I guffaw at that and he covers my mouth, making me laugh even louder. It takes us a minute to calm down and then I peek around the corner, waving him forward like we’re on some grand heist. “Now, let’s go. I happen to know exactly where they keep the good stuff.”
The kitchen is dark and quiet, with a faint glow from the embers in the hearth. We slip inside, and Doran heads straight for the icebox with way too much confidence for a first-timer. I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, so you know where the ice cream’s kept! You’ve done this before, haven’t you? And you didn't invite me?”
He chuckles, pulling open the icebox and digging out two spoons like a practised professional. “I don’t know what you’re implying… but yes.” He hands me a spoon, then pauses, looking thoughtful as he leans against the counter. “And hey, guess what? Got a letter from Penalynn today.”
“Does she know you’re an expert ice cream thief?” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. “And when are you finally going to make an honest woman of her?”
His smile softens, and he looks down at his spoon like it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. “I will,” he says, quieter, more serious. “There’s just… something I have to do first.” He clears his throat, looking back at me with that familiar mischievous spark. “Anyway, she’s been accepted as a healer’s apprentice. She’ll be coming to Narathia in a few months on a study trip. I can’t wait to introduce you to her.”
I lean against the counter, smirking. “Sounds like someone’s got plans,” I say, though it’s hard to ignore the warmth in my chest. Doran, my sweet, silly friend, actually planning a future.
We settle back, spooning mouthfuls of ice cream straight from the tub as we sit on the kitchen floor, our backs resting against the cabinets. The soft glow of the kitchen and the quiet make it feel like our own little world, safe and tucked away from the rest of Aetherhold.
“So,” Doran says, glancing over at me between spoonfuls. “Anyone you miss from home?”
The question catches me off guard, and my smile falters. “Yes,” I say after a moment, looking down at my spoon. “But… it’s better I don’t think about them. Being here makes it easier to pretend they’re far away.”
Doran nods, his gaze warm with understanding. He clinks his spoon against mine, a soft gesture that feels like a promise. “One day, when all this is over, we’ll go visit Brewer Falls and Larilea. Deal?”
A real smile tugs at my lips, and I nod. “Deal.”
Before I can say more, a clattering sound echoes from the hallway. We freeze, eyes wide, and scramble behind a stack of crates, breathing in hushed, panicked gasps. Footsteps approach, quiet but unmistakable, accompanied by a soft hum. I peer around the edge of the crate and stifle a laugh when I see who it is.
“Alina,” Doran whispers with a smirk. “Probably here for a snack, too.” He gives me a nudge. “Shall we?”
I cover my mouth to hold back a snicker and nod. Together, we count to three, then jump out, yelling, “Boo!”
Alina yelps, her eyes widening as she clutches her chest, then glares at us, trying to hide a smile. “You two are unbelievable,” she hisses, rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t drop the biscuits.”
Doran sweeps into a mock bow, all graceful exaggeration. “We’d never dream of disturbing your late-night snack plans, Alina. We’re just here for a bit of ice cream… which, of course, you didn’t see.”
“But now that I know there are biscuits as well,” I grin.
She shakes her head but lowers herself to the floor beside us, holding out her hand until Doran passes her a spoon. We sit there, passing the tub between us and eating and telling ghost stories, like this is something we’ve done a hundred times before.
It strikes me, suddenly, how much has changed as I glance at Alina, who’s laughing at one of Doran’s ridiculous stories. I’m here, in the royal castle, sitting on the kitchen floor sharing stolen ice cream with a princess and a friend like Doran. It’s a life I never could have imagined.
Now, if only I could figure out a certain moody, broody prince, and just what role he’s supposed to be playing in my new life.
TWENTY-NINE
Rylan
“The council has spoken,”my father declares, his voice cold and final. His eyes meet mine with that familiar, unforgiving glare, the one that says everything: You have no choice in this.
My jaw tightens. The rage that’s been simmering inside me all morning boils over, and I push my chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the stone floor. I don’t care about the heads that turn my way, the whispers that start as I rise. I’m done with this farce.
Without a word, I storm out of the chamber, my heart pounding with fury. As soon as I step into the corridor, I see Mathis leaning against the wall, waiting for me. He falls into step beside me without a word as I make a beeline for the combat room. My footsteps echo sharply off the stone walls, matching the rhythm of my anger. Mathis knows better than to ask questions yet—he can read the fury on my face. I’m glad forhis presence, though. If there’s one thing Mathis understands, it’s how to help me burn off this kind of anger.
By the time we reach the combat room, I’m ready to explode. I throw open the doors, heading straight for the weapons rack. Mathis follows me, his expression serious now as he unsheathes his own sword.
We meet on the mat in the middle of the room.
“Let’s go,” I command.
The moment our swords meet, I channel all my frustration into each strike, each parry.
“You want to tell me what happened in there?” Mathis asks, his voice steady as we circle each other, our blades clashing.
