The last week had been an empty cyclone of screaming silence. Every hall and room was void of sound, yet Rhosyn's memories howled at her, tore her in two and left her broken.
She didn't know where she and Edrien stood anymore. She'd seen him angry. Soothed him when nothing else would. But Rhosyn had never been the source that fueled his rage. She didn't know how to calm him and that scared her. She felt like she was losing him—and if she did, who was she?
Karsyn had visited her in her sleep like smoke. A deadly whisper. An almost ethereal foreshadowing. Yet, somehow she found herself waiting for him to come. As if it was inevitable.
He plagued her the most, though she'd deny it.
Sometimes she'd catch herself revisiting a memory of him. Remembering how comfortable she felt in his frame, or how she trembled under his glare. He was an ocean of trouble, and she'd set sail. Something pulled her deeper, and yet she clung to her vessel as the waves threatened to sink her. Why was he so compelling, and what pulled her in?
Rhosyn reluctantly exited the carriage, her dress weighing heavy and gripping her torso uncomfortably. Elin had said she looked gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking, and it was—just taking her breath.
It was one of those dresses you'd cut free from if you were drowning. More dead-weight than finery. It cinched in at her waist in a seemingly impossible way, her chest spilled out barely contained by a line too low to be practical, let alone courtly.
It was the latest fashion from Celandre, and Rhosyn wondered if it suited the princess far better than her. It was shockingly gorgeous and yet she felt it too regal.
She knew it was the weight of the evening that twisted in her middle and pooled in her chest. She'd have to face them again and for once, she didn't think she was up to it.
Breathing in a bitter cold breath, Rhosyn cast the memory away. It served no purpose here.
She entered the great hall, the usual grandeur of gold and marble pillars, bustling with guests filling the space with chatter and laughter. The lilt of it all dazzling, but Rhosyn couldn't find the joy in the event—not tonight.
A flicker at her flank; a light touch at the small of her back.
"Lady Valewyn," Duke Karsyn's voice brushed against her neck and curled in the pit of her stomach.
"Duke Karsyn, what are you doing?" she gritted out, her smile still a ghost for onlookers.
"I thought I'd escort you into the ball." He held out his arm, an offer loaded with an audience as a weapon.
"The engagement hasn't been announced yet," Rhosyn hushed into the shrinking space between them as she reluctantly linked her arm in his.
Murmurs bubbled up from below and she was aware of the gossip spreading like wildfire across the room. The loyal royalist Lady Valewyn in the arms of the devilish parliamentarian Duke Karsyn of the North.
"Don't you think it'll seem suspicious that the crown's prized treasure suddenly engages to the issue in the north?" the words brushed against her cheek, warm and gentle, despite their candidness.
A giggle slipped through her lips before Rhosyn realised it was there. The crowd of onlookers watch their slow descent, a new gush of gossip humming in the air. They couldn't hear their words, but they saw the touches, the closeness, the smiles and giggles—it was enough.
"You should do that more." Duke Karsyn's gaze, rapt and unflinching. "The crowd loves seeing you smile."
She still couldn't figure him out. He played the game as she expected, but there was something hidden under his motives. He wasn't as straight-cut as she'd expected. Rhosyn read people, that was what she did, but this man didn't give off his intentions. He was wrapped in a veil of mystery and shadow—and it suited him.
The steps beneath them dwindled and Rhosyn held her breath. Only a little further and she could excuse herself from Karsyn's presence.
"Well, considering the kingdom expected you to marry the Crown Prince, I would think that our engagement would come as a bit of a surprise," Karsyn killed the silence between them, his words only loud enough for her ears.
"So, that's why you insist on chaperoning me down a flight of stairs—for the sake of dampening a surprise."
They were moments from reaching the floor. The murmur of gossip buzzing like electricity throughout the room and Rhosyn could just make out the words to the rumours currently spreading.
"The Duke? With her? Saints, so it was true."
Karsyn hummed amused.
Their shoes touched marble, ringing throughout the hall, cutting across the whispers and music. Finally. Rhosyn turned to the duke, dipping into an elegant effortless curtsy, setting up the intention to dismiss herself. But Karsyn's fingers didn't release her hand and he took a step closer—again.
He loved invading her space, she could tell it was one of his favourite weapons—intimidation. It probably worked so well on people due to his height. He was impressively tall. He seemed to enjoy forcing her to look up to him, as if the literal action would relate to it metaphorically as well. But Rhosyn wasn't put off by his tactics or his games.
"Marriage was your idea, I suppose you think I'm the wolf you need to tame," his words locked behind baring teeth, flashing brilliantly in a make-believe smile.
"And you think I'm the obedient bitch you gain," Rhosyn sniped back just as quickly—and quietly.
She turned to leave, but his footsteps didn't fall away, his words whispering close behind.
"I'd never call a lady a bitch." Entertainment danced on his tongue.
Rhosyn rounded on him again, his face smug—he was enjoying himself too much. The way he crawled under her skin and stoked a fire within her. But he was just a playful politician with a knack for showmanship.
"You called Lady Indivessa a bitch last week at The Winter Festivities."
He loomed above her, all smiles, challenge locked behind his cold burning winter eyes.
"Well, I guess she wasn't a lady then." Karsyn chuckled, a sound she didn't expect to hear from such a man. It sounded too carefree. Too happy to belong to such a conniving man such as he.
"Why are you so determined to make this marriage work? We both know the sealed contents of your uncle's safe would've more than sufficed," he asked. Rhosyn didn't think there was any more room between them, but Duke Karsyn found some and then took it. "Is this your way to escape, then?"
Heat washed off him and she found herself taking a step back.
"Escape—?"
"Oh," he sighed, or maybe he laughed, Rhosyn was not sure. "You're just stubborn—you're trying to prove your point."
"Well, if my uncle's safe is all you want—"
"No," Duke Karsyn cut her off, sweeping into a deep bow, form perfect. Lips pressing against the back of her hand, soft and warm. A gush of women chattering excitedly filled the air and Rhosyn wasn't sure what to do. He straightened, taking his signature step forward, head dipping low and close. "I want so much more, Lady Valewyn."
He pulled back, she caught the twinkle of something hungry in his eyes. And then he turned, walking away, the crowd falling away as he went.
The moment Karsyn's hand left the small of her back, the air should have felt easier to breathe.
It didn't.
Rhosyn remained in the landing space at the foot of the stairs, trapped in the swirl where new arrivals bled into old gossip. Laughter and music crashed around her like waves against a cliff. High heels, tight corset—there was nowhere to flee that rumour wouldn't follow. The court had scented blood.
They'd already spun an entire romance out of a ten-second entrance. Crown's Treasure and Northern Issue. Of course they had.