The buildings in this part of the commercial sector were a little too dilapidated for Melia's liking. She had the distinct feeling that she wasn't supposed to be there. Not that she doubted the minister's sense of direction. Although, considering Asdis's generally scatterbrained nature, perhaps she should've been more concerned. Yet she followed her guide without hesitation, weaving through piles of debris and occasionally picking up flyaway documents and pens that the woman seemed to leave in a trail wherever she went.
An eerie quiet hung over them – no merchants calling out their wares or voices haggling or children darting in between stalls laden with goods. The only sound was the wind as it whistled through the alley. The buildings that lined the patchy cobblestone road squeezed together and their architecture – what she could see of it through the centuries of neglect – was reminiscent of ancient times. She glanced around at the chipped paint and broken in windows, wondered what she'd gotten herself into when she agreed to Asdis's suggestion.
They stopped in front of a store that was more of a shack than the wedding boutique she'd been promised. A faded purple sign swung above a cracked window. The letters of the name were beyond recognition. And the wounded glass below was too cloudy to see anything of the interior. The Minister of Records made a grand, one-armed gesture toward the shop, as if the pitiful place was a haven they'd dedicated years of their lives searching for. But, for the princess, the movement only caused a ripple of doubt. A festering distrust.
Asdis raised an eyebrow at her then shrugged halfheartedly. For once, she was speechless. She straightened her spectacles, pushed them further up the bridge of her nose. Her fingers were fidgety, jerky. Almost like she too was nervous about what lay beyond the door. Finally, after smoothing the material of her dress several times and reorganizing her stack of documents, she shouldered open the door and strode inside.
Melia hesitated. Something felt… off. She couldn't put a finger on exactly what. But her heart pulsed arrhythmically and her lungs constricted, cut off her air. If Catlaina were there, she probably wouldn't have cared. The two of them could take on anything together. Even an ambush.
No. She was being ridiculous. Her father must've approved all the shops and potential vendors that Asdis planned to visit. It was safe. She forced a long, deep breath. Then another and another until she was calm enough to enter the store.
The interior was much nicer than she'd expected. Polished stone floors draped in meticulously combed fur rugs. Ether lamps fashioned into globes dangled from the ceiling and cast brilliant light across the entire space. She stepped through the narrow entryway, relaxing as she noticed the racks of gowns on the sales floor, each arranged by size, color, and style.
Asdis and an elderly High Entia woman stood beside a poorly crafted mannequin. As far as Melia could see, they were the only other people in the shop. She approached the pair. Their conversation cut off before she could get close enough to decipher the words spoken. The old woman turned to her, azure eyes growing wide as she recognized the face of the future empress.
"Your Highness, this is my mother," Asdis said. "She has been a dressmaker for almost three centuries. We would be honored if you would choose to wear one of her designs for your wedding."
"Well, I shall certainly look around." Melia smiled to the wrinkled, hunched over woman.
"Thank you, Princess." The elder bowed her head in a show of respect. Then she looked up with a crooked grin, sizing her up. Literally. With a steady hand, she gestured to a group of three racks. They boasted a vast selection of white, cream, and silver dresses. "Perhaps you would like to start over here?"
Melia nodded and wound her way through displays of more colorful gowns until she reached the ones Asdis's mother had indicated. She ran her hands along the fabric of each dress, appreciating the caress of surprisingly fine silk between her fingers. It took only a few seconds of this before she found one that suited her purpose. Just a simple white gown. She didn't want anything too elaborate, for fear of being accused of trying too hard. This wasn't an obligation she was eager to fulfill and she was determined that her choice of dress would reflect that. But Asdis materialized at her side, ready to foil her plan.
"That one? Oh, no, I don't think so." She set her tower of documents and pens and other such objects on the floor, searched through the rack with both hands. Each dress she plucked from their hangers was more extravagant than the last – all ruffles and lace and intricate beading with flaring skirts and skin-tight, lowcut bodices. "Try these on instead. There's a place to change just beyond that curtain."
The weight of the four gowns was staggering. Melia nearly dropped them as she struggled toward the privacy behind the pristine white sheet. Once she escaped the expectant gazes, she allowed the dresses to fall from her arms, crumple on the floor in front of her. She sighed as she studied herself in the tall mirror. Was she really so old that she was required to marry? But she could find no signs of aging. No wrinkles in her face, her hair still soft and shiny. Though she still felt too young, she knew she wasn't. She was an adult. And it didn't matter that no one had prepared her for marriage. For motherhood. Her father expected her cooperation. She had no choice…
She shivered as she slipped out of her usual clothes, baring her skin to the cool, dry air of the store. Her eyes avoided the mirror and she threw on one of the wedding gowns at random. Anything to cover herself. To hide. Unbidden, a thought formed in her head, a nagging question. Would Dunban like her body? How could he, if she didn't? Shame flooded through her like boiling water. She shouldn't be thinking such things; it was vulgar. But it was also a valid concern. After all, she was uncomfortably aware that her breasts were smaller than what most men preferred. Oh, how she envied Sharla!
As she laced up the back of the first dress, she tried to set aside her negative thoughts. She ran her hands down the skirt, trying to smooth down the abundance of tulle ruffles. In her haste, she'd managed to pick the worst one. The worst for her, she amended. She was sure it would look incredible on another bride. To think otherwise would be an insult to Asdis's mother and her skill.
She turned to the mirror. Heat washed over her face, her eyes prickled with tears. Somehow, it didn't look nearly as bad as she'd expected. Her knees hit the floor. Tulle floated all around her for a minute before settling back in place. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep the tears at bay.
"Princess? Is everything alright?" Asdis's voice sounded muffled through the thick curtain.
Melia rose, smoothed her skirt. "Yes, of course."
"I… I hope I'm not overstepping, but… It seems that you might need more support. Perhaps you would be more comfortable if we sent for one of your Homs friends? Or your guard?"
She hesitated. "What makes you say that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Just a feeling, I suppose," Asdis replied, taking on an airy tone.
Another chill spiked down her spine but, this time, it wasn't from the cold. She would need to keep a closer eye on the minister in the future. The woman was much more perceptive than most realized. And yet, she masqueraded as an incompetent gossip, seeming to blurt out anything that popped into her mind. It was all an act, a calculation. The idea made her legs go numb.
"In any case, I think I'll be fine on my own." As much as she wanted Sharla to be there, she couldn't admit it. Not to Asdis. And anyway, she wondered if things had changed between them, now that her engagement to Dunban was public knowledge. They hadn't spoken since before the announcement. Maybe Sharla thought poorly of her now. Maybe she'd heard the things Lorithia had said…
"If you're sure." Without another word, Asdis retreated.
Melia shook off any lingering dread and focused once more on her reflection. The dress fit her well enough. But the unvoiced notion that she didn't hate it pained her. Because it meant that she was giving in. Wasn't it enough that she'd accepted her fate? She didn't have to enjoy it too.
Fingers trembling, she undid the lacing on the back and returned the gown to the floor. She selected another, though she was more careful this time. No ruffles, no tulle. The only ornamentation she allowed was a patten of silver beads stitched into the bodice. It was the least gaudy option she had at the moment and she didn't much feel like fighting Asdis for the plain dress she'd found earlier.
The silk was cool against her skin and so light, it almost felt like she was wearing nothing at all. She spun to examine herself in the mirror. The skirt flared outward with her movement and she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. Her hands ran down the front of her bodice, rolling the tiny beads beneath her fingers. They were entirely secure. Only a violent tug or worse could tear them from the gown. She rather liked the pattern, now that she really looked at it. The beads spiraled out from the center of her stomach, branching off, creating several different veins. Almost like cracked glass.
Pleased with the quality and artistry, she shifted her attention away from the details so she could see the entire dress. And herself in it…
Her previous doubts and insecurities evaporated. She wasn't a child playing dress-up. She was an empress, mature, elegant, and worthy of her station.
The gown rested off her shoulders and boasted a plunging neckline. But, for once, she didn't feel the need to cover up. She admired her defined collarbones, the slope of her neck. Maybe Damil's drawing of her hadn't been so inaccurate after all. Her heart ached at the thought. The guilt had mostly subsided by then. The pain hadn't. Each time she endeavored to forget – to move on – she hurt all over again.
She threw open the curtain, seeking distraction. The abrupt movement caught the attention of Asdis and her mother. Both High Entia women were silent. Then the elder broke out in a wide grin, her eyes watery.
"Just beautiful, Your Highness," she cried. "You look like a goddess!"
"Thank you." Melia bowed her head quickly. Then her gaze shifted to Asdis. The woman's expression was unreadable. "Your thoughts, Minister?"
"I agree with my mother, of course, though I can't help but wonder… Well, perhaps it would be prudent to have an alternative dress on hand? In case you change your mind. Something more extravagant, maybe." She turned to her mother. The elder gave a disapproving shake of the head and Asdis blushed. She bounced on her toes, sending a shower of papers to the floor. As she stooped to retrieve them, she mumbled an apology. "We defer to your judgement, as always. The dress you've chosen is a perfect match."
Perhaps it was because Melia was so used to the minister's excess cheer but… Something felt off about the words. Or, the way they were spoken. She forced her mind away from it before she could imagine the worst.
"At this moment, I prefer something simple," she said, masking her concern with a polite smile. "However, I can't know how I will feel on my wedding day. Another option would be appreciated." A rack of shimmering gold gowns drew her eyes away from the dressmaker. "Perhaps one of those?"
The elder followed her gaze and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "How interesting…" Her voice was soft, speaking more to herself than anyone else. Then she addressed the princess once again. "As you wish, Your Highness."
The late morning hours burned away as the afternoon sun reached its zenith. Melia had spent the time being herded from shop to shop by Asdis, planning, purchasing, repeat. By the end of the ordeal, her ankle ached and her head felt heavy. But, with most of her wedding related tasks complete, she knew she couldn't complain. The cake, special invitations, and music were all prepared. She just had to survive the rehearsal dinner. And getting her makeup done and the ceremony itself and everything that came after…
Though Asdis intended to walk with her back to the palace, the minister only made it halfway before remembering some important business. She didn't clarify what that business was and Melia didn't ask. Something told her she wouldn't have received a satisfying answer anyway. So, she returned to the palace on her own.
She was thankful for the peace, the time to breathe. Even if it would only last a few minutes. Now that she was free to do as she pleased, she headed straight for the palace infirmary. She had to check on Kallian. Since the previous day's incident, she couldn't shake the anxiety. What if Minister Eirena hadn't done anything? What if her horrified reaction had been entirely for show?
The transporter dropped her into the hospital ward with an icy flash. She hesitated just in front of the platform, Lorithia's words coming back to her. Put some distance between yourself and His Highness. As much as she hated to admit it, maybe the minister was right. She turned to leave.
"Princess?"
She faced the soft voice and found the mousy nurse in training watching her. The one that had led her to Kallian's bedside yesterday. He averted his gaze, dropping his eyes to the floor.
"If you have something to say, speak." Her words were sharper than she'd intended and he flinched. She kept her expression stern. She didn't have to explain herself to him or anyone else. And if he thought to question her further, Bionis help him.
"Umm… The Minister Eirena had His Highness released last night," he murmured. "I've never seen her so mad…"
Melia's anger eased. He was only trying to be helpful, save her from wasting time here. "Thank you for letting me know." Then, without awaiting a reply, she left the infirmary. Silently, she was relieved and grateful to the minister for saving her brother. But the gratitude soon gave way to suspicion. Why had he been treated in such a way to begin with? Surely, he had no enemies in Alcamoth…
She considered seeking him out but decided against it. The pain in her ankle persisted, the heaviness in her head turned to a dull pounding. Really, she should've gone back to the Villa to rest, yet she didn't want to. She needed fresh air. With her injury flaring up again, she wouldn't be able to make it out to Eryth Sea. So she'd have to settle for the gardens outside the palace.
It was a short walk, though she swore she received several odd glances from guards and commoners alike. She lowered herself onto a sleek silver bench set into an alcove in the palace's wall. Fewer eyes on her that way. Ahead of her, there was a large open space hedged by well-groomed topiaries and flowerbeds.
Once, she snuck out to this very spot for an impromptu practice session with her staff. Hogard had caught her, but he didn't scold her. For being out at night, for being alone. Instead, he joined her, volunteering himself as a sparring partner. He was off-duty and, therefore, unarmed. Yet he still won each round as easily as breathing. The training ended when he threw her into a topiary, mangling its manicured branches. It wasn't funny then – the broken twigs had cut her enough to bleed. Now, the memory made her smile.
That was five years ago. But it could've been a lifetime.
The sun shone down on her, bathing her in golden rays, warming her skin. She leaned back against the palace wall and closed her eyes. It was a vulnerable position, one that left her heavily reliant on her weaker senses to detect danger. In the case of a sneak attack, she'd be mostly defenseless. Not much warning and no Catlaina to aid her. She didn't care. Although, she did wonder what had happened to her guard.
"Mind if I join you?"
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her fiancé's voice. Startled. But she didn't let it show. She smiled to him and scooted over to one end of the bench. "Please, sit."
Dunban sighed as he sat beside her. She cocked her head slightly, scrutinized his face. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary – he was as impassive as ever – yet she knew the Homs man had some matter weighing on his mind. She didn't know how she knew. She supposed she just felt it. After a moment more, she turned her gaze back to the nearest flowers.
"I hope I'm not intruding. You seemed lost in thought and I considered leaving you to it," he said with a hesitant laugh.
She shook her head. "No, it's good that you didn't. I was remembering… someone I lost." She waited for a reply, but it never came. It took all her strength not to look at him. Perhaps he'd think her desperate if she did. But she couldn't stand the silence for long. "It's quite nice out today."
"Indeed." His gaze was almost tangible. She angled her body towards him, a question on her lips, but he spoke again before she could voice her discomfort. "We need to talk. There's… something I should tell you and I don't think it can wait."
"What is it?" She spoke too quickly, betraying her nervousness. The tone of his voice bothered her, set her mind alight with her own ideas of what he wished to say. Perhaps he would tell her that he was already married or that he'd been having second thoughts about their arrangement. Or perhaps he simply didn't find her beautiful, intelligent, and strong enough to be a suitable life partner. Her muscles tensed in anticipation.
She could shoulder whatever burden he unloaded upon her, she knew she could. But, at the same time, she wondered where she could place it, when the time came to set it down. It could very well muck up her life if she failed to find its proper place and that wasn't something she was prepared to deal with. Yet, on this day, she considered herself fortunate, for another interruption prevented Dunban from speaking.
"Sister, I've been searching for you since I left the infirmary," Kallian said as he approached the garden bench with a handful of guards trailing him. They all seemed faceless; none of the five were Kennet – something she worriedly took note of. Her meeting with Caul had accomplished nothing. The prince's gaze shifted to Dunban and he paused to consider his next words, a strange expression on his face. "I did not know you were keeping company with the Homs hero…"
"It hasn't been long," she said, voice conciliatory. "Other duties have held my attention for most of the day. I've only just had the opportunity to rest."
Her brother didn't reply immediately. There seemed to be some sort of calculation occurring behind his eyes, but he didn't put words to any of it. He knew better than she did to mind what he said in the presence of outsiders. Even in private, he had no obligation to share such thoughts with her. Not yet, anyway. As soon as she inherited the throne, he would be her trusted advisor and she'd expect his counsel to be thorough.
"May I ask what kept you occupied, then?" he said at last, once again becoming his cheerful self. Except something seemed off about it, more bitter than genuine happiness. "I'd hoped we could have had lunch together but you were nowhere to be found."
She hesitated, debating with herself. On one hand, she didn't want him to know of her recent exploits. It wasn't the right time for him to learn of the wedding, given the state of his physical and mental health. But it would be worse for him to hear it from someone else. And with the way gossip spread around, she didn't have much more time. Besides, she'd been the one to preach to him the importance of being open and honest with those he cared about. How could she lie to him now? She had to follow her own advice, despite the spike of fear that burrowed through her heart. There was no guarantee that he would understand. Surely, he would though… So, she took the risk.
"Minister Asdis and I were making arrangements for my wedding," she said, staring up at him with an almost defiant glint in her eyes, daring him to speak ill of the plan.
"What are you talking about?" A faint redness flooded his features as the words landed. Tension drew his body in tight lines, the softness of an older brother's portrait long forgotten. For the first time, she was glad he'd never developed a talent for ether. With such power, his anger could've burned the entire city down.
"Dunban and I are to be wed the day after tomorrow." The defiance she once felt shriveled to nothing and, in its place, there was only a chill. If she'd crossed a line somewhere… She shrank away from him, as if that could save her. Dunban's hand came to rest over her own, which was braced against the bench's seat. A show of support. Her cheeks tinged pink at the thought.
But her brother noticed the interaction with eyes darker than storm-tossed waves. He seized Dunban by the collar, dragged him to his feet. The Homs man stumbled, unprepared to defend against Kallian's aggression. Quickly regaining his balance, he pushed the prince away from him, ever mindful of the guards that looked on with their hands on the hilts of their swords. Ready to cut him down if he stepped out of line. Eager, even.
"Kallian, stop."
Melia regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They captured her brother's attention, made him turn away from Dunban and direct the full force of his rage at her instead. He scowled, stalked toward her. Fear drained the blood from her face and she stood slowly. The cool metal of the bench brushed against the back of her knees as she edged away from him. But, with the bench positioned as it was within the alcove, she couldn't escape. Not without first walking past him and his guards. Her legs went numb. She almost fell back into her seat – let herself settle and pretend nothing was wrong – but she managed to stay upright.
The prince didn't halt his advance, ignorant of the fear he caused her. Or perhaps he didn't care. He reached out, but Dunban stepped between them, effectively blocking Kallian's attempt to grab Melia's arm.
"Do not touch my bride. Your Highness." The honorific was an afterthought, spat out like it was rotten.
But she had little time to focus on the disrespect towards her brother. In the next instant, Kallian tore his sword from its sheath and aimed it at the Homs man's throat.
"Fight me." He let the words sink in, appreciated the expressions of shock his demand had created. Dunban's grimace, his sister's gasp, the guards shuffling around him. As if they were debating an intervention but couldn't quite muster the courage. He smothered his rage, willing it down to a smolder rather than an inferno, and lowered his sword. "Let us have a duel, hero of the Homs. If you should defeat me, you'll be free to do whatever you wish with my sister." Then he smiled, a crooked expression, one that better suited a man in the grip of insanity. "However, should I defeat you… Well, I think I'll kill you on the spot!"
Dunban glanced at Melia over his shoulder before replying. Searching her eyes for something. Her face had gone numb like her legs and she found she had no control – or even awareness – of the expression she was wearing. She shook her head, hoped that was enough.
He turned back to Kallian. "I accept."
The prince nodded once then addressed his guards. He instructed them not to interfere, regardless of how the battle seemed to be progressing. It wasn't necessary. Anyone with even a hint of High Entia heritage knew how duels worked. They'd been part of their cultural tradition since the ancient times. So the guards' mumbled agreement rang hollow.
Historically, duels were fought to the death and reserved for severe grievances. Ones that couldn't be solved by mediation from an unbiased third party. In the last century, the practice had fallen out of fashion, with several ministers calling for the laws to be revisited. Melia had only ever witnessed one. It occurred in her childhood and all she could remember now was the bloody outcome. She'd always hoped that duel would be the last. But now…
One of Kallian's guards moved to stand beside her as the rest cleared ample space for the fight. Her throat closed, icy dread racing through her veins. The bout had yet to begin, but she already feared the results of it. She had no power here. The challenge had been accepted and, after that, any intervention was unlawful, dishonorable. With all of her remaining strength, she set herself on the bench.
"You may have a moment to prepare yourself, of course," Kallian said, taking a few experimental swings with his sword. "Being a man of honor, I allow you this without question. Inform me when you are ready to begin."
Dunban slid his weapon free of its sheath without replying. The sun glinted off the blade as he lowered into a fighting stance. "I'm ready."
"Then let's settle this."
They circled the allotted space, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Melia remembered the first piece of advice Hogard had given her. Let your opponent strike first. Counter and learn. Both men were warriors, both would be aware of such strategies. Their fighting instincts were much sharper than her own, honed by years of training and real battle experience. But which was more valuable? Kallian's training far surpassed Dunban's, given the High Entia's longer lifespan. The Homs man, on the other hand, had surely spent more time in deadly combat. She couldn't recall the last time Kallian had been sent away to fight.
Her gaze settled on her brother, analyzed his expression. His eyes were dark and teeth clenched in anger and concentration. She wondered what he was thinking. Why call for a duel at all? A sneer curled his lips, his brow furrowed. Then he lunged at Dunban, sword cutting the air in a wide horizontal slash. The Homs dodged easily, but made no counterattack.
Kallian scoffed and returned to circling his opponent. Occasionally, he would leap forward again, test Dunban's defenses. Yet, each time, he couldn't break through. His sneer shifted to a scowl as he fell back. Before he could launch another attack, Dunban struck. It was a simple thrust, low energy. He batted the blade away with his own. Like it was only a fly. The Homs gave a brief, approving nod.
After a few more experimental lunges, the battle took off at a breakneck pace. When one jabbed, the other dodged. When one sliced, the other parried. Steel clashed against steel, a sound that rang out in the once serene air of the garden. Melia winced at each meeting of the swords. If Kallian slipped, if Dunban blocked a second too late… Any tactical error could bring about the end of a life. She wanted the thought out of her head, but it stuck like a barb, made her wonder. In a traditional duel, the loser would be killed. Kallian knew that. What if he'd planned this? What if he wanted to lose?
The questions made her stomach churn. She needed to interrupt, put an end to the foolishness. After all, they were entirely capable of having an adult conversation about the engagement. But she couldn't make herself stand. Her legs were leaden, her lips sealed shut. Stopping the fight before its natural conclusion violated the will of her ancestors. She dug her nails into her palms.
Dunban made little effort towards offense. He allowed the prince to rain down endless attacks without a single response of his own. Always just parrying or dodging. Melia let her curiosity distract her from the inner turmoil as she watched him. When they'd shared battlefields before, she'd been too occupied with her own fight to study his. There was a grace in the way he moved, a force that captivated her completely. She couldn't tear her eyes away. Her gaze focused on the muscles of his sword arm, how they strained as he fought off the weight of Kallian's attacks. Sweat dripped down his face. From the heat, from the exertion. It was so natural, yet she was transfixed as if she was seeing something mystical. A slight pang of desire coiled in her stomach. She cringed at the feeling, jolting herself out of her mind.
It was scientific. That's all. Her usual hunger for knowledge, the need to learn the differences between a Homs body and a High Entia one. She refused to entertain any other explanation for her sudden urge to touch Dunban, feel how his muscles tensed and responded to other physical stimuli. She wrenched her eyes away, observed Kallian instead.
Her brother's attacks landed less frequently now. He staggered and cursed and sweat relentlessly. It didn't take professional scrutiny to determine that his body neared the point of collapse, that he couldn't push himself much further. Dunban, on the other hand, appeared fine. As if this was only a friendly sparring match and not a fight to the death. He pressed forward then, as the High Entia attempted a final slash, kicked the prince's legs out from underneath him. Kallian's back hit the ground with a dull thud, his breath fleeing him in a single, sharp exhale. Melia leaned forward, heart pounding. This was it.
Dunban rested the tip of his blade against his opponent's throat. Turquoise eyes glared up at him, still dazed but rapidly regaining focus.
"Go on then," Kallian panted. "Kill me. It's your right, as the victor."
"I don't kill unless I have to." The Homs sheathed his sword then offered his hand to the fallen prince. Somewhere behind him, Melia heaved a sigh of relief. But Kallian didn't move.
"Little good your morality does," he said, his voice strained, face pale. He pressed his palms into the ground. "If you don't take my life now, there won't be another chance. Not a legal one, that is."
"Do you have a death wish, Your Highness?" The words would've sounded harsh if not for Dunban's soft tone. Concern. For the first time, he noticed the bandages around the prince's wrists, his eyes drawn to them by the odd movement. He withdrew his hand and turned away. "Stay on the ground if you'd like. Duel's over."
Kallian sat up gingerly, favoring his left arm. "Fine. I accept your mercy." He struggled to his feet, wrist cradled against his chest. One guard retrieved his sword while the others surrounded him. They checked for wounds as he attempted to fight them off. But he was too weak and, eventually, submitted to the assessment.
"Your Highness…" The eldest of the guards held Kallian's arm in a white-knuckled grip. Whatever he'd noticed, he didn't put words to it. He released the prince. "Perhaps you would like to retire to your chambers for the day? You have strained yourself too far."
"I… suppose you're right," he said as he shielded his wrist from further inspection. He looked to Melia but she refused to meet his gaze. So, he focused on Dunban instead. Eyes hollow, voice breaking. "Take care of her. Please."
When her brother turned and stumbled out of the garden, Melia stood, made her way to Dunban's side. She didn't know how to feel. Relieved, of course. But beyond that… she was furious and scared and holding back tears. Every emotion crashed over her at once as she stood with her fiancé. A man who'd bested her brother so thoroughly, so easily. He'd made Kallian look like an untrained child. She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable. Did he regret letting the prince live? Was he proud of his bloodless victory or ashamed that he'd let the duel happen at all? She tried not to care. It didn't matter what he thought, what he felt. He deserved the same privacy that she had, in regards to emotions.
His fingers brushed against the back of her hand and she looked to him, heart leaping into her throat. A faint grin played at his lips in response to her surprise, but it faded too quickly. For its brief life, it had enthralled her. She could've stared for hours. Then he angled himself toward her, caressed her arm. Shivers cascaded down her spine at the touch and she forced her mind away the resulting thoughts. Blocking them for her own sanity. At least, for now.
"I hope you don't doubt me, Melia," he said, hand falling back to his side. As if he'd sensed her reaction and couldn't stand the contact anymore… "I'll take care of you until the end of my days. Kallian won't ever need to worry for your wellbeing while I'm your consort. I swear it."