Page 98 of Stolen
This is my home.
And I’m done letting spoiled strangers treat it otherwise.
I arch a brow. “So, what are Dauphiné’s latest demands?”
I ask, wanting to prepare myself.
Shade appears from the back corridor, her usually calm demeanor visibly fraying at the edges.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her braid is half undone, which says a lot.
“It’s well, you see, Dauphiné isunhappywith her accommodations.”
Nyna winces.
Harold grunts.
“Unhappy how?” I ask, already bracing myself.
“She says her suite is too dark, the silks are too coarse, the fruit is too ripe, and she’s sent back four meals in the last day. She also keeps trying to enter Lord Alaric’s private chambers.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, she’s doingwhat?”
Shade nods tightly. “She insists she must see him. Claims it’s her right.”
I narrow my eyes and take what’s supposed to be a calming breath—but I must be doing it wrong because I feel anything but calm.
The moment she sees me, Dauphiné straightens, her pale violet eyes narrowing with interest—and disdain.
She’s tall, willowy, stunning in a way that screams old money and even older magic. Her silver hair is twisted up in elaborate coils, glinting like ice under the glass ceiling of the sun-drenched room.
Her gown is pure drama, layered silks in shades of frost and midnight, clearly designed to intimidate.
Too bad I’m not in the mood to be intimidated.
“Who are you to deny me?” she demands, each syllable laced with venom. “This is Nightfall, not some tiny village of squabbling hens. I am Dauphiné of the North. My father once held many treaties here, and Iwaspromised Alaric’s side.”
My steps are slow but steady as I close the distance between us.
I can feel Shade trailing just behind, nervous but resolute.
“Alaric isn’t a prize to be promised,” I say calmly, my voice sharp as broken glass.
“He’s not a throne or a name to inherit. He’s a person. A protector. And whether or not he ever intended to choose a consort, I can promise you one thing. He’s not into women who throw tantrums over flowers.”
Her nostrils flare. “You think you can speak for him?”
I lift my chin.
She’s stunning.
True.
Way taller than I am, with midnight blue hair and cold silver eyes.
She is svelte, thin and fit, wearing a gown that would put everything and anything on Earth to shame.
Her clothing is rich, her posture perfect, her beauty the kind you expect from a fairytale. But her beauty is diminished by her expression.
