The Crowned Captive
The Jewel of the Nation

“You are meant to be taking it easy, you know. I think that would be causing blood pressure abnormalities at the least,” Morana said as she watched Rowan over her shoulder.

She felt somewhat sorry for Lorenna. She had assured Morana thoroughly that she did not mind Rowan’s intrusions, but the deep crimson cheeks she was trying to hide behind her raven curls. The youngest daughter of a poor lord, she had been shipped off to court to find herself a suitable husband. Now, the half-elf-half-siren woman was subject to Rowan’s blatant ignorance as Morana’s lady’s maid. Whilst the girl fastened the ties of the gorgeous sacramento green corset, Morana offered her an apologetic grin. Meanwhile, Rowan watched as if she was preparing a special meal for him, his eyes roving over exactly what that corset did to her body. In a way, it was a meal for him, she supposed. Rowan had explained the significance of dressing in his house colours when he had offered the gown as an alternative to the red and gold she had been sent by the king. It would symbolise their courtship, their blooming relationship. After being assured she would not get in trouble for the refusal of the king’s gown, Morana had happily dressed in the gown of green and gold, amazed at its luxury. Rowan had watched the entire time with a ravenous heat.

“Morana, my blood pressure would rise around you even if you wore a burlap sack,” he purred across the room, and Morana felt herself flush as she rolled her eyes.

With one final heave on the ties, Lorenna was done and politely excused herself. Morana offered her one last smile as Rowan prowled closer and she hurried out the door. She fixed him with a withering glare as he leant down to press a kiss against her cheek, and then her neck, and she struggled not to melt into his arms like he so badly wanted. Barely a week ago she had begged the gods for a way to save him and had harnessed her magic for the first time unprompted. A week ago she had wept as she refused to come to terms that Death would take another loved one from her life.

He still teetered slightly as he stood back, looking down at her with a face that threatened to ruin the makeup she had sat so patiently through. Much to his pleasure, he no longer had his cane as a necessity. His usual grace was still gone from his movements, the only sign the ordeal had even happened as his magic had finally returned. As they turned to leave her new rooms, off to what Rowan described to her as an “infernal ass-kissing contest” but Cordan had assured her was a ball of sorts, she did not miss that he leant on her for stability. She took his weight silently, not wishing to offend him with his pride already so bruised.

The sound of their footsteps and Rowan’s cane were the only things that accompanied them as they traversed the halls from the residential quadrant to the ballroom. She smiled that she had managed to convince him to use it a little longer, happy he had a sign of her affections as much as she wore his. At least if he drank too much wine, he had something to help hold him upright that was not her. As they walked through the halls, the fall of the cane like a ticking clock, she felt her giddy excitement growing. Never in her life had she imagined she would end up at a ball. She felt the part, her gown more beautiful than any she had ever seen, shimmering as if a sea of leaves. With Rowan on her arm, his velvet tunic a shade to match hers, embroidered with the golden leaves of his house, she truly felt like a princess.

They paused once they finally stood atop the stairs that led to the castle’s main foyer, Morana pretending she needed to adjust her jewellery and hair before entering the ballroom proper. She was thankful that Rowan took the time to catch his breath and centre himself for ahead of them people streamed towards the ballroom. She watched them, surveying all the types of fae that had been invited on such short notice. As much as the gowns brought brilliance, her people did too. Wings and horns and gaudy skin no longer caused fear, but rather a sense of brilliance and beauty inside her.

“You do realise that you are to be announced in front of all of them, the jewel of the night. You are the forgotten princess, already being heralded as a saviour of the people for being the one to finally stave off a man who would have otherwise needed an entire army. Everybody who thinks they are anybody is going to be vying for your attention,” Rowan pronounced.

“I know. I’m not yet sure how to handle I am going to manage all of the people, but I know,” she replied, smiling up at him.

“Just remember, at the end of the night, this dress means you are mine,” he growled into her ear, and Morana felt herself shiver. Here merely offered his arm once more as she narrowed her eyes up at him, unable to make her smirking mouth into a frown of disapproval.

“If you weren’t so frail, I may attempt to refute that. But I wouldn’t want you walking around with a bruised ego on top of everything else,” Morana threw back as she turned, smiling to herself as Rowan let out a smug laugh.

People finally noticed them as they descended the stairs and stopped to stare. They were not even at the entrance to the ballroom itself and people already whispered under their breath at the pair. Beside her, Rowan walked with his chest puffed out as if he was some strutting pigeon. Morana did not know what to do with herself, finally settling on smiling and trying to hide the fact she was blushing. Princesses are not embarrassed by such attention, she reminded herself, they are always deserving of it.

As the entry doors to the ballroom loomed, she steeled herself to be the perfect smiling princess she was expected to be. Nobody would accept the look of a startled doe or a frightened mouse. She was the daughter of a dragon. As much as the king hated it, she was also the last phoenix. She was from two noble and strong houses and needed to act as such. The doors opened, the stream of people behind her was halted, and she paused atop the staircase that led to the milling people below. Each of the women shone like scattered jewels below her, and every man’s face turned to look at hers. Ignoring the weight of the attention of the crowd, she plastered a smile on her face.

“Announcing the guest of honour, Crown Princess Morana Gosselin, Saviour of the Silent Night, first of her name, escorted by the honourable Lord Rowan Greenfeld,” the steward called.

Whether she was ready or not, Rowan was propelling her forward. Her heart leapt into her throat as the attention of the room fell on her. Not knowing what else to do, she smiled and followed her lover’s lead.

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