The music had shifted, louder now and brighter. Couples moved across the dance floor in synchronized waves of silk and jewels, their laughter curling like smoke into the golden air.
Davinia sat alone.
Her seat at the high table felt more like a throne she'd been forced into, stiff and cold and far too visible. She sipped from her strawberry juice, the only thing that didn't make her stomach twist. No wine. Not tonight. Not when her thoughts already spun like an untethered carousel.
Across the room, she caught sight of her father. He stood with Prince Kaelum and a few other nobles laughing. Or something that looked close to it. A sharp smile here, a shoulder clap there. Politics in the form of pleasantries. But he hadn't even looked at her. Not once since she arrived. Not when she said her vows. Not even when she choked during the ceremony.
Her father had always been that way, distant, and hard to read. A man of the court, not of the heart. She supposed she should be used to it by now. Still, the ache in her chest remained.
Her eyes drifted again to Kaelum. Her new husband. He hadn't so much as acknowledged her since the kiss. Since the ceremony. Not a glance nor a word. Not even an outstretched hand when the music began and the hall had expected a first dance.
A small part of her still waited. Still hoped he'd walk over and offer it. But no. He stood like a shadow in black velvet, speaking to men twice his age with that same cold stillness he wore like a second skin. He hadn't bat an eyelash in her direction. And now, as the violins played a sweet, lilting waltz, she sat on the edge of celebration like she didn't belong.
That was when she felt a presence by her side. And a voice.
"Surely a bride shouldn't sit alone at her own wedding feast."
She looked up and nearly forgot to breathe.
The man standing before her had eyes the color of deep honey wine, a loose smile tugging at lips far too full of charm. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and dressed in crimson and black, the embellishments on his coat glinting like flames. He bowed with a flourish that made several nearby ladies giggle behind their hands.
"Prince Ozias of Avalorm," he said smoothly. "The third, and some might say, the most entertaining."
She blinked. Her voice caught before finding its footing. "Your Highness…"
"I know what you're thinking," he said with a roguish grin. "Why is he asking me to dance when he already has two wives?"
She swallowed hard. "Well… yes."
He laughed, a low, easy sound. "That's fair. But my wives are dancing with each other, as they often prefer. And I've never been one to let beauty go unnoticed."
There it was again that sharp charm. That easy confidence. She'd heard rumors about Prince Ozias and his flirtatious nature. That he collected wives like others collected rare gems. That he enjoyed power, but enjoyed games even more.
"I don't believe your brother would approve," she said quietly, her fingers curling around the stem of her juice.
His brows lifted with mock surprise. "Kaelum? My brother is currently in love with his wine goblet, not his bride. I wouldn't worry."
It stung, even coming from a stranger.
Ozias stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough. "Would you rather sit here all night like a forgotten ornament, or would you prefer to be seen, Princess?"
She hesitated. Be seen. The words echoed.
She glanced once toward Kaelum, still deep in conversation, still not looking. Then back at Ozias, who offered his hand with a smile full of trouble and invitation.
She didn't trust him.
But at least he was looking at her.
She rose slowly, placing her hand in his. "One dance."
He grinned, leading her onto the floor. "Let's make it worth remembering."
As they stepped into the music, and every eye in the room followed them, Davinia realized something bitter and true: She had just danced with her husband's brother before she'd ever danced with her husband.
And Kaelum still hadn't looked her way.
Sighing, she drifted her attention back to Prince Ozias whose hands were now placed at her waist, warm and confident, while Davinia rested hers gingerly on his shoulder. It felt… awkward. Intimate in a way she wasn't ready for. She prayed her palms wouldn't start sweating.
If there was one thing in the world she absolutely, irrevocably sucked at, it was dancing. No matter how many private lessons, no matter how many hours spent trying to glide like the other noble daughters, she always ended up stepping on someone's foot or turning the wrong direction. A curse, really.
And now, here she was. In front of half the court. Dancing with Prince Ozias, the most charismatic man in the entire kingdom.
Great.
They began to move, slow, almost lazily, as the strings eased into a lilting rhythm. Her body tensed instinctively, waiting for the inevitable moment she ruined it. A few seconds passed. She hadn't crushed his toes yet. Progress.
Then he leaned in slightly, whispering close to her ear with a voice dipped in mischief.
"So… be honest. Do you actually know how to dance, or are we winging it together?"
Her cheeks flushed hot. "I'm trying very hard not to ruin your shoes, Your Highness."
He chuckled, a low, playful sound that vibrated against her arm. "Well, I appreciate the effort. Shall I count for you?"
She let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "I think I'll survive if you don't spin me."
He smirked. "I wasn't planning on it. I quite like my ankles intact."
She looked up at him, meeting those warm, teasing eyes. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely," he said without hesitation. "You're much more fun than I expected."
Then, softening just a bit, he added, "So tell me, Davinia of Nyvarra… What kind of woman are you, beneath all that poise?"
Her lips parted, caught off guard. No one ever asked her that, not even Kaelum.
"I… don't know," she answered honestly. "I've spent most of my life being who I was supposed to be. Daughter. Princess. Betrothed."
"And now, wife," he added with a slight tilt of his head.
The word hit hard. "Yes… that too."
He watched her for a moment. "Still doesn't answer the question."
She hesitated, unsure how much of herself she was allowed to share. But before she could form a response, she noticed it. Eyes.
Watching. A pair of older noblewomen whispered behind their fans. Two young ladies at the side of the ballroom gave her pointed, speculative stares. And further off, standing near the throne dais, she caught the unmistakable sharp profile of Prince Kaelum. He was watching them. Finally.
She couldn't read his expression, though. He didn't look furious, nor jealous, just… observant. As if cataloging the scene. As if trying to decide whether she was worthy of his notice now that someone else had noticed her first.
Davinia's spine straightened subtly. She shifted her hand slightly in Ozias's hold, not to pull away, but to dance better. Smoother.
She wanted him to see. To see what he was missing. She so badly wanted him to feel something, anything. Annoyance. Jealousy. Even indifference would've been better than this cold, unreadable silence. He was her husband. He was the one who was supposed to be leading her in a first dance, not standing on the edge of the ballroom like a carved statue.
Gods, it annoyed her. How reluctant he was. How effortless it was for him to ignore her existence.
The music slowed, tapering to a gentle close. The final note rang through the great hall and faded into the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
Prince Ozias stepped back and bowed slightly, lips curling in his usual playful smirk. "I must say, Princess Davinia, that wasn't nearly as painful as you warned me it'd be."
She gave a faint smile, barely there. "I suppose we both survived it."
"I even enjoyed myself," he added smoothly. "Thank you."
Before she could respond, the soft rustle of silk approached them. A woman stood to the side, graceful, poised, and breathtaking in a deep wine colored glittering gown. Her hair was swept into a regal chignon, held in place by pearl pins. Her gaze, calm and composed, fell on Davinia with a small, knowing smile.
"Ah," Ozias said, straightening. "Allow me to introduce you. Davinia, this is my first wife, Princess Milena of Isrendel."
Milena dipped her head slightly, elegance in every motion. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Princess."
Ozias gave Milena a look that meant something Davinia couldn't read. "I'll leave you ladies to it."
And then, just like that, he was gone, off toward the wine table, already charming another group of nobles.
Davinia turned to Milena, unsure what to say. But Milena took care of that first.
"So… what do you think of Kaelum?"
Davinia blinked, startled by the bluntness. "I... um,"
Milena chuckled softly. "It's all right. I won't report your answer. I was simply curious."
"I barely know him," Davinia admitted truthfully. "He's quiet. Distant."
"Cold," Milena added, lips twitching. "Like winter itself."
Davinia nodded once. "Yes. That."
Milena took a sip from the glass she held. "It will be difficult," she said quietly, "but you'll survive it. Loveless marriages aren't so bad, Davinia. You learn to stop expecting things. And then… it doesn't hurt so much when they don't come."
"That's… a sad way to live."
"Sad, perhaps. But practical." Milena's eyes were gentle, but there was an edge beneath them, a tired truth. "You have wealth. Status. Servants at your beck and call. Fine gowns. Warm food. And a man who, at the very least, will fulfill his royal duties. Isn't that enough?"
Davinia's mouth was dry. "Is that what you told yourself?"
Milena didn't answer for a moment. Then she said softly, "I told myself many things. None of them helped."
There was a heavy silence between them, broken only by the distant echo of laughter and music as another song began.
"Don't beg for his love, Davinia," Milena said, voice firmer now. "It'll only humiliate you. You might never get it. You might watch him give it to someone else. Prince Kaelum is loyal to duty, not to affection. And if he does what Ozias did to me… he may even remarry."
Davinia swallowed, her fingers curling at her side.
"Does Ozias love you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Milena smiled, a bitter little thing. "No. He pretends well, though. Knows how to be kind when people are watching. He buys gifts. Sends flowers. Appears emotionally available. It's all performance."
Her eyes, darker now, locked with Davinia's. "But he doesn't care. Not truly. Not for me. Not for my children. Not for the second wife either."
Something inside Davinia twisted. She didn't know if it was sorrow, or anger, or fear.
"Prince Kaelum might be colder," Milena said quietly, "but at least he doesn't pretend to offer a heart he doesn't have."
And with that, Milena turned and walked away, her figure graceful as ever, leaving Davinia standing in the middle of a golden ballroom filled with light. But suddenly feeling very, very alone.
The wedding ceremony eventually came to a close. They'd had dinner, formal and restrained. They'd exchanged wine as tradition dictated, hers with trembling fingers, his with a face carved from ice. Their hands had brushed briefly when the cups were passed between them, and even that felt like a ghost of a touch.
Then her parents had left. Just like that. No lingering words of comfort, no final embraces. They had duties, they said. Affairs back in Nyvarra to tend to. Ministers to meet and borders to inspect. So much in a hurry to leave her behind.
And now, the once bustling ballroom was dimming as the guests trickled out. The grand hall echoed with the last notes of strings being packed away and half-finished conversations. Servants moved quietly, clearing wine goblets and untouched platters.
Davinia stood alone.
She wasn't sure when the loneliness began, maybe when her mother gave her a quick nod instead of a hug. Or when her father didn't even glance in her direction before boarding the royal carriage.
But it settled now, heavy and hollow in her chest.
She missed her room back home already. Missed the scent of lavender from the windowsill. Missed her favorite blanket and the cool stone floors under her bare feet.
She even missed Hadassah's fussing, her gentle scolding, her soft fingers braiding her hair each morning.
Her throat tightened.
If she allowed herself, she could tear up right there in the middle of Avalorm's polished marble corridors. But she didn't. She couldn't. She looked around, scanning the room. No sight of him. No Prince Kaelum. No family. No familiar face.
She didn't even know where she was supposed to go now. What she was supposed to do.
A sudden voice broke through the stillness.
"Your Highness?"
She turned to find a young woman in a deep emerald maid's dress, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun and a polite smile on her lips. She bowed gently.
"I'm Tamila. His Highness, Prince Kaelum, has assigned me as your attendant for tonight. He instructed me to guide you to your chambers and prepare a warm bath."
Davinia blinked. "He… sent you?"
Tamila nodded. "He also said… if you do not see him again for the rest of the evening, you should know that duty calls."
Duty calls. Of course it does.
So he was running already. Not even an attempt to pretend, not even a word spoken directly. Not even the first night. Davinia pressed her hands together tightly to still their shaking. She smiled, small, poised, exactly how a princess should.
"I see. Then lead the way."
Tamila curtsied and began to walk ahead. Davinia followed, her footsteps light but her chest heavy. They entered a wing of the castle she hadn't been shown before, lined with grand columns and glowing sconces. The chamber doors opened to a room that nearly took her breath away.
It was massive.
The ceiling arched like a cathedral's, painted in silver and gold. Heavy velvet curtains pooled onto the floor, and a crystal chandelier sparkled above the grand bed that stood at the center of it all.
The bed.
It was large enough for four people. Elegant, carved, and clearly meant to be shared. She stared at it. A slow realization crawled over her skin like ice. So this was it. Her wedding night. Her first night as a wife.
And she'd be sleeping in that bed alone.
No honeymoon. No gentle touches. No whispered promises. Nothing at all. A marriage in name only.
Tamila, sensing Davinia's quietness, approached quietly. "Shall I help you out of the gown, Your Highness?"
Davinia nodded, her voice locked in her throat.
Tamila's hands were gentle, unfastening each pearl button with practiced ease. The gown slipped off like a memory, leaving Davinia in a silk chemise as steam began to rise from the large stone bath on the far side of the room.
The scent of rose oil and vanilla filled the space. The water shimmered in the candlelight. Davinia stepped in, the warmth cocooning her body as the water rose to her collarbone. But even in that warmth, she felt cold.
Alone in a kingdom that was not hers. Married to a man who didn't want her. Sleeping in a bed meant for two, occupied by one. She closed her eyes and sank deeper into the water, hoping the heat would melt the ache in her chest. But she knew better. Tonight, she was a princess in title. A wife in name. But still… a stranger in her own story.