The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

51. No One’s Property

Chapter fifty-one

No One’s Property

“ I f I have to go, you do too,” Emmerich declared, dragging a reluctant Wrenn behind him.

The prince wore a black velvet tailcoat; the edges decorated with glittering gold filigree. Beneath it was more gold sewn into a patterned waistcoat over a ruffle collared shirt. On his lower half were black tailored pants with velvet panelling and shining black leather boots polished to perfection. A simple golden circlet sat atop his slicked back and parted curls.

“I feel ridiculous,” Wrenn muttered as she fidgeted beneath the tight corset of her dress. “You better not be expecting me to dance.” The gown was similar in fashion to Emmerich’s waist coat. Only instead of black and gold, hers was in varying shades of green. The pattern was dense around the bodice. Its tone was not too dissimilar from the sage of the main fabric, but as the intricate pattern cascaded down through the box pleated skirts, it changed. Darkening through shades of juniper, seaweed and finally, the colour of pine on a starless night.

“Believe me,” Emmerich muttered, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “I wouldn’t dream of inflicting your sullen brashness upon them.” The doors to the ballroom swung open for them then, and a squire announced.

“Presenting, His Royal Highness, Emmerich Ryker Anders, Prince of Elithiend and Lady Wrenn Bleeker, Commander of the Royal Guard.” Curious eyes swung their way. Mutterings skittered through the crowd, inaudible thanks to the swaying melody that drifted from the far side of the oval room.

They had decorated every available surface in shimmering gold, glistening gems, and warm copper. Along the northern edge of the room sat a long banquet table, covered in an array of food and drinks, being constantly refreshed by the castle servants. Along the western edge, between two gilded pillars, lay the dais. Atop it, three golden thrones lay empty.

“I need a drink,” Wrenn muttered as a gentleman with expertly coiffed blonde hair, dressed in shimmering blue, dragged his gaze up and down her. “I will never forgive Teris for forcing me into this thing.”

“Regardless, I’m sure the sight of you will be fodder for her dreams in the months to come.” Emmerich smirked.

Wrenn glared at him. “You’re lucky you’re my prince, or I’d maim you for that.”

Emmerich surveyed the room before him and the mass of bodies twirling across the sparkling dance floor. The steps called for the members to switch partners intermittently. As they spun, the women’s dresses flared outward, revealing the array of colourful, gem encrusted shoes they had donned.

When Wrenn didn’t return, Emmerich couldn’t help but hope that some courtly lady or lord had whisked her away. He was laughing to himself at the mere thought of it, when the doors swung open behind him once more and he heard the squire proclaim.

“Presenting; Her Royal Highness, Solveig Aila of House Maleen, Princess of Torrelin. Escorted by Temple Guardian, Gabriel Xavier Orson.” Emmerich spun, watching as the princess entered the room, on the arm of her betrothed. His gaze zeroed in on where her hand gripped Gabriel’s arm, her diamond engagement ring shooting rainbows under the firelight.

Emmerich lifted his gaze slowly, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, as though the air had left the room in a rush as their eyes collided across the ballroom. He allowed his own to sweep down once more, taking in her ivory gown that faded into black, and the sheer lace cape atop her shoulders. His gaze burned her skin as it journeyed up to a headpiece as white as fresh snow. Decorated with leaves, vines, and gems that glistened like morning frost against her hair. She was a siren song, calling to him, lulling him forward before he even realised that he had taken not one but two steps. Her eyes tracked him as though he were her prey.

“Your Highness,” he whispered fervently, taking her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. Eyes never leaving hers. Her chest was heavy as she sucked in a breath. Their gazes burned and Solveig all too easily forgot about Gabriel.

“Prince,” Solveig whispered, questions sparking in her jewel like gaze. Questions that they both knew she could not ask in such a public setting. Someone cleared their throat loudly, shattering the heady haze they’d drawn around themselves. Solveig ripped her hand from the prince’s, pivoting toward the man responsible for the jarring noise.

“Gabriel,” the prince said, his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth.

“Prince Anders,” Gabriel replied with an almost imperceptible nod.

Emmerich brought his eyes slowly back to Solveig, tracing his burning blue gaze over her. “Save me a dance.” He smirked before spinning on his heel in search of Wrenn, not allowing her an opportunity to refuse him.

Emmerich’s scent invaded her senses, the warm decadent amber unfurling around her, but it was sharper than normal. As though mixed with something bitter. But she had no time to worry over it as a firm hand gripped her wrist, verging on painful as they dragged her out onto the dance floor. The sweet refrains of a new melody filled the room.

Gabriel’s eyes met hers, their usual warm brown roiling with annoyance as he lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering, “Remember who you belong to.” He twisted the engagement ring on her finger, placing her hand on his waist. Before joining their other hands as he spun them around the dance floor with dizzying speed. Faces in the crowd blurred. Her night black hair flicked around her. Breaths coming thick and fast as the music rose and fell, building toward its crescendo where Gabriel brought them to a sudden stop. Dipping her low, he pressed a harsh kiss atop her lips.

Solveig gripped Gabriel’s arm to keep her balance from tipping over the edge as she tried to push him off, but it was no use. He had her at his mercy and there was nothing she could do except let the chill of his touch seep into her bloodstream and wait for it to end. When he finally placed her back on her feet, Solveig sidled closer to him. Her eyes conveying the warmth of lust when she struck, sending a dagger sharp heel stabbing into his foot.

Gabriel cursed, hobbling, as he tried to take the weight off his injured foot. Solveig watched with icy disdain before stalking off to the drinks table, leaving him limping in the middle of the dance floor.

She grabbed the nearest glass and whiskey decanter. Swiftly pouring two fingers worth before tipping it down her throat to chase away the chill in her bones that lingered from Gabriel’s kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone else slide up next to her.

“It’s never boring with you around, is it princess?”

“Commander Bleeker,” Solveig gritted as she poured herself another drink. “Can I help you?”

“You and your priest fighting?” Solveig’s gaze slid over to her then, darkening to where the commander held up her hands, taking a small step back. “No need to get defensive.”

“I’ve no need of your jokes nor small talk, Commander,” Solveig declared, facing the woman. “Say whatever it is you have to say and kindly leave.”

“I’m concerned for Emmerich.”

“Why is that my problem?” She sighed, feigning indifference.

Wrenn pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she considered her next words. “He’s been receiving a mysterious tea service,” she whispered, eyes darting left and right, relieved to find no one was paying them any mind. “The servant who delivers it claims everyone in the castle receives it.”

Solveig shrugged as her heart spiked. “So what? Does he need a training partner to work off the extra cakes? Surely you can handle that yourself.”

“He hasn’t been himself.”

“I’m still trying to figure out what this has to do with me.”

“I see the way you watch him.” Wrenn’s eyes narrowed. “When you think no one is watching you. I see how your eyes follow his every move, how you lean toward him when he speaks.”

“I’m engaged, Commander,” Solveig drawled, raising a brow in challenge.

“And that’s stopped people before?”

“Questioning my honour now? You’re on a roll tonight, aren’t you?”

“Well.” Wrenn paused, wetting her lips as she looked the princess up and down. “I’m not sure a woman with a kill list as long as yours can refer to herself as honourable.”

Solveig’s eyes narrowed as she leaned closer. “Remember that you came to me for help before you insult me further.” The two women engaged in a silent battle of wills as the ball went on around them. Wrenn was the first to yield, rubbing at her eyes as she spoke with a sigh.

“Think about what I’m saying. Maybe it’s misplaced concern, but I heard a rumour that you won’t drink tea from your own mother’s kitchen.” She took a step closer, voice lower. “That the king becomes more agreeable when he does.”

Wrenn moved to walk away, shaking her head as Solveig grabbed her arm. “Who told you that?” she seethed; pale skin glowing as though energy rippled beneath her skin. The commander ripped her arm free of the princess’s grasp as though she’d burned her.

“Let’s just say a little birdy told me,” Wrenn said once she recovered.

Solveig scoffed in annoyance. “Let’s just say my mother’s tea often makes the drinker more agreeable. The king isn’t special in that regard.”

Solveig could see in the commander’s eyes that she was about to demand more, but stopped in her tracks as the ornate doors swung open. The golden trio swept into the ballroom; all eyes were now fixed upon them as the squire called.

“His Majesty King Emerson Gunnar of House Maleen and Her Majesty Queen Asta Cyrene of House Maleen.” They walked arm in arm toward the centre of the room. The queen wore an exquisite cream gown trimmed entirely in gold, the hems and waist covered in jewels in a myriad of colours, shapes, and sizes. The king’s suit styled to match. Atop their heads were magnificent crowns of dark blue velvet, glimmering gold and shining emeralds and rubies.

The squire cleared his throat once more, calling, “His Royal Highness Crown Prince Killian Gunnar of House Maleen.” He strutted in like a peacock. With a suit in varying shades of blue and green and a cape adorned in feathers. A golden circlet inlaid with sapphires sat atop his brow. Killian scanned the room with a predatory grace before his eyes alighted on a woman with golden blonde hair, wearing a gown the same colour as his suit. He sauntered over, taking her hand in his, pulling her out onto the dance floor where the king and queen waited.

Once in position, the band struck up once more with a delicate waltz. Out of the corner of her eye, Solveig saw Gabriel rushing back toward her. A slight limp still present, fury marring his otherwise handsome features, when she heard a low, honey glazed voice whisper.

“May I have this dance, Princess?” His voice sent shivers through her. Heart thundering against her chest as she came face-to-face with the Prince of Elithiend. He watched her, waiting as she glanced back to see Gabriel was almost upon them. Without another thought, she took the prince’s outstretched hand.

“I would be honoured,” she said as he spun her into his arms and led her out onto the dance floor. Eyes followed them as the enemy prince stole the first official dance from the princess’s betrothed.

The music swept the world away as they stepped, pivoted, and spun in perfect sync. Emmerich brought them closer together until their chests touched. Near enough that they could feel the other’s heartbeat against the rise and fall of their breaths. Enraptured in a world of their own making.

“I’ve been dying to ask, Princess, where are you hiding your daggers tonight?” Emmerich bent his head to whisper against her ear. His brown curls tickled her skin, his voice captivated her senses.

“That’s for me to know,” she whispered back. “Though some would say a woman’s shoes are weapons enough.” The prince’s blue eyes sparkled. He spun her, watching her feet as the bottom of her dress fanned, revealing the dagger sharp silver heels. Before he pulled her back against him, needing to feel closer, to know she was real. Her back to his chest as they swayed to the music in unison, his grip tight on her hips, mouth warm at her neck.

“Those shoes are wasted on him,” Emmerich purred, his wine scented breath drifting along the column of her throat. The whisper of his lips on her feverish skin sending a tremor through her as his eyes glanced to where Gabriel seethed on the side-lines.

“Who said I wore them for him?” she shot back. Eyes falling closed as Emmerich spun her again. This time bringing them back face-to-face, and she looked into his eyes and saw nothing of what the commander described. She didn’t even see the hatred she thought had lingered in the square that afternoon. No, his eyes sparkled with something else.

“Then why did you wear them?” He chuckled as he bent to lay his forehead against hers.

“To frighten away the weak of heart.”

A sly grin lit up his handsome face. “Fortunate then that there’s nothing weak about my heart.” He spun her again in time with the music’s dizzying crescendo. Swept her up into his arms, holding her steady above his head, spinning in a slow circle as the music faded out. In a daze, she sensed every eye in the room fixed on her as Emmerich lowered her, decadent and slow. Purposely gliding her body down his, every soft piece of her yielded against every hard piece of him. She stared wide eyed into his clear blue gaze, his thumb grazed lightly across her cheek.

He bent suddenly, and she froze. Time slowed as he appeared to take that last forbidden step, right there in the middle of the ballroom. A spectacle for all to see. But he brought his lips to her ear instead. His mouth turned up in a grin.

“To answer the question, you were too afraid to ask, Princess. No, I don’t hate you. Even when I should have, I didn’t. Even now, when you throw every dark and jagged piece of yourself in my face, I don’t. I’m not sure I ever could.”

He pulled away then, and she stared as he brought his lips down against her forehead. Her eyes closed, savouring the warmth of his mouth on her skin. She gripped his arms tight, desperate to hold on to this one perfect moment in a sea of dark. Praying she wouldn’t have to open her eyes, that it never had to end. But all dreams end and their memory fades to be replaced by cold, harsh reality.

Solveig blinked away the warm, shimmering haze of the prince’s attention, her surroundings coming into focus again. She saw the queen glaring; the king held her back with a tight grip. Prince Killian loomed with dark humour in his gaze, and the gathered crowd displayed a myriad of confused, shocked, and repulsed expressions. As for Gabriel, he was a simmering pot of anger, seconds from boiling over as he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the dance floor toward a balcony. As if it would afford them some privacy from the stares that followed their every move, stares that included the prince’s flame hot sapphires.

Gabriel released her so suddenly that she stumbled into the balustrade. The force almost sending her over the edge were it not for the tight grip she found.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouted, thrusting a pointed finger toward the ballroom.

“A dance, Gabriel.”

“Do not treat me as a fool.”

“Then why don’t you tell me? Since you know everything.”

“It sure as shit looked like foreplay.”

Solveig reared back, her eyes as cold as death. “You’re disgusting,” she hissed.

“And you’re engaged to me.” His nostrils flared. “I won’t have you showing me up in front of these people, not with some two-bit princeling from an enemy kingdom after a good time.” He took a step closer, crowding Solveig against the cold stone of the balustrade. His face burning like the red of fresh blood. “You belong to me.”

“I belong to myself, Gabriel Orson. You’d do well to remember that, or do I need to bruise your other foot for the message to sink in?” she shouldered past him, but his hand swung out to grab her only this time, she expected it. Grasping his wrist before he could hers, she wrenched it painfully backward.

“Touch me in anger again and you’ll find yourself with one less hand.”

They stared at each other in heated silence. “You think I’m afraid of you?” He snapped through the pain, “A girl so scared of disappointing her family that she allowed them to turn her into a monster. But you aren’t one, truthfully. Are you? Every life you take eats away at your resolve a little more. One day you’re going to break apart. And when that happens, it will be me picking up the pieces. Not that prince you’re mooning over. He’ll be long gone.”

Solveig leaned into Gabriel’s space. Her chest heaving. Mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. “Is that a threat, Gabriel?”

Before he could even think to respond, an almighty crash of shattering glass and shocked shouts filled the air.

Solveig froze.

Memories fought to takeover, and she tried to force them back. It was an accident. It had to be. She ran, shoving her way through the jostling crowd toward the noise. Slowly, they parted for her, and she heard footsteps crunching over broken glass, followed by an aching cry ripped from Commander Bleeker’s throat.

“EMMERICH.”

Solveig pushed faster through the last of the attendees and came face-to-face with her nightmares made real. Though it wasn’t her beloved Lord Aldrik lying on the ground, but the Prince of Elithiend.

His eyes closed, chest still.