The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(105)
He’d stood for his valet, for his hairdresser, for his tailor, and for his mother. Every detail was perfectly in place, from his close-trimmed curls to his white dancing coat with its polished gold buttons and royal purple sash, to the tips of his shiny black boots.
He looked like the perfect prince. And tonight, he’d play the part of one by following the law of the land, regardless of the destruction it would wreak on his own heart. Tonight, he’d choose one of the head families’ daughters for his betrothed, and all dreams of kissing Blue or telling her he loved her would have to die.
Nessa walked into his suite, her purple dress flowing in a pretty bell-shaped skirt, her tight curls brushed into an updo and secured with jewels so that she looked at least fifteen instead of twelve.
You look handsome. She smiled at him.
“Please. No one will even look twice at me once you walk into the room, little bird.”
She rolled her eyes, though she looked shyly pleased. Who are you going to choose?
He sank a little further into the numbness and was spared from explaining once more his reasons for choosing Emmaline Perrin when their mother swept in, resplendent in a diamond-sprinkled purple dress with a headscarf of delicately woven gold. “It’s time.”
Kellan pressed one hand to his fluttering stomach and let the sudden punch of dread settle once more into his bones, where it had lived for the past two days since he’d seen Blue.
She wasn’t coming tonight. She’d made that clear. And it was better that way. Better that he not see her, not dance with her, when he had a declaration to make for another girl. Because surely there was no way he could dance with Blue and not have the entire kingdom know that she was the girl who held his heart.
“Are you ready?” the queen asked him, her expression the same relentless expectation of perfect gamesmanship he’d seen since he was old enough to understand the precarious political situation he would have to navigate before his nineteenth birthday. He wished his friend Javan had responded to his invitation for the ball. Of all of his friends, the studious, duty-obsessed prince of Akram would’ve understood Kellan’s dilemma best.
He straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and swallowed down his regret until his expression was as smooth and regal as hers. “Always.”
Together, the three of them left the family’s wing and descended the grand staircase. Carriages were already pulling up to the entrance, depositing their riders on the front steps, and then pulling away to park by the stables. Music poured out of the room at the far end of the hallway, and staff moved swiftly to take cloaks and offer drinks as the attendees greeted the royal family and then made their way to the ballroom.
Kellan lost track of how many variations of “Thank you for coming. So glad to see you” he’d said. How many probing questions he’d dodged and how many veiled threats he’d turned into flattery as members of the head families tried to figure out his intentions. Truly, he was far happier to greet the commoners in attendance. They smiled at him with unfettered excitement. Their words were simple and honest, and he found it easy to respond in kind.
Some of them worked up the courage to wish him well on his impending nuptials. Some worked up the courage to quietly ask him when someone was going to see to the crime in the Faure quarter or stop the extra taxation levied by brokers in the Evrard quarter. Other items were brought to his attention as well—a quick comment here, an overheard remark there—until Kellan began to gain a picture of a city whose leaders had spent far too much time over the past weeks and months competing for a betrothal instead of governing as they ought. If that was true in Falaise de la Mer, where the castle was perched on a hill and every head family was in residence to oversee things personally, how much truer was it for the surrounding cities across the kingdom?
Kellan filed it away to consider tomorrow in between meetings with head families to award them consolation contracts, diplomatic positions, and royal favor so that he could keep their loyalty even though he’d just given half the throne’s power to a girl from another quarter. It was ridiculous that he’d have to even waste time doing that when the people of Balavata needed action taken. Perhaps the first order of business once he was crowned king would be to change the betrothal law so that an heir could marry anyone they chose, as long as that person wasn’t from one of the head families. It would free the head families up to govern and cherish the power they did have, knowing there would be no opportunity to gain more. And it would give Kellan’s children the freedom to choose a betrothed from a far larger group of people.
Maybe it wouldn’t give Kellan a chance with Blue, but he could at least stem the tide of political gamesmanship and danger that marked Balavata’s government.
“We should go in,” his mother said. “The dances are about to start.”
Kellan looked out over the drive. There were still wagons and carriages as far as the eye could see, but he supposed she was right. All the head families had already arrived, and for tonight’s proceedings, that was all that mattered.
Disgusted with the entire thing, Kellan stayed an extra few moments to greet more commoners who walked up the front steps. When he could withstand the heat of his mother’s glare no longer, he turned and escorted the queen and Nessa into the grand ballroom at the far end of the castle’s main floor.
A page announced the royal family before they entered, and there was thunderous applause as Kellan and his family mounted the royal dais. His mother thanked everyone for being there, mentioned the various rooms that were open for refreshments or resting, and had the staff throw open the doors the led to the garden.