagement celebration to honor the blossoming love between the future monarchs of Hedera. So let us lift our glasses and celebrate this momentous occasion.”

“Hear, hear,” some voices call out. Wineglasses are raised and clinked, and the musicians begin playing another song.

I feel a knot tightening in my stomach. The suffocation I felt before has now intensified. My mind plays back the king’s words in the deal we made; he only gave me until the wedding to continue my military duty. The idea of giving up my command of the regiment already felt like a heavy burden, but now with the wedding so close, it’s becoming a reality faster than I can manage. My mind races with thoughts of the responsibilities and the sacrifices I’ll have to make.

Torbin’s hand reaches for mine under the table, a gesture no doubt meant to be reassuring. But instead, it feels like a chain, binding me to a future I’m not ready for.

“To the future king and queen,” the crowd cheers. I nod, my face a mask of composure, but inside, I’m anything but.

As the feast continues, it is clear that the nobles and royals are accustomed to partaking in gluttonous ceremonies, giving no care to the starving people outside of the castle. Even the sweet queen indulges herself, as she did at my welcome ball. With every sip of wine, her lips and cheeks redden.

The chamberlain comes into the room with a trumpeter beside him. The sound of the trumpet silences the crowd, and the chamberlain straightens, his hands glued to his sides.

“A gift for the queen, from His Majesty, King Silas.” The chamberlain extends his arm toward the entrance.

I couldn’t possibly have guessed what gift the king would give his wife, so I’m taken aback when three performers dressed in bright colors roll into the room on unicycles, each holding torches. The crowd gasps as the performers breathe blasts of fire into the air.

I clutch a hand to my heart, fearing the flames will catch and set the castle on fire, but apparently, the king has found experts.

The musicians change their tune to something faster and more fitting to the act, and the partygoers applaud at every breath of fire the performers release.

The queen smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach her eyes. Her gloved hands remain folded in her lap as she takes in her husband’s gift.

One of the unicyclists rolls closer to our table, turning in a circle in front of the queen. With an appreciative nod, the queen claps for him. As the performer blasts fire in a long stream above the table, the queen flinches. Her hand hits a few of the wineglasses, knocking them over, and red liquid splashes across the table. In the queen’s attempt to right the situation, her impeccably pristine gloves become soaked with wine.

The performer stops his routine, jumping down from his perch. “Your Majesty, my apologies!”

Servants rush to help the queen. She stands, her arms held up at chest level as she looks in horror at her gloves. Without another word, she flees from the table.

Instinctively, I push my chair back and follow her. Torbin calls out to me, but I don’t look back. The queen’s two maidservants are fast by her side as she rushes to a nearby room. They hurry inside, and I’m sure they mean to close the door before I get there, but my fae speed gets me in the room before they get a chance.

“Celeste.” The queen gapes at me, flustered. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Her maidservants nervously fumble with the queen’s gloves as the queen shifts her position. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to see the gloves.

No. Not the gloves.

Her arms. Her hands.

---