Chapter 49: A Rather Curious Turn

A long line of Ostharian carriages stood waiting near the grand iron gates of the Werestian palace. The horses, massive bay beasts bred for military roads, stamped their heavy hooves against the damp gravel, tossing their heads as the drivers made their final preparations for departure.

At the head of the procession stood King Ryzenion, his cloak pulled tight against his broad shoulders, his jaw set in that stone-hard, weary dignity that thirty years of border diplomacy had carved into his face. Beside him, the Queen kept her hands tucked neatly inside her velvet muff, her expression a mask of cool, polite regal serenity.

"May the mountain passes remain open for your transit," King Ryzenion said, his deep, rumbling voice easily carrying over the clatter of iron fittings and stomping hooves. "And may the treaty we signed under these arches hold as firmly as the stone beneath our feet. Give my personal regards to your sovereign."

The chief Ostharian envoy bowed low, his back bent so far his silk sash nearly brushed the damp gravel, before offering a smooth, rehearsed response about enduring trade, shared borders, and the eternal wisdom of the Werestian crown. It was the standard diplomatic grease, polished until it shone, completely devoid of any real warmth.

One by one, the delegates climbed into the carriage. The door latches clicked shut with heavy, final thuds. The head driver cracked his long whip over the team’s ears, and the leading carriage lurked forward, its broad wheels churning the wet gravel as the convoy began its long, tedious trek back to their home.

The royal family stood watching until the very last baggage wagon had cleared the archway and the heavy iron gates groaned shut on their bronze hinges.

With the royal guards taking their places around the monarchs, Riven slowed his pace just a fraction. He fell into step beside his younger sister, Princess Riella, whose eyes were still fixed on the empty stone road winding down toward the lower city.

"Tell me, Sister," Riven remarked casually, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked. "You must be hoping that the prince of Ostharia leaves with the rest of the delegation, rather than staying here, hmm?"

Riella didn’t instantly snap at him. She merely turned her head, offering her brother a flat, utterly unimpressed look that could have curdled fresh cream at ten paces.

"And you, my dear brother," she replied dryly, her tone smooth as silk and twice as sharp, "seem to be taking an unhealthy amount of pleasure in your own ridiculous assumptions today."

"They aren’t assumptions if they’re written across your face in large, legible script, sweet sister," Riven countered with a light, airy chuckle. "If you were half as good at concealing your thoughts as you are at issuing orders to the palace guards, I wouldn’t have anything to tease you about."

The two of them strolled side by side up the wide marble staircase. To any passing courtier, they looked like the very picture of royal decorum, two elevated heirs walking in dignified harmony. In reality, it was simply the continuation of a years-long war of words between two siblings who knew exactly how to get under each other’s skin.

"I have accepted the situation completely, Riven," Riella stated, her chin lifting an inch higher as she smoothed down her dark velvet riding sleeves. "Grand Duke Roscaire made his decision at the banquet. The matter is closed."

"Mmm. Accepting a situation and being particularly thrilled about it are two entirely different concepts, aren’t they?" Riven pointed out, raising a dark eyebrow at her. "You’ve been glaring at every messenger who rode through the gate for a week. I’m surprised the poor horses haven’t bolted."

"And you seem remarkably invested in my romantic life for someone who has three separate ministerial reports waiting on his desk," she shot back smoothly, turning her head to give him a sweet, poisonous little smile. "Did the trade account bored you so terribly that you had to seek entertainment in my private affairs?"

"Considerably more entertaining, yes," Riven admitted without a shred of shame or hesitation. "Listening to the minister complain about tariffs for two hours makes a man consider throwing himself off the eastern wall. Watching my fierce, unyielding sister quietly sulk over a missed ducal match is far more refreshing."

Riella let out a soft, exasperated noise through her nose, shaking her head as they reached the top landing. "I am not sulking."

"You are, a little bit," Riven insisted, a lopsided grin touching his lips. He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into a conversational murmur as they passed a pair of bowing house guards. "Honestly though... it really is a shame. I was quite looking forward to having Lioren Roscaire as your husband. I can’t think of a single man in all of Werestia who would have suited the role better."

Riella gave him a sharp, sidelong glance. "You are making a truly absurd amount of assumptions again."

"Am I?" Riven asked, throwing his hands up in mock innocence. "You haven’t denied it once since we walked away from the gates! You haven’t said, ’Riven, you’re wrong, I never cared for the man.’ You just keep attacking my work ethic."

"Because your work ethic is an absolute disgrace to the crown, and because you’re sitting there looking entirely too pleased with yourself while discussing your own sister’s slighted pride," Riella retorted, her eyes narrowing.

Riven let out a bright, genuine laugh that earned them a wary look from the head steward standing near the glass parlor doors. "Oh, come now, Riella! I’m not celebrating your heartbreak, if one can even call it that. I’m simply lamenting a magnificent missed opportunity! Do you have any idea how convenient it would have been to have the Grand Duke of Roscaire inside our immediate family circle?"

Riella stopped mid-step, turning her full frame to face him, her arms folding tightly across her chest. "Right. And there it is. Let’s be entirely honest for once, Riven. Did you actually want a brother-in-law for my personal happiness, or were you just looking for someone else to unload half your administrative duties onto whenever you wanted to go hunting in the western marshes?"

Riven paused, tapping his chin with a gloved finger as if giving the question deep, rigorous intellectual consideration.

"Well," the Crown Prince drawled with a completely straight face, "now that you mention it... both possibilities have an extraordinary amount of merit."

Riella stared at him, her lips twitching slightly despite her absolute determination to remain furious with him. "You are entirely hopeless. Truly."

"And you are entirely too proud to admit when a plan has gone sideways," Riven replied easily, gesturing for her to continue walking through the tall oak doors into the warm, carpeted gallery. "Though I suppose I must respect it. Most noble ladies in your position would have thrown three dramatic fainting spells by now, or tried to bribe a northern house steward to slip a potion into Prince Xavion’s evening wine."

"I have no intention of chasing after a man who has already clearly made his choice," Riella said. "He chose the Ostharian prince. He stood before the entire court and made his pledge. I may be disappointed by his decision, but I have my dignity. I am a princess of Werestia, not a desperate court girl begging for scraps of attention."

"Of course, of course," Riven agreed smoothly, though his eyes were still dancing with mischief. "Your dignity is legendary, Riella. It’s truly inspiring. Though, if memory serves, that very same magnificent dignity didn’t stop you from sulking in the garden pavilion for two straight days when Father refused to buy you that black stallion from the eastern merchants."

Riella’s head snapped around. "That was entirely different! The stallion was an exceptional war mount, and Father gave it to a second-rate garrison captain who didn’t even know how to properly check its hocks!"

"Point proven," Riven chuckled.

"I am going straight to Mother’s room," Riella threatened, her voice rising half an octave into a sharp, lethal promise, "and I am going to tell her in painstaking, exhaustive detail exactly how many hours you spent playing cards with the palace guards last week when you were supposed to be reviewing the grain reserves."

Riven’s grin faltered just a tiny fraction. He cleared his throat, raising two hands in a placating gesture of surrender.

"Ah. Now, let’s not bring Mother into this," Riven said quickly, offering a charming, nervous smile. "Mother’s lecture on ’Royal Responsibility and the Sacred Duty of the Heir’ lasts a minimum of forty-five minutes, and she brings out those terrible dried herbal teas. I concede! I stop while I’m ahead. You win the round, sister."

Riella let out a triumphant, satisfied hum, smoothing down her skirts as if she had just won a grand duel in the arena. "Good. I’m glad we have an understanding."

They reached the grand arched junction where the corridor split, one side leading toward the Queen’s private chamber, the other toward the Crown Prince’s study.

Riven stopped near the tall stained-glass window, his teasing, lighthearted demeanor fading away as he looked out across the misty courtyard. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a quiet, calculating gaze that usually only appeared when he was sitting at the meeting table.

"Still..." Riven murmured softly, his voice dropping into a low, thoughtful cadence.

Riella paused, glancing back over her shoulder at him. "Still what?"

Riven rested his hand against the cold stone frame of the window, his gaze fixing on the distant northern road winding out of the city.

"I just can’t help but wonder," Riven said slowly, turning his head to look at his sister, "if there wasn’t something else at play. He treated court romance like a contagious fever. And then, in a single evening, he suddenly takes a fallen prince from an enemy kingdom as his betrothed? A prince who was once a celebrated general, no less, but has since lost his powers and fallen from grace among his own people. Lioren has spent years turning away every marriage proposal sent his way, yet he agrees to marry someone whose circumstances could hardly be more complicated?"

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It just seems... strange, doesn’t it? Even for a man as notoriously unpredictable as Lioren. I wonder if there are other, deeper things involved that made him change his mind about marriage so abruptly."

Riella stood quietly in the hall, her expression growing thoughtful as she looked at her brother.

"Honestly, Riven..." Riella whispered softly, her eyes drifting back toward the window, "I’ve been wondering the exact same thing."