Of Heirs and Errors

Chapter 1: Daelyn

The marriage list has twelve names on it.

I stare at the parchment Lucas just shoved across his desk, my stomach dropping with each carefully written entry. Prince Cosmo of Fravaria. Duke Cameron of Belraithe. Lord Marcus Whitmore of Wintergate.

Twelve potential husbands. Twelve strangers.

“These are your options.” Lucas doesn’t look up from whatever he’s signing. Probably more death warrants disguised as trade agreements. “The council thinks any would be suitable.”

Suitable. Like I’m a broodmare at auction.

The parchment crinkles under my grip. Half these men are older than Father was when he died. Three I’ve never heard of. One grabbed my ass at last year’s harvest festival and called it diplomacy.

“When do I decide?”

“Soon.” Lucas finally meets my eyes. His are cold. Empty. Nothing like the brother who used to sneak me honey cakes from the kitchen. “The world isn’t safe for unmarried princesses.”

Right. The disappeared ones. Princess Helena from Corvaine vanished during a diplomatic dinner. Princess Mira never made it home from her morning ride. No bodies. No demands for ransom.

Just gone.

My hands shake. I clasp them in my lap so he won’t see.

“Tonight’s Pilar’s engagement announcement,” he continues. “Watch how it’s done. Learn.”

My brother marrying Prince Andrik’s sister. Two kingdoms bound by bloodlines and signed papers.

“Will Prince Andrik attend?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Lucas’s pen pauses mid-signature. “Obviously. Why?”

Because he’s the only person here who talks to me about books instead of babies. Because when he laughs at my terrible jokes about court ministers, I forget I’m a walking political contract.

“Security concerns,” I lie.

He studies my face too long. “Review the list carefully. We discuss your choice tomorrow.”

I escape before he can lecture me about duty again.

The ballroom glitters like broken glass. Every surface throws candlelight back at itself until my eyes water. The air tastes of perfume and wine and desperation dressed up as celebration.

I hover near the entrance, already exhausted by the performance ahead.

“You look like someone died.” Pilar glides up beside me, stunning in midnight silk that makes her skin glow. Diamonds sparkle in her dark hair.

She looks perfect. Ready to marry my brother for the good of two kingdoms.

“How do you stand it?” I ask.

“Stand what?”

“Smiling about marrying someone you met three times.”

Her practiced smile never wavers, but something flickers behind her eyes. Something sharp. “Lucas is decent. Honorable. That’s more than most of us get.”

More than most of us get. The words sting because they’re true.

“Besides,” she adds, voice dropping low, “happiness is what you make of it.”

Before I can ask what that means, trumpets blast. The crowd turns toward the entrance as Prince Andrik strides in.

He owns every room he enters. Tall, broad shoulders filling out his formal jacket, dark hair swept back from sharp cheekbones. When his green eyes find mine across the chaos, he nods.

Polite. Appropriate.

Nothing like the man who stayed up until dawn debating grain subsidies with me last week in the library.

“Princess Daelyn.” Duke Cameron appears at my shoulder like a vulture. One of the twelve names. Mid-thirties, pale eyes, smile that never reaches them. “You look exquisite tonight.”

Exquisite. Like I’m a piece of art he’s considering purchasing.

“Duke Cameron.” I manage a curtsy without vomiting. “How lovely.”

“I was hoping we might speak privately. About future arrangements.”

Future arrangements. Like I’ve already agreed to anything.

“Perhaps later.” Which means never if I have any say in it.

His smile sharpens. Predatory. “I’ll count on it.”

The orchestra strikes up a waltz. Lucas escorts Pilar to the dance floor’s center, their movements perfectly synchronized. They look exactly like what they are. A political alliance wrapped in silk and good intentions.

At least they’re pretending to enjoy it.

“Fireworks begin shortly,” someone announces over the music. “His Majesty invites guests to view the display from the gardens.”

Perfect. I slip through the crowd toward the terrace doors, escaping before Duke Cameron can corner me with more talk of arrangements.

Night air hits my face like cold water. I follow the gravel path deeper into the gardens, away from the crowd gathering on the main terrace.

My favorite bench sits hidden between two massive oaks, invisible from the main paths. I collapse onto the worn stone and finally let my mask drop. Tomorrow I choose a name from that horrible list. Start planning a wedding to someone whose favorite food I’ll have to memorize.

Tonight I can sit alone and hate my entire existence.

“Hiding from your admirers?”

Andrik’s voice makes me jump. I don’t turn around. Can’t trust what my face might show.

“Shouldn’t you be toasting your sister’s engagement?”

“Probably.” He settles beside me on the bench. Close enough to be friendly. Not close enough for scandal. “But Pilar understands when these things get overwhelming.”

“She handles everything perfectly.”

“Pilar’s an expert at handling. Royal survival skill.”

I glance sideways at him. His formal diplomatic mask has slipped, showing something genuine underneath.

“Is that what we’re all doing? Just handling?”

“Most of the time.” His eyes meet mine. “Though some moments feel more real than others.”

Heat creeps up my throat. Dangerous ground. We’re alone in a dark garden, and he’s looking at me like I matter beyond my bloodline.

“We should go back.” I don’t move. “People will notice.”

“Will they? Or are we just taking air before the show starts?”

The first firework explodes overhead, bathing everything in gold light. We both look up.

“God, it’s gorgeous.”

When I look down, Andrik’s watching my face instead of the sky. The moment stretches too long. Becomes something neither of us should want.

Another burst of color. Then another. Distant cheers drift from the terrace as guests enjoy the spectacle.

“After tonight, everything changes,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

We sit watching colors bloom and die against the darkness. Both pretending this is innocent.

Both knowing better.

A branch snaps behind us.

Andrik goes rigid. Every muscle coils. His hand drops to where his sword should hang.

“Don’t move,” he whispers. “Don’t turn around.”

His voice has gone flat. Military.

That’s when I see them. Shadows moving between the trees with deadly silence. Too many to count, closing in from all sides.

Coordinated. Professional.

Wrong.

“When I say run, head for the palace.” His words barely reach me. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

“What about—”

“Now. GO.”

I bolt as masked figures pour from the darkness. Behind me, steel screams against steel as Andrik meets the first attacker.

My silk slippers slip on loose gravel. I kick them off and run barefoot, stones cutting into my feet as I race toward the distant palace lights.

Almost there.

Almost safe.

Iron hands seize me from behind.

I scream as they drag me backward into the trees, away from the lights and music and everything I’ve ever known.

The last thing I see is blood spreading dark across the garden stones.

Black as my the back of my eyelids, under the fireworks’ dying light.