Lady Taryn stood near the center of it all, her posture as flawless as it had been at the evening’s start. Not a trace of fatigue showed on her face as she accepted complints and well-wishes with effortless grace, her smile serene and composed.
At her side, however, Avarine had gone rigid.
Whatever patience she had possessed earlier in the evening had been entirely spent.
Without waiting to be dismissed and without offering so much as a polite farewell, Avarine turned sharply on her heel and strode out of the ballroom.
"Avarine," Lady Taryn called after her, surprise flickering briefly across her otherwise controlled expression. "Avarine, wait—"
But her daughter did not slow.
Her skirts swished furiously around her legs as she vanished into the corridor beyond, her steps quick, sharp, and unrestrained. Murmuring apologies to the nearest guests, Lady Taryn excused herself at once and followed.
Avarine moved through the halls like a storm unleashed. With every step, the carefully curated elegance she had worn all evening peeled away, leaving only raw fury beneath. Her chest felt tight, her breath shallow, her blood burning beneath her skin as emotions she had held tightly in check finally threatened to spill over.
The image would not leave her mind, Ragnar’s arm curved possessively around Circe, the subtle way his gaze softened when it fell upon her, as though the rest of the world had dimd and she alone remained in focus.
Avarine barely rembered the walk back to her chambers. By the ti she reached her door, the ache in her chest had swelled into sothing sharp and suffocating. She shoved the door open and crossed the room in three furious strides before slamming it shut behind her.
The impact echoed harshly, rattling the delicate glass vials arranged upon her vanity and sending a few of them clanking together.
She began to pace, back and forth across the chamber, hands clenched tightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Her breath ca uneven, as though her lungs refused to draw in enough air.
The room felt too small, the walls pressing in around her. She barely registered the door opening again monts later.
"Avarine," Lady Taryn said, her voice calm and asured as she stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind her.
Her daughter spun around at the sound, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed with anger. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill despite her desperate effort to hold them at bay.
"You told their marriage was nothing more than a cruel joke by the queen," Avarine shouted, her voice trembling with the force of it. "A sham. You said they could hardly stand to be in the sa room together!"
Lady Taryn did not flinch. She remained perfectly composed, her hands folding neatly before her.
"I did," she replied evenly. "Because it was true. The last ti I saw them together, they argued constantly. There was no affection between them, only resentnt."
"That’s not what I saw tonight!" Avarine snapped. Her voice rose, then cracked under the weight of her emotions. "You told he didn’t have any feelings for her."
The final word broke free as a sob. One tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another, until she could no longer stop them.
Lady Taryn’s expression softened, though sothing keen and calculating still lingered in her eyes. She watched as Avarine faltered, took an unsteady step back, and sank onto the settee. The last of her composure collapsed, and the sobs ca freely now, wracking her slender fra as she pressed her hands to her face.
Lady Taryn crossed the room and sat beside her, drawing her daughter into a gentle embrace. She rubbed slow, soothing circles against Avarine’s back, murmuring quiet reassurances until the worst of the sobbing began to ease.
"Is that why you are so upset?" she asked at last. "Because you saw them holding hands? Because they looked... close?"
Avarine lifted her head, her eyes red-rimd and shining. "It isn’t just that, and you know it," she whispered fiercely. "You saw how he looked at her."
She swallowed hard, unable to force the rest of the thought into words. Ragnar had looked at Circe like a man obsessed, like soone who would gladly burn the world to ash if it ant keeping her safe and by his side.
Her lips trembled. How was she ant to compete with that?
Lady Taryn’s hand stilled against her back. When she spoke again, her tone remained gentle, but her gaze was stern.
"And?" Taryn asked. "What does that change about what we planned?"
Avarine stared at her in disbelief. "He has feelings for her."
Taryn clicked her tongue dismissively. "So?" she said coolly. "I have seen n swear eternal devotion to their wives, only to cast them aside at the first true temptation. Infatuation is a fragile thing, my dear, easily disrupted, and easily redirected."
She lifted Avarine’s chin, forcing her to et her gaze. "You are young, intelligent, and exceedingly beautiful. You will turn heads wherever you go. n will envy him. Won will resent you. That is power, Avarine. And power should never be underestimated."
Avarine’s breathing slowed as her mother continued, each word settling deep and taking root.
"If what you want is a prince," Lady Taryn said softly, "then why should his fleeting attachnt to a human girl stop you? You are my daughter. I did not raise you to crumble at the first obstacle placed in your path."
She reached up and brushed away the tears staining Avarine’s cheeks, her touch tender. Then she smiled, a loving, reassuring smile that any outsider might mistake for pure maternal comfort. Yet beneath it, ambition glead unmistakably in her eyes.
"We simply need to be patient," she added. "And a little clever."
Avarine leaned into her mother’s touch, the storm of her emotions slowly settling into sothing colder, and sharper. Resolve replaced despair, inch by careful inch, until it hardened into quiet determination.
Lady Taryn held her close, already thinking several steps ahead.
Reviews
All reviews (0)