Bound to the Crown

-Avianna-

If one more person tells me how graceful I am, I might throw myself off this balcony.

I smile, lifting my hand in the slow, measured wave I’ve practiced since childhood, the one that says beloved princess and not slightly unhinged twenty-one-year-old woman calculating escape routes. The crowd below erupts on cue, a living tide of color and sound surging through the streets of Caelthar.

I smile wider.

The wind catches the dark strands of hair that escaped my elaborate hairstyle this morning. My ladies spent nearly an hour lacing me into a navy gown embroidered with enough gemstones to feed a village.

Worth it, apparently. The people sure do love a spectacle. Especially when that spectacle is their princess preparing to marry a prince she has never met.

If this marriage works, two kingdoms survive.

If it doesn't...

Well… No pressure. Love that for me.

The city stretches below me, carved directly into the mountainside. Black stone towers rise alongside crystal spires that catch the sunlight and scatter it across the valley. It’s beautiful… Ancient… Fragile…

Most people don't realize that. They see prosperity and assume it will last forever. But peace is a living thing, and living things die. Which is why an entire kingdom currently waits to see whether I can successfully marry Prince Rhydon of Veylan.

A comforting amount of responsibility for one person.

"I can hear you planning your escape."

I don't jump at the sudden voice behind me. Mostly because I expected him to answer. Well, speaking of jumping…

"About two feet."

I bite the inside of my cheek. 

Two feet?

I play innocent. 

“You would make it about two feet towards that balcony before I caught you.”

I can feel the humor in his voice.

Quite sure of yourself, aren't you?

A pause.

"I’m just that good."

My smile almost breaks. I don't turn around because I know exactly what I'll see. Six foot four of muscle, scars, and poor social skills.

The crowd below cheers again. Behind me, Caylix remains perfectly still. Most men tower over me but Caylix makes everyone else look small.

His dark hair brushes across his forehead, curling slightly at the ends. A thin scar cuts through one eyebrow before disappearing right before his eye. The scar should have ruined his face, instead it somehow makes him look more beautifully dangerous. Not that he needed the help, it seems every unmarried woman in the kingdom has fallen in love with him.

The first time most people meet Caylix, they assume he wants to kill them. The second time they meet him, they usually decide they were correct.

I happen to know better. Mostly.

I just wish survival didn’t rest so fully on my shoulders.

The tether hums.

“You make it look effortless,” Caylix murmurs behind me.

Effortless is an illusion, I think back at him. One I’ve perfected.

“You’re not holding up the crown alone, Avi,” he says quietly. “You’re just the part they can see.” 

My smile widens before I can stop it.

Caylix, that almost sounded comforting.

A flicker of amusement brushes against the connection between us. It’s not something anyone else can feel or hear, only me and Caylix. The tether hums quietly beneath my ribs. I don't think about it anymore, some things simply become part of your life, like breathing…or in my case, Caylix knowing every thought I have.

My father steps beside me. King Alexander of Caelthar looks exactly like people expect a king to look. Tall, commanding, and impossibly composed. Silver threads have begun appearing in his dark hair over the past few years. The crown makes him look older. The responsibilities make him look older still.

"You look radiant, daughter."

I glance at him, smiling.

I am sweating. I think flatly.

“Thank you, father.”

Caylix’s mouth twitches. "Radiant and sweating," he whispers so only I can hear. “Ever the picture perfect princess.”

I'll have that embroidered onto a banner. Princess Avianna of Caelthar. Radiant & Sweaty. 

The twitch deepens before he regains control. A sharp rustle of fabric interrupts us.

Charlotte.

Of course. My younger sister sweeps onto the balcony like she personally arranged the celebration. Gold silk clings to her curves, her deep brown hair tumbles over one shoulder in perfect waves, crimson lips, bare shoulders and a smile designed specifically to cause problems.

The crowd notices her immediately. Naturally.

Charlotte notices them noticing. Also naturally. She practically glows under attention. I sometimes suspect she absorbs admiration the way plants absorb sunlight.

"You're late."

She gasps dramatically.

"Fashionably. But don’t worry sister, I am here now to give the people something beautiful to look at."

I sigh. Father pinches the bridge of his nose as Charlotte beams, her mission accomplished.

"The prince should arrive soon," she says.

I nod. "I am aware."

"They say he's strikingly handsome."

Of course he is. Wouldn’t want to risk a political alliance over someone forgettable.

"Lucky me."

She frowns.

"That's all you have to say?"

"What else would you like?"

"Excitement."

"I've never met him."

"He could be handsome."

"He could also collect teeth."

Charlotte pauses.

"Fair."

Behind me, I feel amusement ripple through the tether.

Traitor.

The sound of trumpets suddenly echoes through the city. Every conversation dies instantly as the crowd surges toward the main road. The Veylan procession finally appears. Silver banners wave above mounted soldiers. Armor flashes beneath the afternoon sun. The formation moves with perfect discipline as it approaches the palace gates.

And at the center, a rider emerges.

Prince Rhydon of Veylan.

The crowd immediately erupts and I understand why.

Even from this distance I can see his blonde hair, broad shoulders, and perfect posture. He has the sort of face artists spend their entire careers trying to paint. The man looks less like a prince and more like the answer to every young girl's prayers.

Charlotte actually sighs.

I stare for several seconds. Waiting. Nothing happens. No racing pulse, no excitement, no overwhelming certainty that destiny has arrived. Just a very attractive stranger riding a horse.

That's probably not ideal. The prince dismounts smoothly inside the courtyard. More cheering follows. The crowd already loves him. Perhaps that will make this easier. 

Beside me, something changes. I feel it before I see it. The tether tightens abruptly, pulling my attention toward Caylix. He has gone completely still. Not his usual stillness, not the disciplined calm he carries into every room, this is different.

His gaze locks onto something in the courtyard below as his hand settles on the hilt of his sword.

The noise of the crowd seems to fade. Every instinct inside me sharpens.

Caylix, what is it?

He doesn't reply with words. The feeling surges through the tether before he can hide it. It’s something unfamiliar, something I have never felt from him before. For thirteen years I have known every shade of Caylix, his irritation, his amusement, his anger, his determination.

I know what danger feels like through him. I know what battle feels like. This isn't either of those.

A chill crawls slowly down my spine. Fear? No. Caylix doesn't feel fear.

Which means whatever just entered my kingdom...

is something worse.