Page 89 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Yes. That’s how it had to be.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity.

When Cillian wasn’t at her side going through the decisions they’d have to make, because he wanted the wedding to commence as quickly as possible despite the strain on their service providers, Nora stood with her. Offering words of encouragement and the determination of an army general through the decision-making process.

Aven actively avoided Roran as much as possible during this time. The feeling was mutual. They only interacted when absolutely pressed, including several tense dinners where they both bared their teeth for the other.

He’d gone back to being rude. Even going so far as to give her the cold shoulder until Cillian rebuked him for the behavior.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” Roran protested a week later. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture full of barely contained energy and the ire in his eyes hot enough to blister.

Aven swallowed over a curse before she swore at him in a tirade without comparison. “It’s not your decision to make,” she argued.

“If you want to get yourself tangled up in a giant mess and then wonder why it blew up in your face, then by all means.” Roran gnashed his teeth at her. “Write to your father. Bring him here. It won’t end well.”

“Stop,” she ground out, allowing Cillian to reach for her and rub her fingers calmingly. “It’s only a letter to let him know, which is prudent considering you need him to be a part of this peace treaty.”

“It can be done by a grunt. Not by you.”

Aven stalked away from him before doubling back, relishing the way Roran pulled back at her approach.

“If Aven wants to send a message to her father about the wedding, or even go so far as to invite him, then she will do so,” Cillian said. “As the future ruler to another ruler, it’s about respect.”

“Your funeral.” Roran threw his hands in the air, out of the room in the next breath and leaving a chill behind where he’d stood.

“Ignore him,” Cillian warned her. “He’s in a foul mood.”

“When is he not anymore?” She’d gotten very good at ignoring Roran out of necessity and spite. “How do you really feel about me writing?”

Cillian considered her for a long moment, tapping his knuckles against the desk at his back. “I think it’s necessary. And I’m not going to stop you from doing what you have to do.”

She’d thought about the contents of the letter for days leading up to this subject broach. What she would say to her father and how she’d explain herself for not writing until now.

Guilt rose in the wake of those thoughts, and when she finally sat down to put pen to paper, Aven stalled. Her fingers trembled and dropped blots of ink against the pristine white pages.

Where would she start?

She’d fill an entire novel before she got out every single thing she wanted and needed to say to the man she thought she knew. Along with the guilt were frustration and confusion. Would she ask him about the Darkroot and why he first thought to steal a piece of it to use against the fae?

There was so much she didn’t know and felt she needed to.

In the end, she settled for brief and polite. Distant and a little cold, but no one would ever accuse her of being overemotional. She assured him she was safe and told him about the wedding, the date. Did her best to keep things light even though the moment she handed it off to one of the guards for delivery, her heart felt heavy.

Life as she knew it ceased to exist.

In a matter of weeks, she’d be married to the future King of Mourningvale.

She wondered what her father would say about it and whether she’d get the chance to hear it from him face to face.

29

Aven shut her mouth when she wanted to scream at the announcement. Cillian would hold another ball to announce and celebrate the engagement, despite knowing how badly she hated them.

She’d force herself to suffer through if necessary.

It turned out to be necessary when he refused to call it off.

The last thing she wanted with the stress of planning the wedding was a ball to worry about. The thought of that many eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move, had her breaking out in hives. The long sleeves she wore not only hid her scars but also concealed the bright red boils popping up in random blotches along her arms and back.

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