After the bath, Tamila helped Davinia out of the water and wrapped her in a soft towel, patting her skin gently. The room had dimmed into evening now, with golden candlelight casting a soft glow on the marbled walls and velvet curtains.
Davinia sat before the ornate vanity, her hair damp and loose down her back. She looked at her reflection, bare, clean, and unfamiliar. Like she didn't quite belong in this castle.
Tamila opened a tall wardrobe and pulled out a robe unlike anything Davinia had ever worn.
It was red.
A deep, rich red the color of wine and roses. The silk shimmered like flame, trimmed with fine gold embroidery and a thin sash that tied at the waist. It looked luxurious, seductive, something a woman might wear for a night she wished would lead to more.
Tamila held it up. "Let me dress you in this, Your Highness."
Davinia blinked. "Is that… necessary?"
Tamila gave a small, knowing smile. "One might never know what to expect on the first night of marriage. Better to be prepared."
She hesitated, looking at the robe again. "I don't think he'll come."
"Maybe not," Tamila said honestly, "but if he does, let him see you looking like a queen." She began gently tying the sash around Davinia's waist. "Sometimes, a little seduction… a little desire… it can make even the coldest man notice."
Davinia laughed softly, a bitter sound. "Prince Kaelum isn't just cold, Tamila. He's made of stone. He barely looked at me. I doubt a robe will change anything."
Tamila met her gaze in the mirror. "Men are often drawn to what they see and like. Even the cold ones. Especially the cold ones."
Davinia looked down at herself. The red silk clung lightly to her frame, soft against her skin. The color made her feel different and older. More powerful. But the feeling didn't last. Because her heart wouldn't let her hope. She didn't want to get her hopes up, only to have them crushed under his indifference again. If he walked in, would he say a word? Would he even glance her way? Or would he just sleep beside her like she didn't exist?
She bit her lip, gripping the edge of the vanity. "It doesn't matter what I wear," she murmured. "He doesn't care. He made it clear already."
Before Tamila could answer, a sharp knock rapped on the chamber door, making Davinia to freeze.
Tamila glanced over her shoulder. "Shall I get it?"
She nodded, her heart beginning to pound, not from excitement, but from uncertainty. The ache of wanting something and the fear it would be nothing.
Tamila crossed the room and pulled open the heavy door.
And there he was.
Prince Kaelum.
Still in his formal attire. Midnight-black coat, silver accents along his shoulders. His dark hair neatly swept back, face expressionless, jaw sharp, and eyes as cold and distant as the stars.
Tamila quickly curtsied. "Your Highness."
His eyes flickered past her. Straight to Davinia.
She stood there silently in the red robe, her hands clenched at her sides. Her stomach twisted.
He stepped into the room, slow and measured. "I won't stay long."
Of course.
"Duty calls," she said quietly, not bothering to hide the sting in her tone.
His gaze stayed locked on her. There was no apology in his expression, no warmth. Just… observation. "I came to say goodnight."
Tamila bowed her head and slipped out without a word, closing the door behind her.
Now they were alone.
Kaelum stood several feet away, the silence heavy between them. His eyes drifted briefly, very briefly, to the red silk before returning to her face.
No flicker of desire. No compliment. Just a deep breath.
"I'm not the kind of man who pretends," he said at last. "I won't offer you things I don't feel. But I'll give you respect. I'll protect you. And I'll keep my word."
Davinia felt the ache in her throat again. "And what am I supposed to do with that? Pin it to my pillow at night?"
Something flickered in his eyes then, too fast to catch. "You'll adjust," he said simply.
She swallowed her pride, her sadness, her shame. "Goodnight, Your Highness," she whispered.
Prince Kaelum turned without another word. The door opened.
And then he was gone.
Leaving Davinia in the red robe. In the cold, silent room. All alone.
.
.
.
Sunlight crept through the velvet curtains like a timid guest, painting thin streaks of gold across the chamber's polished floor.
Davinia stirred, slowly waking to the strange weight of unfamiliar sheets, a scent that wasn't her own, and a silence that felt louder than anything she'd ever known.
Her eyes opened to the vast ceiling above, the same one she'd stared at half the night, sleepless and numb. He never came back.
After he'd left with his cold "goodnight," she hadn't moved from the spot for what felt like an eternity. She had slipped under the heavy covers alone, curled into herself, wrapped in silk and silence. No honeymoon. No words exchanged beyond formality.
She sat up now, pulling the blanket closer around her chest. This was her new life. As Prince Kaelum's wife. A stranger in a strange palace. A bride married in ceremony, not in heart.
The door creaked open gently, and Tamila entered carrying a silver tray. "Good morning, Your Highness," she greeted softly. "I brought you some tea and warm pastries."
"Thank you." Davinia's voice was quiet, hoarse. She hadn't spoken since last night.
Tamila set the tray on a small table by the window. "Would you like to dress now? There's a morning court brunch… all noble families and consorts attend. Prince Kaelum won't be there. He left at dawn."
"Do I have to attend?" Davinia asked.
Tamila gave her a small smile. "You're a princess of Avalorm now. Everyone will want to meet you."
Davinia sighed, forcing herself to rise. "Then help me look like I belong here."
Tamila worked quickly, bathing her in warm rosewater, dressing her in a pale lavender gown that shimmered faintly in the light. Her dark hair was styled half-up with delicate silver combs and a soft veil draped down her back, nothing bridal, but still regal.
When she looked in the mirror, Davinia barely recognized the woman staring back.
She looked beautiful. Composed. Like someone who had everything together.
But her chest still ached. Her eyes still held the weight of last night. She followed Tamila down the polished halls, nodding at the guards who bowed as she passed. Everything smelled like polish and incense. Every corridor looked the same. Cold and gilded.
Finally, the doors to the royal brunch opened, and she was ushered into a long, sun-drenched room filled with the elite of Avalorm.
Lords. Ladies. Daughters of high-ranking ministers. Distant cousins of royalty. They were all dressed in their finest, sipping wine, nibbling on fruit, exchanging smiles that felt like blades behind lips. And every head turned when she entered.
Davinia's spine straightened instinctively. She was alone. No Kaelum by her side. No mother to whisper the right things. No friend to hold her hand.
But she smiled.
Because that was what princesses did.
She walked toward the table where she was guided by an attendant, past murmurs and veiled glances. Some eyes held curiosity. Others… pity. She hated that most.
Near the head of the table sat Princess Milena, Ozias's first wife, with her signature calm smile. She waved Davinia over.
"Come, sit with me," she said. "I saved you a seat."
Grateful for the familiar face, Davinia nodded and took the chair beside her.
"You survived your first night," Milena whispered with a sly grin. "Congratulations."
Davinia gave a small smile. "Barely."
Milena took a slow sip of her wine. "You'll get used to barely."
Davinia looked across the room at the grand empty chair meant for her husband.
He wasn't here. He didn't even send word.
She turned her attention to the meal in front of her. She'd survived the wedding. She would survive this too. Even if she had to do it alone.
Davinia barely had time to sip her tea before the royal herald announced the entrance of Their Majesties.
The Queen of Avalorm, Queen Corelia, entered first, tall and poised in a blue and silver gown, her crown gleaming beneath the soft morning light. Beside her walked the King, King Aaron, broad-shouldered with a gaze that could silence a room.
Everyone rose. Davinia stood too, bowing respectfully as they approached the table.
"Your Majesties," she said, curtsying low. "It's an honor."
Queen Corelia smiled warmly. "You look lovely this morning, Princess Davinia. How are you settling in?"
"Well enough, thank you, Your Majesty," Davinia replied softly.
The King gave her a single, long look. "And my son?" he asked. "Kaelum. Was he… attentive last night?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Everyone nearby seemed to pause, ears slightly tilted toward them. Davinia hesitated, just a moment, but the truth clung to her lips like thorns.
"He didn't come back," she said, as gently as possible. "I was alone."
Queen Corelia's smile vanished. Her jaw tightened, and a flicker of disappointment shadowed her features. "I see," she said coolly.
"Typical of Kaelum," came a voice from a few seats down.
Davinia turned to find Prince Henry, the eldest son, the heir. He had the most rugged presence of them all: a sharp jaw, short-cropped chestnut hair, and a perpetual furrow in his brow. His voice was low, but his words landed with impact.
"He's always been one to bolt when things get uncomfortable," he added, spearing a grape with his fork.
"That's unfair," another voice interjected.
Prince Jasiel, the second son, leaned forward on his elbows. His tone was light, almost teasing, but Davinia noticed the steel behind his smirk.
"It's not running," Jasiel said with a shrug. "It's just… Kaelum being Kaelum. Where is he anyway? Did he take off before dawn again? Maybe he's allergic to marriage."
A few snickers followed the comment. Davinia's fingers tightened around the goblet in front of her. The table felt suddenly enormous and cold.
On the other end, Prince Ozias seemed entirely uninterested in the topic. He was leaning in toward his second wife, whispering something that made her giggle, her hand pressed lightly over her mouth in a poorly hidden display of affection. No one missed it. Davinia certainly didn't.
"He should be here," Queen Corelia muttered, clearly displeased. "At the very least, breakfast with his bride."
"He's with Merritt," Ozias said finally, glancing up. "No surprise. You know how they are always glued together."
The queen sighed deeply. "And Merritt?"
"Likely dragging Kaelum somewhere unnecessary," Jasiel said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I don't think either of them even know what being a husband means."
At the mention of Prince Merritt, Davinia straightened a little. She hadn't met him yet, but she'd heard rumors.
Merritt and Kaelum, only a year apart, were like two sides of the same cold coin. Kaelum with his distance and indifference. Merritt, with his apathy bordering on cruelty. Rumor had it Merritt didn't even bother to learn his wife's name before their wedding night.
"Don't expect a love story from either of them," Jasiel added, biting into a pear. "They weren't made for fairy tales."
Davinia smiled politely, though her stomach twisted. "I didn't come here expecting fairy tales," she muttered, though it was audible enough for everyone to hear.
Henry looked at her then and she could see the surprise in his eyes. Maybe even a flicker of something like respect. Not pity, not amusement. Something deeper. Like he hadn't expected her to have a spine, much less use it.
"Well said," he murmured, lifting his goblet in a small toast. "At least you won't shatter when the reality sets in."
Jasiel chuckled, raising his brows. "Look at you, Henry. Already warming up to your new sister-in-law?"
Henry didn't answer. His gaze lingered on Davinia for a second longer before he turned back to his meal, his expression unreadable once more.
Davinia sat straighter, the weight of the room suddenly less crushing. But the ache in her chest was still there, dull and present. Every noble smile and polite nod around her felt like a mask. They all knew the truth. That she was unwanted. That her husband hadn't even bothered to sit beside her on their first morning as husband and wife.
She reached for her goblet again, trying to ignore the eyes that still lingered on her like curious shadows.
"Don't take it too personally," Milena whispered, leaning toward her again. "Half of the women here are married to ghosts with titles."
Davinia turned her head. "That's not comforting."
"I didn't mean for it to be," Milena said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "But it's the truth."
Just then, the herald's voice rang out again.
"His Highness, Prince Merritt of Avalorm."
The room quieted slightly as the tall figure entered, flanked by two guards and dressed in hunting leathers rather than formal court attire. His hair was tousled, his expression bored, and his eyes were every bit as disinterested as the rumors claimed.
He gave no apologies for his lateness. No bows. Just a lazy wave and a yawn before he made his way toward the table. Queen Corelia's face tensed. "Where is Kaelum?" she asked sharply.
Merritt dropped into a seat beside Henry and shrugged. "Off training. You know how he is."
"That's not an excuse," the queen snapped.
Merritt picked up a pastry and bit into it, seemingly unfazed. "I didn't say it was."
Davinia could feel the burn of judgment still crawling over her skin, even though none of this was her fault. Her husband's absence, the whispers, the disappointment, none of it had been her choice. And yet she bore the shame of it like a cloak.
Milena reached beneath the table and squeezed her hand once. A brief gesture. A reminder she wasn't entirely alone. But she still felt alone. Hopelessly, completely alone in a kingdom of cold princes and hollow crowns.