Chapter Text
For the first time in her life, Evalin Galathynius dreaded the Summer Solstice. She found herself unable to picture the dazzling dresses she would wear, to salivate at the thought of sweet almond cakes and spiced wine, or to lose herself in daydreams of dancing under golden fireworks. Every time she tried, a single nagging thought invaded her mind: this Solstice would not just be a celebration of summer or her 117th birthday. It would also be the day that Evalin was expected to choose an eligible suitor.
Her parents had promised her that if she found everyone so distasteful that she couldn't bear to be in the same room with them, she could postpone marriage for another year. They wouldn’t force her into a union, after all. The male she chose would be the future consort of Terrasen, and such a position could not be decided lightly. However, Evalin was aware that the lord's council's patience and that of her people were wearing thin. Some Fae had returned to Terrasen after the war over a century ago, but many of her citizens remained human and wanted to see her wed, securing the throne before they passed away.
Her mother had invited every notable lord, warrior, and prince to the palace for the week-long celebrations. With each passing day, more guests arrived, filling the streets of Orynth with long processions of gilded carriages, sleek horses, and extensive entourages. Even the minor lords seemed to have brought along their entire households—families, servants, pets, and personal guards.
Of course, it was all for show. Each noble wished to display their wealth, power, and importance, all while dreading going unnoticed.
Thankfully, Evalin could observe this spectacle from the safety of her window and was not expected to greet them at the gates—an honor reserved solely for royalty. All the foreign royals would not arrive until later in the day. Normally, she would not miss the chance to dress up and dazzle the crowds; after all, it was her duty as a princess to be an object of fascination. But today, she barely had the energy to watch.
“I heard a rumor that Lord Corbin is incredibly handsome, which is why he spends so little time at court. He is suffocated by all the ladies eager to marry him,” Elentiya announced confidently. Despite being only eight years old, Evalin’s youngest sister was a force of nature. Their father often remarked that Ellie was too much like their mother.
“I’m sure that is an exaggeration,” Lyria replied gently, in her usual placating manner. Lyria was one of the few people who could calm Elentiya when she grew upset or excited, and she had that effect on everyone. Their mother often wondered how someone so gentle and kind had ended up being born into their family.
Elentiya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest before dropping them and rushing over to Evalin, eager to peer out the window. Evalin shifted to make space for her little sister, already tired of looking outside.
Lyria sat on the floor, her pale green skirts arranged around her, offering Evalin a small smile of solidarity and support.
“I heard that Lord Corbin is so ugly he can’t bear to leave his estate and face the ridicule that follows him everywhere,” Dalia chimed in, their Ashryver cousin and a notorious gossip who often indulged Elentiya in such talk.
“I heard that he was so plain and uninteresting that no one ever remembered to invite him anywhere,” Evalin replied. She’d heard nothing of the sort, but she also wanted to end the discussion before Dalia began listing the qualities that would make him a good match.
She didn’t want to know about his grace while dancing or skill during the hunt, she wanted him to go home. She wanted them all to go home so she could enjoy her birthday in peace.
“There are so many people,” Ellie exclaimed. “Look at Lord Crest! He’s brought so many servants they fill up three carts! And Lord Andus seems to have transported his entire wardrobe. Oh– is that an
Asterion mare Lord Knox is riding? How fine it is!”
Evalin attempted to block out her sister's excited ramblings. She needed a distraction, but unfortunately, her usual choices for companionship all seemed entranced by the suitors. Even Lyria, who cared little for any sort of court affairs, had dragged herself from her gardens to bear witness. She wished she could mount her own Asterion mare, Roswell, but her absence would be noted and missed. Evalin had sworn to her parents she would not ride off into the sunset today, and even if she wanted to, she guessed that the stable hands were given strict instructions not to let her. They might not have forced her to marry, but her parents refused to allow her to not even try.
Evalin was the future queen, and future queens did not simply up and leave when duty called.
The life of a princess was one to envy, but it came with its sacrifices. Her life was not entirely in her own hands, and it never would be. For the sake of her people and her country, it never could be. Evalin watched her mother struggle with this for a long time. Aelin Galathynius’s first instinct was to take matters into her own hands, but as a Queen, she could not. Her life was too precious, too vital to the state of the world to be risked on a whim.
“What are you wearing to dinner, Lyria?” Dalia asked, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her head in her hands.
Lyria glanced up to the ginormous four-poster bed Dalia currently occupied. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Dalia raised an eyebrow. “Tonight is the start of the biggest event of the century! How do you not know?” There was an exasperation in Dalia’s tone that was common when she talked with Lyria. The two were best friends and confidants, yet they couldn’t be more different. Dalia adored life at court. The dresses and dancing and gossip were of utmost importance to her. Lyria barely noticed any of it, stuck in her world. She often spent her days in the garden. Not the grand gardens with their sculpted topiaries and blooming rose bushes, but the small one outside the kitchens, which was little more than a wild patch of flowers left unattended by the staff and trampled on by the servant’s children who played there.
“Some of us don’t even get to come,” Elentiya pouted, turning her attention back to her sisters and cousin.
The three older girls shared a look. At eight, Ellie was too young to participate in court events, especially formal, hours-long dinners. This was a fact she mopped about endlessly.
“Don’t worry,” Evalin said, “the dinner will be boring, and the only good thing will be the food, which you’ll get to eat anyway.”
“In my nursery. With Gavriel, who eats like a pig.”
“Ress will have arrived by that time too,” Dalia pointed out.
“Even worse. He’s boring.”
“You’re a very tough critic,” Evalin murmured, reaching to smooth down Ellie’s blonde hair, twin
to her own.
She shook away the touch. “I’m honest.”
Evalin bit back a giggle, and by the look of it, so did Dalia. Lyria’s face had returned to her default expression, a far-off look that was both whimsical and slightly unsettling.
“Don’t be too upset; you’ll get to come to the wedding, Ellie, and that is far more important than the celebrations this week,” Dalia pointed out.
Evalin barely managed not to flinch at the word wedding. Oh gods, what had she gotten herself into? She promised herself she would do anything for Terrasen, marriage included. She told herself that when the time came, she would commit to finding a husband with the same determination as she did in all her duties. Yet, she hesitated. The thing that was once so far away was now just a few days away. By the end of the week, by the time she turned 118, everyone expected her to be engaged.
“Have you decided who to marry yet, Eva?” Ellie asked, scooting closer and peering up at Evalin with her big blue eyes.
“I haven’t even met them yet,” Evalin replied diplomatically.
“Yes, you have,” Dalia said. “You must have met them all over the years.”
“Yes, but I haven’t met them intending to marry them. It’s different.”
“None of them have ever sparked your interest?”
“No.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Evalin had noted who was charming, handsome, or a particularly skilled dance partner over the years. She had favorites whom she preferred to spend her time with at such functions as feasts and balls, but never had she seriously considered marriage with any of them.
“What of Damian?” Lyria inquired suddenly, turning to face the group.
Evalin blinked, unsure of what to say. Damian–
“Oh yes! I heard he was the favored pick!”
Evalin whipped around to face Dalia. “Favored by who?”
Dalia stared at her with wide eyes and shrugged. “By everyone. All the lords of the council, all the Lords in Adarlan. I heard that even ordinary people support the match. Bards have already begun writing songs—”
She raised her hand, cutting her cousin off.
Surprisingly and unfortunately, Lyria continued where Dalia stopped. “You and Damian are so distantly related it wouldn’t be an issue, but at the same time, it would represent the rejoining of a great and powerful bloodline. You could unite Adarlan, the Wastes, and Terrasen permanently.”
Lyria did not speak with the same excitement as Dalia did; she spoke as if this were a fact, plain and simple.
“Since when do you pay attention to what lords say?” Evalin demanded.
Lyria shrugged. “I don’t. I overheard the cooks discussing it.”
Great. So everyone knew of this, except for her. In theory, it was a good match. Damian and her were the heirs to their respective kingdoms, and a marriage between them could create something great. Something unstoppable. But it felt wrong. Evalin had known Damian since childhood, and if there would ever be something more than friendship between them, wouldn’t she have felt it by now?
There was nothing particular about him that made her feel this way. It was just… he was so…intense in a way she disliked. His blood-drinking mother, who Evalin adored, had raised him as ruthlessly as all Ironteeth witches were raised. And his father had trained him endlessly on how to harness that world-ending gift he possessed in his blood. He was a witch and a valg, a mix of two of the most brutal, heartless, cold-blooded creatures to ever exist. There was a wildness to him, like something barely contained crawled under his skin. Evalin didn’t look at him and see stability for her and her people. She saw a marriage that would constantly be in turmoil, neither being able to ground the other.
“He’s so handsome,” Ellie sighed dreamily.
“They say he’s the most handsome male alive. A face that could launch a thousand ships.” Dalia giggled at her own reference to an age-old tale.
“Don’t tell him that. You’ll just feed his ego,” Evalin murmured.
“When are they coming anyways? Aunt Manon promised to take me on a ride,” Ellie quipped.
Before anyone could answer, a knock sounded on the door to Evalin’s bedchamber.
“Come in,” Evalin called, hoping whoever it was would bring news of something other than the Solstice.
Unfortunately, it seems her wishes would be unanswered as her mother swept into the room followed by dozens of maids and seamstresses.
The Queen inspected the group of girls with a raised eyebrow, clearly wondering why they’d chosen to seclude themselves when usually they would all be running about like they were mad.
“I’m glad to have found you all. Dalia, your mother is looking for you. She’s in your family's suite. And Lyria and Elentiya, your father wishes to speak to you. He’s in his office.”
Dalia got up first, skipping over to where the Queen was, curtsying, then giving her a kiss on each cheek. Evalin’s mother smiled at her niece and Dalia was on her way out, throwing a conspiratorial wink at Evalin over her shoulder.
Evalin tried not to let her misery show.
Lyria stood up, scooping a blabbing Elentiya into her arms. “What does daddy want? Has he decided I can go to dinner tonight? Mama what did he say?”
“I don’t know, my sweet girl,” their mother replied, brushing a hand on Elentiya’s cheek. The two females were remarkably similar in attitude and in looks. They shared the Ashryver blonde hair and blue eyes, and were practically twins. Lyria nodded at their mother and their mother nodded back, a secret understanding passing between them. Evalin never understood how her mother always knew what her sister meant with her looks. Even after all these years of having a sister, she still didn’t understand much about Lyria. They were too different, too at odds with one another.
Once Evalin was alone with her mother, the maids, and the seamstresses, her mother began ordering everyone around.
“Put that there and be careful please there isn’t much time.”
Evalin raised an eyebrow, “not much time for what?” She knew the answer of course.
Her mother sighed, “The retinue from Antica, which Wendlyn will follow, then, of course, your father’s cousins, and then Adarlan.”
Immediately she thought of what Lyria had said. Was she really expected to propose to Damian? Was unity between Terrasen and Adarlan that important? They were already the best of allies, why was a marriage needed?
If her mother could sense the direction of her thoughts, she did not let on. Instead instructing Evalin to allow the seamstresses to fit her into her dress. And so Evalin obeyed, allowing them to stuff her into emerald silk. She loved this dress and had it commissioned for this occasion before she realized what was expected of her. Now she hates it. The layers of fabric that once felt elegant were suffocating her. She refused to allow her turmoil to show on her face. She was the Crown Princess, her duty to her people came before all else, this was nothing.
Except it wasn’t nothing. After this week her life would completely and forever change.
What it meant to be Queen never bothered Evalin before. She happily attended the balls and parties, eagerly indulged in the luxurious court around her, she even, begrudgingly, attended every meeting asked of her. She knew getting married and having heirs would happen eventually and she never put much thought into it. So why was she now hesitating? Why did she feel so trapped?
Evalin tried to wince as the maids began twisting and pinning her hair up into one of her favored intricate updos. Someone brought in a gold and diamond necklace. It felt like a collar as it went around her neck.
Maybe she wasn’t fit for this life. This was not a new thought for Evalin, as she often felt this way. When she got a bit too drunk, and received disapproving looks from members of the Lords council. When she wore a gown too bright and glittery, and the ladies would titter about how un-regal she was. When she rode Roswell for hours on end, coming back with mussed hair and flushed cheeks, servants would murmur about how she was nowhere near as queenly as her mother was. When she felt the all-consuming desire to run far far away and never come back, to explore the far corners of the continent and every other place she would never be allowed to go. There were nights when Evalin sat in bed and stared out at the stars, dreaming of being anyone else. Of being as free as the fat bluebirds who sat outside her window each night and flew away every morning. Oh, how she sometimes just wanted to fly away.
So lost in her own thoughts, Evalin didn’t realize her mother had sent everyone from the room until the Queen sat down right next to her, taking Evalin’s hand in hers.
She blinked at her mother and tried to remember the last time they’d held hands like this. Once upon a time, the duo had been incredibly close to one another. Then Evalin grew up and so did her mother’s expectations of her. Aelin loved her children, but she also loved the kingdom she fought so fiercely for. Not just anyone could inherit Terrasen. Evalin understood this, and yet the fear remained that she would never, could never be good enough to live up to her mother’s legacy, or her expectations.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” her mother said softly, a sadness in her eyes. Evalin blinked again. Her mother was never sad, never soft. She was a pillar of strength for everyone, unbreakable and unmovable.
“I want what is best for Terrasen.” Evalin felt the defensiveness rise in her. She could be as worthy of the throne as her mother.
Her mother cupped her face, “I know, fireheart. But–”
Evalin tore away. “What? But What?”
The Queen straightened, raising an eyebrow in challenge at her daughter’s antics. “We do what we must for our people, but we still have our own desires underneath our duty to Terrasen. It is not something to be ashamed of.”
Evalin stood abruptly. It was something to be ashamed of. Her mother had given everything for Terrasen, for their family. She would never understand if Evalin told her that sometimes all she wished was to run away. Aelin Galathynius had never run.
Her mother rose as well, something flaring in her eyes, but before she could say anything, Evalin demanded, “Leave, please, I wish to be alone.”
The Queen stiffened and their eyes met. Fire against fire. Mother against Daughter. One thing they both shared was a temper.
Evalin refused to back down. Not now, not about this. Her mother acknowledged this line in the sand with a nod, her eyes softening. “Alright….just don’t be late.”
“I won’t be.”
Her mother left and Evalin remembered what she swore to herself. She could do this, she would do this.
Evalin’s gaze drifted towards her window again.
—-
The delegate from Antica was as dazzling as one could expect. Golden and silver palanquins filled the streets of Orynth, each carrying a lord or an ambassador, and each escorted by four armored soldiers.
The entirety of Terrasan’s court had come to greet Prince Khalil and his younger sister, Princess Nesryn. As the heir to the throne, Evalin was stationed beside her parents, who were centered to the grand carved doors of the palace. On her parent’s otherside was Sam and Rhoe, and beside her were Lyria and Elentiya. Lysandra, Dalia, and Gavriel were close behind. And behind them were other important members of the court.
Everyone wore their best outfits and most gaudy jewels. Everyone wanted to impress, especially the other young females. Anyone who Evalin didn’t choose was fair game. Even Dalia got swept up in it all, giggling in Lyria’s ear about all the males she’d dance with.
The first of the palaquins arrived at the gates, and one of her mother’s soldiers stepped forward, announcing the young royals.
Prince Khalil emerged first, dressed in a golden jacket. He was as handsome as Evalin remembered him to be. Dark hair, golden brown skin, and onyx eyes paired with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a regal stature that made him look like a knight from a story. When he smiled at them, Evalin swore she heard gasps and swoons.
The Prince reached behind him as a delicate hand emerged from the palanquin. Princess Nesryn was a striking female, and while she had the same features as her brother, they were softened, more feminine. Her luscious hair was pulled into an intricate updo of curls and pins, while her gown, the same gold as her brothers, was long with dramatic flowing sleeves that were fashionable down south.
After this visit, Evalin was certain they would become the fashion in the North as well. Indeed, the ladies of the court were already staring at it enviously as the Prince and Princess walked up the sparkling white steps.
They bowed in perfect sync with one another as they approached Evalin’s mother and father.
“Your majesty,” Prince Khalil said, a sparkle in his dark eyes, “thank you for welcoming us to your kingdom.”
“We are most excited to attend your famed summer solstice celebrations,” Princess Nesryn quipped.
“And we are most excited to have you here,” her mother responded graciously.
“Your highness,” Khalil said, turning his attention to Evalin’s father.
“Prince Khalil, it is an honor to have you,” her father replied, barely masking his boredom at the odious procession. Khalil then turned his attention onto Rhoe and Sam, who eagerly engaged in the conversation. Nesryn’s eyes found Evalin’s and she smiled, walking over and curtseying. Evalin curtsied back.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess,” Nesryn murmured.
“And you as well. I’ve heard so much about you from your brother,” Evalin replied.
She raised an eyebrow, “have you know? Should I be scared of what he said?”
Evalin laughed easily, “No. He only praised your sharp wit and beauty. He said you were the rose of the South.”
Nesryn laughed as well, and Evalin looked at the female a bit closer. She looked remarkably like her great grandmother, for who she had been named. Neith’s arrow, they had called the late Empress. While the princess’s intelligence and pretty face had been mentioned by every ambassador, lord, or soldier who came from Antica, no one ever mentioned if she too partaken in archery, or any sort of training.
Evalin remembered visiting Antica once when she was young. Sam hadn’t been born yet, so it was just her, Damian, Josefine, Torin, and Marion. Nesryn and Sartaq had reigned over the golden court at the time, hailing in a post-war golden age for the empire. She’d spent the entire visit gouging herself with southern delicacies and dancing at nightly balls. For the trip, Evalin received an entire new wardrobe, and everyday she wore a new dress.
Josefine was too busy with her mother working at the Torre, and Damian and Torin spent most of their time training with the elite southern soldiers, when they weren't finding females to sneak away with, so it had been her and Marion walking around the city. They’d been followed by a retinue of guards and guides, and only been allowed in the safest, most affluent parts, but it had still been an adventure. They’d even managed to sneak away at one point, much to Evalin’s delight and Marion’s chagrin. Those moments of freedom she’d gotten running under the stars through Antica’s market district…they were some of her most cherished memories.
Of course, the pair was caught soon enough, and we're never let out of the palace for the rest of the trip. Evalin recalled her father’s quiet fury, his long, scolding lecture about remaining safe. She remembered the guilt she felt as Marion’s parents scolded her for something she had told Evalin not to do. She remembered her mother’s disappointment. At the end of the day, she couldn’t decide if it was worth it or not. By sneaking out, Evalin had perhaps experienced the most exciting and fun day of her life, but it came with the knowledge she’d upset her parents, disappointed them, angered them.
She also remembered feeling a keen sense of jealousy as Damian left every night to go drinking at taverns with Mala knows who. His parents never said a word, besides the occasional amused quip when their son came to breakfast disheveled and hungover.
They were the same age, sixteen, and yet Damian could do whatever he pleased. He too had a kingdom to inherit. In fact, he had two of them.
As if reading her thoughts, Nesryn asked, “you have visited Antica before, yes? During the reign of my great grandfather?”
“I did. I enjoyed myself greatly. Your city is a wonder, Princess Nesryn.”
“It is,” She agreed, “but Orynth is beautiful. The mountains are breathtaking, nowhere down South is so green.”
They both laughed politely.
Wendlyn came soon after, and Evalin greeted her distant cousins with the affection expected from her. She did enjoy their company, but she was finding this more grating than she usually did. A headache was beginning to form at her temples.
As delegation after delegation came, Evalin knew her feelings were shared by everyone else. No one wished to stand outside in the hot sun anymore, not even for a chance to court a prince. Not even the most galant displays of wealth brought more than polite interest as the minutes ticked by, although Evalin appreciated all the unique fashions the females were wearing. She needed to go shopping.
That’s when a shadow swept over the palace. Then another. Then another. It seems Adarlan had arrived.
Gasps rang out as Elentiya excitedly pointed at the sky and shouted, “over there!”
Evalin followed her sister’s gaze, eyes widening slightly at seeing the wyverns. Even after all these years, they never ceased to amaze her. Scales of blue, gray, and black shimmered under the sun, creating a kaleidoscope of colors over the white stone.
Underneath the wyverns and their riders, the rest of Adarlan’s court rode in a grand procession of carriages and soldiers through the gates of the city. Like the others, Adarlan spared no expense. But Evalin supposed that their budget was much bigger in the first place. The kingdom had gotten rich off conquest, and after the war, they’d gotten rich through trade. They controlled a number of essential sea ports, and through Dorian’s marriage to Manon, the entire mountain range that connected them to the east. The King also had a commitment to the arts and culture, having invited and hosted the best warriors, poets, painters, sculptors, scholars, and lords over the past century. He turned Adarlan into a center of knowledge and power, rebuilding its capital from the ground up to rival Doranelle and Antica.
“Where do you think they’re going to land?” Gavriel asked.
“Good question,” Sam muttered.
“I’m sure the High Queen planned accordingly,” Her mother said with a wave.
“I’m sure she did.” Her father frowned disapprovingly.
The wyverns flew closer and Evalin was able to recognize a few of the females, and the single male, who rode the creatures.
The first of the wyverns, Abraxos, flew at the head of the formation, Damian’s wyvern, Achilleos, close behind.
The High Queen and her retinue did not seem to slow down as they approached the gathered court. Nobles began to murmur, then panic, then rush out of the way, running for cover. The only who remained standing where Evalin’s own family. Although her father very subtly put himself in front of her mother, while Sam leaned over and grabbed Elentiya. Probably a good idea considering that the wind produced from the wyvern’s beating wings was enough to almost cause Evalin to stumble.
As Manon landed in the center of the courtyard, her son followed suit. The rest of the riders landed on the guard towers and walls that surrounded the palace.
High Queen Manon was as beautiful as ever, her long moon white hair braided back revealing the sharp and ethereal angles of her face and her amber eyes. She wore her usual scaled leathers and red cloak, windcleaver strapped to her back. The Queen gracefully slid off Abraxos. The fleeing nobles cautiously returned, too curious for their own good.
Evalin beamed at the Queen and then at Abraxos. The late afternoon sun shone through his wings as he stretched out. She always wondered what it would be like to fly. Manon had taken her many times, but Evalin wanted to know what it would be like to fly herself. Like a wyvern, or a falcon.
Unlike her father and brothers, she could not shift into a bird. Her shifter form was a deer. A true Galathynius, they said when her skill was revealed to the court. Evalin had protested she did not want to be a true Galathynius, she wanted to fly like her father did.
“And you say I’m dramatic,” Evalin’s mother laughed.
Manon smiled viciously, “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”
The two females embraced before Manon turned to Evalin, her smile replaced by her usual cold expression.
Evalin curtsied, “your majesty, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Terrasen.”
“I’m happy to be here, witchling.” Evalin beamed at the term of endearment the Queen used.
“Can I ride Abraxos now?” Ellie asked, peering at the High Queen with big eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow,” their father interjected before Manon could reply.
Ellie pouted, but was quickly distracted by Rhoe, who leaned down to whisper something in her ear that had her grinning. She then turned around, and squealed.
Evalin followed her sister's gaze once more to see what she was so excited about.
Damian had dismounted Achilleos and was walking towards the gathered royals. He really was attractive. His black curls were just long enough to fall into his golden eyes in a way that made females swoon. And as he walked, Evalin swore she heard them doing just that.
He bowed his head to the group before flashing them a perfect smile. Too perfect, Evalin thought to herself.
Behind him, the rest of Adarlan’s court approached. The King, his hand, Lady Yrene, Josefine, Torin, Ress, and a number of others.
That suffocating feeling returned to her, as introductions started anew.