After the ride, Cessalie barely had time to change before the summons came. The maid knocked, eyes wide, breath short.
"Dinner is mandatory tonight, lady. The Duke wants your presence."
Of course he did.
The stables still clung to her skin, sunlight, hay, the faintest scent of horse, and yet she was expected to sweep in all polished and perfect like the obedient little heir. She changed quickly, fingers brisk, movements stiff, before making her way through the palace.
The guards pulled open the tall double doors, and she stepped inside.
Everyone was already seated. Her father sat at the head of the table. The rest of them...Amara, Meliora, Rylan, Kaelen lined the table like polished statues. Even Kaelen was here tonight. That was rare.
So, another family performance. She thought.
Cessalie made her way to her seat beside Kaelen, smoothing her gown over her knees as she sat.
Kaelen leaned over, smirking like he always did when he was seconds away from saying something foolish. "How'd you get roped into dinner tonight?"
She didn't answer, just stared ahead, expression blank. Her silence was enough of an answer.
"Cessalie."
Cyrion's voice cut through the low hum of conversation. She looked up, finding his eyes already fixed on her.
"Yes, Father," she replied flatly.
"I'm rather… surprised by your behavior lately." His words were slow, laced with suspicion. "I assume you like Davian."
Before she could speak, Amara let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Cessalie? Liking someone? Your Grace, that's the most unbelievable thing I've heard all year."
Cessalie didn't react. Her gaze dropped to the table. The wood grain was easier to look at than their smug faces.
"But…" Meliora's voice drifted in, all wide-eyed innocence, though the sweetness was as fake as ever. "How exactly is she behaving, Father?" She traced slow circles on the table with one finger, like she wasn't twisting the knife on purpose. "She's been riding horses. Ladies aren't supposed to ride horses."
Amara gasped, all exaggerated scandal. "Really? What will people say? That the Draevin daughter gallops around like a stable boy? How insolent."
Cessalie's jaw tensed. Insolent. That was the crime now? snatching a few moments of freedom on horseback.
Her hands curled into fists under the table, fingers pressing hard into her palms.
"Mother," Kaelen's voice cut through the noise, casual but quiet rebellious. "It's not a big deal. Women should ride horses."
Cessalie blinked, surprised enough to glance at him. His smirk stayed in place as he draped an arm behind her chair like it was nothing.
"It's a decent pastime," Kaelen added smoothly. "And Cessalie must've ridden well."
Amara's eyes narrowed at her son. "Pastime?" she echoed, voice sharp at the edges. "You think letting her ride around like a—"
"—like a free person?" Kaelen interrupted, smile cool but eyes sharp. "Yeah. That's exactly what I think."
Meliora's smile faltered at the edges. She straightened, shoulders pulling back, that subtle reminder to the room of who she was. "Little brother, you do realize we're not commoners, right?"
Kaelen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Exactly. We're Draevins. If we're really as powerful as Father loves to remind us, we shouldn't be scared of a little freedom...or what people outside this house whisper about it."
Cessalie swallowed. He wasn't saying it for her, not really. Kaelen never did things for anyone but himself. But still… it felt like, for once, someone was beside her, not across the table against her.
"Kaelen, behave." Rylan's voice cut through the room, always the voice of rules. He sat straight as ever, eyes narrowed across the table. "Don't speak to elders like that."
Kaelen didn't even flinch. His eyes rolled so hard it was nearly theatrical. "I'm talking to my mother who breastfeed me, and my sister, who used to eat rocks with me, Rylan. We're not in royal court."
The corner of his mouth tugged up, sharp and familiar, like the smirk was armor. Mentioning the royal court wasn't an accident. It was just to poke at how uptight they all were.
Cessalie looked at him properly for the first time in a while.
He was nineteen, younger than cessalie by three months only. a little taller than her, lean, with that careless grace that came naturally to him. His hair, the same light brown as Cyrion had in his younger years, curled slightly around his ears, softer than the rest of him acted. Hazel eyes, always half-lidded, either bored or amused, or both. A faint scar cut across the corner of his mouth from reckless accident no one ever got the truth out of him for.
In the candlelight, with shadows curling along his jaw, he looked less like the bored boy who slept through half the family meetings… and more like someone who could be dangerous, if he ever decided to care.
But Kaelen never cared.
Politics bored him, alliances meant nothing. He didn't chase the image Amara tried to mold him into. He was the golden boy, gone rogue, irresponsible and spoiled, born into power he didn't respect. Amara lost sleep over the late-night arguments, the rumors and the girls.
Especially the girls. Kaelen had been sneaking around with maids' daughters and noble girls since he reached puberty. Amara hated that he might drag some bastard child into the Draevin name and shatter her perfect vision of the family.
Kaelen leaned back, arm falling behind Cessalie's chair again. His fingers brushed her shoulder carelessly, not protective.
"I don't get the drama," he said, voice dipped in mockery. "She rode a horse. What's next? She starts reading whatever she wants? Wears a color you didn't pre-approve?"
Amara's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with warning. "You're not being clever."
Kaelen turned to her slowly, the grin still settled on his face like a quiet challenge. "No, Mother. I'm just not being obedient. Big difference."
The room fell silent. Even Cyrion, seated at the head of the table, said nothing. No one ever did when Kaelen pushed. He wasn't perfect, polished, controlled like Meliora or Rylan.
He was the second heir, just important enough to matter, not important enough to cage. Punishing him only sharpened his edges, and everyone at the table knew it.
Meliora rolled her eyes, frustration clear as she leaned in. "You're only defending her because you feel guilty," she said, tone dripping with false sweetness. "You always do that when she looks like she's about to cry."
Cessalie didn't move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table. She wasn't going to cry.
Kaelen's smirk faded slightly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Meliora.
"I'm defending her because she's my sister," he said flatly. "Even if you forget that whenever it's convenient."
There was no warmth or softness in his voice. It was just facts, spoken like they meant nothing. Maybe that's why it landed harder than anything else.
Kaelen never cared about family dinners. Most nights, he wasn't even invited. This was why he poked and stirred, played his games, never caring who cleaned up after him.
His knee bumped against Cessalie's under the table. A small gesture. "you're welcome." Maybe just another tease.
She did not lower her gaze. Her chin lifted slightly instead. She told herself she was not grateful to him, that she did not need his presence. Yet somewhere deeper, she could not deny the quiet comfort of having someone stand beside her.
No one ever truly knew what Kaelen wanted or whom he favored. He carried no open resentment toward his siblings, nor toward Rylan or Cessalie. Still, he never spared anyone from his sharp remarks. As children, he and Cessalie had been close, due to their close age, even if he was always treated as the younger one.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she said, voice even. "I didn't ride naked through the market. I rode a horse."
Amara's expression tightened. "You rode a horse alone."
Cyrion's fingers tapped against the table. His gaze shifted, not angry. He was… thinking. This didn't fit neatly into the version of her he had crafted. But this was against his dignity, but he also needed favors in the court which only Davian could bring.
Still, he didn't speak.
Cyrion finally broke the silence. "So he lets you do whatever you want now?"
Cessalie met his gaze without flinching. "He doesn't tell me I can't."
A short, surprised laugh escaped Kaelen, low under his breath.
Cessalie hadn't expected herself to give that answer either.
Cyrion clenched his jaw, nodding, eyes falling on plate or his food, "Enough now. Let us start dinner."
The rest of dinner unraveled like a spectacle. The tension remained.
She didn't enjoy family dinners. The food always tasted like ash with Amara's judgment at the table, and Meliora's smugness left a bitter aftertaste. But tonight, it felt different.
Kaelen was here. And Kaelen at dinner meant trouble wrapped in charm.
He lounged in his chair, spinning his fork between his fingers like a blade, throwing quiet jabs when he felt like it. Meliora's dress looked like it belonged to a grieving grandmother. Amara's opinions could've been printed straight from some handbook for miserable wives.
Cessalie stopped hiding her smirk. Every word from Kaelen made her want to laugh. She never laughed here.
Watching him dismantle the fragile pride of the people who tried to mold him into a polished version of their legacy? That was satisfying.
When dinner ended, everyone drifted from the room. Cessalie lingered, slipping out last.
The hallways were quieter. Her pace slowed when she turned around a corner and spotted Kaelen leaning against the far wall, casual, waiting like he owned the space. She prepared to walk past him, ignoring the smug grin already forming on his face.
But someone approached from the opposite end of the corridor.
Kaelen straightened, that playful grin settling into place.
Sybil.
Cyrion's latest mistress was twenty-four years old. She was beautiful and young, and the mother of five-year-old Evan. She was perfect in all the ways he liked to display, as though she were a prize meant to be admired.
Her long dark apricot hair reached her hips, catching the hallway light as it fell in soft waves down her back. Her periwinkle eyes moved calmly along the corridor, fully aware that she was being watched.
Kaelen's grin deepened as she approached. His hand brushed her arm. She laughed softly.
Cessalie froze, lingering in the shadows.
Since when were they… this close?
Cessalie stayed hidden a moment longer, fingers lightly brushing the wall beside her. It wasn't like she cared for gossip. She never had. Most days, people's scandals felt like useless and exhausting background noise.
She was about to turn away. But the path to her room… unfortunately, right past them.
She hesitated.
They weren't doing anything wrong, technically. Sybil was laughing, soft and low, head tilted toward him, but the sound felt stretched thin like it belonged to someone trying to keep things light… or distant.
Kaelen leaned in, shoulder brushing hers with that careless ease. His hands never touched her, but his eyes? They clung a little too long.
Faint whispers carried down the hall.
"You shouldn't…" Sybil's voice was playful enough, but it wavered in places. Not everyone would notice, but Cessalie noticed.
"Then stop smiling at me like that," Kaelen shot back, he sounded cocky and teasing.
Cessalie pressed her lips together.
She didn't want to assume. She wasn't here for gossip or messy family drama.
But still… they seemed close, not scandalous-close, but enough to make people wonder. And with one of them being… a stepmother? The whole thing felt like a disaster waiting to happen.
Cessalie shook her head, stepping out of the shadows, walking past them like she hadn't seen or heard a thing.
Whatever mess that was… it wasn't hers to untangle. Kaelen and Sybil froze and stared at her as she passed by, but Cessalie didn't look back.
"These two must be meeting in the corridor of my chambers because no one visits me." She muttered, scoffing.