Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Three

Cyril’s eyes followed each of Dahlia’s movements, amazed that something as ordinary as putting on an earring could send his heart over the edge. Half of her strawberry-blonde hair was knotted up into a braided rose, the rest hanging freely at her shoulders.

A dream she was, in a long, cobalt-blue satin gown, matching his similarly tinted doublet.

They wanted the Sun Throne to look united tonight. Strong.

Her gaze drifted up from her appearance in the mirror of the vanity, catching him in the act—to which she furrowed her brows. “If you’re just going to stand around, at least help me with my necklace,” Dahlia reprimanded him for gawking, though the silken warmth in her voice made him think she didn’t mind his stares.

Carefully plucking up the sapphire and diamond necklace his wife had set aside to wear tonight, Cyril drifted behind her, their stares locking in the mirror as she quietly lifted the strands from the nape of her neck. The rush of her floral scent was strong enough to drown out the upcoming charade he’d have to put on, as his kingly obligations would require. Even as he finished clasping the necklace, he could think of nothing else but the smooth glide of his fingers along her fair skin, stopping only when his hand met fabric at the center of her back.

Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, he brought his chin down to rest on her shoulder, exhaling when she swept her fingers through his tousled hair. “We could just stay here. I’m sure Ezra could handle tonight’s affairs on his own.”

Dahlia chuckled, twisting in his hold to sling her arms around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “And what of the rest of their stay? You can’t avoid Lucius forever.”

“I know…” Cyril trailed off, his eyes settling on the silver crown of moonflowers glittering on its stand. “It’s just, they wonder why she’s nearing her transition and has yet to be promised to another. To a duke’s son or… or a prince .” Cyril sighed, recalling the letter Prilla had sent months ago, doting on her son, Fynn, and how he “would make a fine husband for the princess.”

“You’ll go mad if you try to scare away every male who looks in her direction,” Dahlia said, her glassy blue irises drawing his glare from the crown. “Surina has grown into a beautiful lady, Cyril, whether you want to admit it or not. It’s time she’s given a chance to find her own happiness.”

That’s all he wanted for his sister. To find happiness—to find a love like he had. Cyril knew Surina didn’t have it easy here, but there was only so much that he could allow. Dahlia only knew the half of it, and while it pained him to keep so much a secret from his wife—his mate —he had his sister’s future to think about, and the promises he’d made to his mother before her passing.

Clinging to the collar of his shirt, Dahlia seemed to catch on to his unhindered brooding, yanking him forward until their noses were practically touching. “Maybe one day soon we’ll have little ones you can put all of this worry into, and let Surina have her freedom for once.”

At that, Cyril couldn’t help but smile, imagining more little Fairlights running amuck, terrorizing the keep and leaving chaos in their wake, just like Surina. It’d been over a decade since their union, and the divines had yet to bless them with any children. Not unusual for fae, as sometimes it could take up to a century.

There was a price for immortality.

Cyril lifted a hand to her cheek, sweeping a thumb across the rosy blush blooming beneath, and her breath stilled. He loved that his touch inspired such a reaction, just as her mere presence did to him. “You know I couldn’t do any of this without you by my side,” he whispered, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind a dainty, pointed ear.

A playful little smirk filled the corners of her mouth. “I know.”

Bringing his mouth down to hers, he brushed against her lips. “Do you now?”

A knock at the door ended their kiss before it could even begin.

“ What ?” he growled over his shoulder, shrugging when Dahlia slapped at his chest and mouthed, Don’t be rude .

It was a young halfling, who anxiously stood at the threshold to their chambers, giving a less than elegant bow before speaking. “Your Majesty, the princes and princess of Calaechia have arrived. They are ready to be received.”

“And what of Princess Surina?” He mentally prepared to hear the obvious.

“Th—the Princess has yet to be received in the throne room, my king,” he stuttered out, stare falling to the glossy marble below.

Cyril couldn’t fathom how his sister managed to be so consistent in her tardiness. Perhaps he was mostly to blame, not being half as persistent with her punishments. Never leaving the keep seemed punishment enough for her though.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Thank you. That will be all.”

“Your Majesty. My Lady.” The boy dipped into one last bow before closing the door behind him.

When Cyril turned back to his wife, she was already twiddling her fingers, wearing a bashful grin as she shuffled over towards the silver crown. “Surina needs more freedom, you said?” Cyril met her halfway.

Dahlia laughed, a lovely sound that flitted the room like a choir in a grand hall. She gestured for him to lower himself enough to seat the delicately laced crown on his head.

With vines of twining moonflowers making up the circular band—a sacred symbol of Thesia—it sat heavy on his head. Even after twenty years since their father’s death, he imagined it would always have a weight to it.

The crown was never meant for him. He was never meant to carry it. To carry their people.

They already know you as their prince. It won’t be long before they see you as their king. You have his heart, Cyril.

His mother’s words, which haunted him with every glance he stole from a mirror, where he was met with mossy-green eyes. Heart wasn’t enough to save their father. It was barely enough to keep Surina safe.

Cyril knew it was a waste of breath, but he said it anyway, “She better not be late.”

◆◆◆

Surina was definitely going to be late. Galen strode ahead, peering back every few seconds to make sure she was still behind him. She was struggling, that’s for sure. With his height and immortality, it was a wonder she’d kept up for this long. Now she was seconds from asking him to carry her.

The two of them darted across the long corridor that connected the west wing to the White Keep’s main entrance. Extensive halls with windows similar to those in her rooms. They filed all the way down the side that faced away from the mountains, glistening with the orange and purples painted into the sunset skies. The baby blue tint of her gown looked dreamy in its light.

Leirie had picked an exquisite dress, saying it reminded her of her mother’s favorite flower—the bearded iris. Layers of satin drifted around her like petals in the wind as she attempted to match Galen’s long strides. The tight fit of the corset around her ribs and hips made it difficult to breathe, her short pants coming out in puffs of air. It wasn’t often she got to dress up like this, though, so Surina accepted the vicious nagging of her ribcage begging to expand. Even the cut of the gown was a little showier than usual, but she had no doubt that, standing next to Lady Giselle, Surina would look like a priestess from the Temple of Isla.

She wondered if Ezra would notice the extra effort she put into her appearance tonight, having asked her servants to fix soft curls into her hair. She’d even went as far as to powder on blush and line her eyes with kohl.

Stop , she snapped at herself in her mind. Do not even go there. Not again.

It was just impossible not to think about the king when the Court of the Moon was hosting the arrival of the Calaechian royal family tonight. Surina hadn’t gone to an event hosted by Ezra’s court since the last Solstice Ball she’d attended. That had been almost two years ago now.

Most mortals weren’t allowed to be outside of the west wing after sunset, but there were a few exceptions. As heir to the Sun Throne, Surina was permitted to attend some occasions. Not that she wanted to, and if she could have helped it, she wouldn’t attend any event. Especially if Ezra was going to be there.

Losing sight of Galen as he rounded a corner, she sped up, bounding around the same spot, and barreling right into the back of a towering male. “I am so sorry, my lord, but I am late—” she huffed as she ran past, glimpsing a set of seemingly handsome, dark-brown eyes, just before she broke away.

Galen was already at the throne room doors by the time she caught up. Some guard he was, and with night sweeping in.

By law, she had to have an escort during the night. The decree had been written by the founder and the first ruler of Thesia. Queen Thesia Fairlight.

At the end of the Second Age War, King Draegar, after his fall to Isla, had enacted a curse on the world. The curse turned the beautiful seraphim of Seros into scaled, monstrous creatures—and the fae, who had fought for and loved mortals so deeply, were now compelled to feed from their life force. Both outcast from the faerie realms, they’d made their homes amongst the humans.

That’s why there were two courts. The Court of the Sun and the Court of the Moon were each active at different times throughout the day. It was only for special occasions like tonight that both courts merged to present a unified front. Realistically, though, there was no unity amongst their people. Apart from the very few fae permitted onto the Court of the Sun and the security stationed throughout much of the palace, anyone who was not a mortal couldn’t be out during the day, and vice versa for the night.

The separation was meant to safeguard both species, but Surina was pretty sure it was to ensure the unnecessary loss of life—mortal life.

Surina thought the act of consuming blood seemed a little grisly, but in the thousand years since the start of the Third Age—since the start of the curse—most of Orlanthe had learned to accept it.

What other choice did they have?

Images of blood dissipated as she finally made it to the entrance of the throne room, where Galen had the audacity to look annoyed after leaving her behind.

Galen whispered something to the two guards posted outside of the grand silver doors of the throne room, who bowed quickly to Surina before reaching for the handles—one a crescent moon, the other a sun. Representing both courts of Thesia.

Seeming to have listened to the anxious haste of her pulse with his immortal hearing, Galen’s eyes softened. He quickly brushed a hand along her back—a silent way to offer his encouragement, maybe even an apology—before he stepped to the side. Galen would remain here until the formalities of the night were complete.

With a shallow breath of air, she stepped through the threshold, and into the pristine white room, set aglow with silver chandeliers.

A grander version of the main halls of the keep, pillars of smooth, white marble lined the walkway leading to the dais. Just on either side of the pillars stood the lords and ladies of each court, dressed in their finest blue and gray silks and satins. Dripping in head-to-toe jewels and silver adornments, they sparkled like the ocean when the sun hit it at the right angle. Just like one of the paintings in their gallery.

Ahead, an opulent crystal dome let in the dazzling sight of the night’s stars slowly emerging into being as the sun set behind the Thesian Mountains. Right below the dome, carved from ivory marble, sat the two thrones of Thesia. The Sun and Moon Throne.

Holding her chin high, Surina drifted to the front of the dais, spying briefly on her brother, a sun carved into the peak of his throne’s tall back. Beside him, standing before an ornate chair of silver and plush, deep-blue cushions, was his wife and consort, Lady Dahlia Castmont. A similar chair awaited Surina, though hers was placed between both thrones, rather than on the outer side of Cyril, where Dahlia’s was.

Since Surina was the only other living Fairlight, by default she was named heir—at least until Cyril and Dahlia had children of their own. Surina prayed often for nieces and nephews. They would have made this dreaded imprisonment much more bearable.

Making it to the end of the dais without tripping over her feet, thank the Mother, Surina ignored the whispers of the fae who lined either side of the throne room. Clutching the layers of her skirts, she splayed them outward to bow before the kings, making the mistake of glancing up at the Moon Throne.

Ezra sat with his head propped against a fist, his teal irises staring right back at her. Heat flashed across her chest, rising up to claim the flesh of her neck and cheeks as she tore her gaze away, but not before she got a good look at him.

He was flawless in a formal, deep-blue tinted blouse and a set of black breeches and boots. The nightly shades were the colors of his court, which were a sharp contrast to the leeching white of the keep. He commanded the space— owned it.

His midnight hair was kept short and neat around his pointed ears, but slightly disheveled, longer strands fell from the top of his head, as if he’d just combed his fingers through them. The dark locks were a canvas to the fine cut of his smooth, fair features.

It was deceptive how youthful the fae appeared, barely looking any older than herself at twenty, but she knew Ezra was well beyond her years.

After what she deemed a sufficient amount of time, Surina lifted from her bow and began her ascent to the top of the dais. Ignoring her brother’s obvious glare, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—whether he believed it to be a gesture of goodwill or blatant mockery for arriving late, she didn’t care. He could take his pick.

Surina’s ass had barely hit the cushion before Cyril was stretching over the marble armrest of his throne, angling his head in her direction.

“Would it kill you to be on time, for once ?” Cyril ground out, lowering his voice enough so those below the dais wouldn’t hear, but she did. Loud and clear.

Here we go , she thought, snorting through her nostrils before snapping her head to meet Fairlight green eyes. “ I’m sorry , would you rather I have greeted our guests in filthy training clothes?” Surina grumbled right back at him, refusing to hold back the bite in her tone. “Wouldn’t want any males thinking I’m eligible to marry. Then I might actually have to leave the palace.”

Surina had barely ever passed the walls separating the palace grounds from the large bustling city beyond, where white stone homes, estates, and shops filled the valley below the Thesian Mountains. It was the largest trading center in all of the kingdom—topping even the Duchy of Cillica. She could count on one hand how many times she’d visited the city, the most memorable visit being the last—for her sixteenth birthday. It was the week of the Solstice, and Leirie was spending the month with her mom in Cillica. Surina wouldn’t even come out of her room, not until Ezra tapped on the door, telling her of a great surprise he and Cyril had. She had dragged the kings from stall to stall, buying as many treats and knickknacks as Galen could carry.

Now, those lighthearted moments with the kings were no more. She no longer spent morning breakfasts with Cyril, speaking of the adventures she read about in her books, or her weekly dinners with Ezra, showing off every new concept of magic she’d learned during Moira’s training.

A thorn in my side.

Overhearing those words was enough for her to finally open her eyes. A gilded lie, is all her existence had been—crafted to protect her feelings . In reality, she was a burden to everyone around her.

The pinched skin between Cyril’s brows eased, and he looked as if he had more to say, but Surina turned from him. She didn’t want to hear it and instead brought her attention down to her lap, where the scar stared back.

Pressing a thumb to her palm, she traced the pinks and reds of the sun—wavy tendrils rising from every curve of the mottled ring, some stretching further than the others. She could almost feel a warmth rising beneath the drag of her fingers, until a shocking chill crept over her shoulder. One not born of shaded voices, but from the Moon Throne to her right.

With a slow turn of her head, she noticed Ezra, a hand gripping fiercely onto the glossy marble of the throne, veins emerging and receding. Underneath his fingers, a thin layer of ice was beginning to form, spreading into a crackling glaze.

Surina followed the king’s glare to where he studied the flesh of her palm, his jaw taut with a bitter spite. She pulled it from his view, turning the palm over and using the layers of her gown to hide the hand completely. At that same moment, his stare lifted, and upon their gazes locking, his frown softened—hers did the opposite, almost uncontrollably so, twisting into a scowl.

“Can I help you with something, Your Majesty ?” Surina whispered harshly, keeping her voice low enough for others not to hear, but it still didn’t hide the brazen attitude melded into each word.

To her displeasure, he seemed to enjoy it, the corner of his lips cracking into a hint of a smile.

In seconds, the surge of heat from earlier returned, in part due to the infuriating dismissal, but also because it had been almost two years since she’d been the object of one of his smiles, small as it was. She prayed the rising color of her cheeks was subtle enough to be blamed on the powdered blush. Doubtful, considering he likely could hear the way her heart lurched within—each pound loud enough for her own ears.

Ezra’s lips parted to speak, but the sweet sound of the throne room doors opening saved her from whatever cruel joke was sure to follow.

By the Mother, this night was going to be harder than she thought.

When Surina found the courage to tear away from the king’s humored mood, her eyes immediately skipped over the slinking silhouette with long ebony hair taking the lead and went right to the ones following close behind. Two heads of lustrous copper, gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

Runa Blackwell wore a fitted silken gown of obsidian, a slit along her snowy white thigh finding its way up to places Surina believed should only be seen in the privacy of a bedchamber. Her lips were painted a deep shade of red, circling her glittering, ivory teeth like a frame.

It was years ago Surina had met the Blackwell twins. Runa had always been a dark-eyed beauty, and in the time since, that hadn’t changed. But the prince, Fynn… Surina wasn’t looking at the same scraggly kid with wild tousles of hair. No, she was looking at—well, at a prince .

Now with nicely tamed waves, left no longer than the lobes of his ears and swept back from the angular cut of his cheeks, he stood tall—much taller than at sixteen when they first met. While not as broad-shouldered as his father, he still had put on much more muscle, enough for Surina to notice under the all-black attire, a matching cloak pinned around his shoulders, coasting along the marble flooring. The Calaechians always wore black. A fitting color, matching their black hearts.

With Fynn’s hair brushed away, Surina took in the deep brown of his eyes as he neared—the same handsome brown eyes that she’d run into earlier.

The divines found delight in Surina’s humiliation, surely. She sank into the velvet cushions of her chair, praying he didn’t recognize her. She did almost knock him to the ground, after all. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look before she ran off.

The Calaechians made it to the end of the dais, where Lucius bent into a respectful bow, and the twins followed suit. Though Runa took it upon herself to dip further than her brother and father. Her eyes frisked off to Surina’s right. To the Moon Throne.

Could she make it any more obvious?

Without a consort or a named heir, ladies practically salivated over Ezra, hoping to be the next consort of the Moon Throne. Lady Giselle usually did a well enough job keeping them at bay, but as Surina glanced toward her usual spot, to the side of the dais nearest Ezra, Giselle was nowhere to be seen. Probably mingling with the other fae in the crowd, but there were too many for Surina to be sure.

Lucius was the first to speak, his voice as deriding and arrogant as she remembered. “Your Majesties, we thank you for your gracious welcome. My children have much to learn from our Thesian neighbors.”

Surina wondered if Lucius had been born with that sneer on his face, or was it something he had to practice in the mirror? As much as she despised Lucius, he wasn’t even the worst of the Blackwells. His father, Severn, was said to rule with more ancient customs. Like a barbarian. Severn was named king after the fall of Draegar, ruling since the start of the Third Age.

Calaechians and Thesians had remained enemies for centuries after Draegar, and it wasn’t until the assassination of Queen Thesia Fairlight, and the removal of all shifters from Thesia, that the Calaechians became allies—fragile as that alliance was.

Ezra, who appeared unfazed by the Calaechian princess’s display, returned the sentiment to Lucius, but with far less flattery. “Welcome. Though I’m quite certain we extended our invitation to your wife, Lucius.” The king’s voice was flat, bored even, but behind that curtain of aloofness sat a dark warning—a demand for an explanation, as Prilla was the only reason the Blackwells were permitted to visit.

It was evident Lucius didn’t appreciate the remark, but as quick as his mask fell, it returned just as swiftly.

“It is with pride that I say my wife is with child and did not want to risk the babe on such a journey. She sends her regards,” Lucius voiced loudly, smugness echoing throughout the chamber, almost like he was singing a song.

Surina noticed the twins’ faces crumple with the mention of their mother, the facade falling just enough for her to feel sorry for them. Only until her eyes locked with Fynn’s, whose expression shifted into a sideways grin. A knowing nod in her direction made her realize that he, in fact, did recognize her as the one who ran into him.

If she melted any further into the chair, she’d be lying on the floor.

“Our congratulations,” Ezra said flatly, pausing Surina’s humiliation when he unexpectedly rose to his feet, completely catching her off guard—clearly she was the only one, because when she looked to the left, Cyril and Dahlia were already standing.

Reaching to brace her arms on the sides of the chair to hoist herself up, she froze at the sight of a fair hand stretched before her. When she peered up, the glimmer of humor had returned from earlier, peeking through the blanket of dipped lashes, and in the subtle tilt of Ezra’s lips.

For a moment, she considered rejecting the king, but that wouldn’t go over well with Cyril, to embarrass Thesia in front of foreign guests, and Ezra knew that too. So with narrowed eyes, she slipped her hand in his, and those chilled fingers sealed her in, sending cool shivers across the flush of her body.

As he guided her to his side, a wave of mint and pine washed over her, and she detested how her mind swirled with each exhilarating inhale.

Keeping Surina at his side, and with what she thought felt like a brush of his thumb, Ezra turned to the Blackwells and the crowds of fae that lined the throne room. “We have prepared a feast for your arrival. All guests are welcome in the banquet hall.”

Not all guests. Humans wouldn’t be allowed , Surina mused, trying to think of anything other than the frosted mint of his scent and the smooth feel of his skin.

How was it possible for something to be so potent and deadly, yet so soft and gentle at the same time?

Thankfully, she didn’t have to answer her own question, as everyone in the chamber offered their respects to the kings, and then she was being led down the stairs to the ground floor.

Ezra was careful around the skirts of her gown, keeping enough space between the two of them, but as they made it to the final step, he still didn’t release her hand. Instead, he practically dragged her to his hip as they passed the Calaechians, who parted the aisle.

Dipping his head to her ear, his words were a hushed breeze against her flesh—perhaps he actually had summoned a breeze. “You don’t have to look like my touch disgusts you.”

“Well, if I looked any other way, I’d be lying,” she returned, practically a growl when it came out.

Ezra chewed on his bottom lip, trying to mask a snicker behind it, like this was all good fun.

Why choose to torment her now, of all nights? Apart from the occasional formalities she owed him, it’d been nearly two years since she’d had a real conversation with the king.

She almost laughed at that word. Real .

Surina jerked her hand free, expecting to find a frown forming when she looked at the side of his face, but he appeared as indifferent as ever, simply shoving his hands into his pockets.

Did she really expect anything different? Ezra was as cold as it came. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. An easy feat when one had nothing they cared for. No one to love. No one who loved them.

Without another word, or even a glance back, the king lengthened his stride, leaving her behind to fall in step beside her brother and Dahlia. Her stare followed the Nightwood king until he disappeared through the silver doors. Her fingertips were a trembling void where his glacial touch once was.