"Hello, princess," he greeted her.
Cas gently ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was truly beautiful, if such a thing could be said of a man. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and well-defined cheekbones. And his eyes—his eyes were surreal.
The attendants gasped in unison, their wide gazes fixed upon him. What was the Crown Prince to their young lady? Was His Highness her lover?
Dylan curtsied elegantly to him. "The first lady of the Beaumon Ducal household pays her respects to Your Highness."
A chuckle escaped his smiling lips. "Miss. Dylan," he said, "there's no need for formalities between us."
Dylan felt her body go on red alert, the way it always did whenever Caspian put on public displays of affection for her. She didn't want anyone to know about them. Their association of undefined terms couldn't even be described as a friendship, yet alone a romantic relationship.
"You look healthier." He looked at her face as if he were reading a book. "Much healthier."
His silver eyes were like a storm. Dylan felt uncomfortable all over under his gaze. Being warm and affectionate—it was something she could never do. Not with Caspian. Not with Laikin. Not with anyone.
"Why is His Highness here?" she asked him.
His eyes narrowed. He didn't like it when she called him by his title—especially since his nickname sounded like ecstasy falling off Dylan's lips. He sauntered closer to her, until he could reach out and touch her. Cas would have pulled her into his arms if he didn't see the coldness in her lovely eyes.
"I came to escort you to the Imperial Palace," he said softly, looking into her brown irises.
Dylan saw that look in his eyes. She knew that he cared for her. It was dangerous—his affection was dangerous.
She stepped back from him. "Shall we depart then?" she said.
"Come with me," he whispered, grabbing her by her waist as he grinned from ear to ear and escorted her to the carriage. It was far too flashy and luxurious for Dylan's taste. It was almost as if he was trying to draw attention to himself.
The maids and attendants dipped their curtsies and giggled, glancing at Dylan and the Crown Prince. His Highness was obviously enamoured with their young lady. He personally came to escort her to the Palace in an extravagant carriage. It was like a public declaration of love!
Holding Dylan's right hand, Caspian helped her board the carriage and then took the seat right next to her. Despite the large width of the carriage, her thigh and hip were touching his. Dylan caught her breath as he leaned over so their shoulders were also touching.
Soon the carriage began to rattle noisily, pulling out of the Duke's estate.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly as he leaned over toward her.
She glanced up at him through heavy eyelashes. Cas felt his heart skip a beat. Didn't she know how attractive she was, how very beautiful and how very clever? His body grew tense, as if it was waiting for a reaction from her.
"Cas," she whispered. He shivered at hearing his name in her mouth. Dylan could hear his breathing, as heavy as her own.
He begged her, "Say my name again."
"Cas."
His eyes grew dark with scarcely controlled desire. He wanted to taste her lips again. "Do you mind if I kiss you?" he asked her.
Did she mind? She was realistic, knew not to rely on things like love, but she wanted to feel something. Anticipation. Desire. Warmth. She wanted to feel something—anything. But his obsession was getting dangerous.
'I need to set him up with Grisa as soon as the trial is over.'
She frowned and turned her head away quickly. "We shouldn't," she said.
An awkward silence filled the carriage. For a moment, Dylan feared she offended him. She stole a glance at him, wondering if that was the case. When he met her eyes, she quickly looked back at the window.
'He doesn't look upset. Should I try to push it a bit more?'
She cleared her throat. "You've met Grisa, right?" she asked. "Isn't she pretty? She's kind and she—"
"What?" he interrupted in an angry tone. "Why are you talking about that girl you're always around?"
Dylan seemed a little confused by the question. "Am I not allowed to talk about her?" she responded.
Dylan was like a damn mystery to him. What was right, what was wrong, what was good, what was evil—the lines separating them all blurred whenever he was around her. She wasn't good and she wasn't bad. She was just Dylan. It was what made her so fascinating.
She noticed his silence and continued, "Anyways, I think you should get to know her. She's a great person, so you'll both get along well."
"Fine," he agreed, reluctantly. If it would make her happy, then he'd gladly do it.
"So you'll get to know her?"
He sighed. "Sure."
The golden carriage pulled by six white horses soon arrived at the Imperial Palace of Oberon. Thankfully, it wasn't too far from the Duke's mansion.
"We have arrived, Your Highness," the carriage driver announced.
Dylan dismounted from the carriage with Caspian's help. As soon as her feet stepped on the ground, a voice called out to her.
"We bid you welcome, Lady Dylan. It's a pleasure to see you again," Victor said in a graceful manner.
Suddenly, her eyes widened in shock. Dozens of attendants lined the pathway to welcome her. It was a welcoming far too extravagant for a guest, even if it was the Imperial Palace.
"I did not expect everyone to come out to greet me," she said uncomfortably.
"Is it not to your liking?" Cas asked her with puppy-dog eyes. His expression turned to a scowl when he turned to the attendants. "I thought I told you all to—"
"It's fine!" she interrupted. "In fact, it's more than fine—it's wonderful, Your Highness."
The tense faces of the attendants relaxed when they heard her words. It looked like the rumours about her being a saint were true. Meanwhile, Dylan was imagining how satisfying punching Caspian's face would be.
He smiled at her affectionately. "I'll take you to my father."
***
"You look nothing like Morris. It's rather unsettling, but it's not unpleasant."
'If I kindly tell him to fuck off will I be imprisoned for blasphemy?'
Dylan swallowed nervously, fighting her internal agony. She was currently sitting with the most powerful man in the empire—Emperor Katil of Oberon. His hair was silver-white, and his features were delicately chiseled, but wore an expression of arrogance.
"I am adopted, Your Majesty," she replied. "His Grace was kind enough to take me in when this humble girl had nowhere to go."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "But you're rather well-behaved for someone with lowly origins. Are you sure you're not a born noble?"
He glanced at her, very intensely, and she froze.
'Does he know?'
Dylan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I had father as an example to learn from, Your Majesty," she told him. "It is thanks to his elegant and refined nature that I am like this. I learned from the best."
Dylan sipped her tea, lowering her thick eyelashes. She danced around the question with her words.
"Then can I assume your opinion on the Duchy's neutrality is definite?" the Emperor asked with a frown.
Dylan smiled at him awkwardly. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said. "Whatever my father wills, I will as well. Whether it be political opinion or personal values—it's all the same."
Although she was good at it, acting like a devoted daughter was tiresome. She had to act like her values on not supporting a successor were the same as her father's. It was the only way she could avoid catching the attention of other powerful nobles.
"My son is quite fond of you." Emperor Katil gave her a cold stare. "I heard that you are extremely intelligent and skilled with swordsmanship. Some have even begun to call you the genius of your generation."
"His Majesty flatters me with such words."
She was answering his questions politely, neither denying nor confirming his claims. Owing to this, the Emperor's curiosity was not satiated.
"I'd like to play you in chess," he told her. "Is that alright?"
"Chess?" she repeated.
The Emperor smiled mischievously. "If you beat me, I'll give you a gift."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you have to give me something I want."
'He's going to ask me to support Caspian's ascension to the throne. If I agree, I'll never be able to run away from this place.'
Dylan tapped the table with her fingers. "What if I don't agree to play, Your Majesty?" she asked him.
The smile deepened on the Emperor's face. "It's an order," he said. "You have no choice."
He nodded for the servants to clear the table. They moved hurriedly and then set down a chess-board made of sixty-four sections evenly divided into light and dark squares.
The Emperor moved his King's pawn two spaces forward. "Do you play?"
Dylan was not expecting that move—the King's Gambit. It was one of the oldest openings in chess and for good reason. It was a move that opened up risks for everyone.
'How amusing.'
Most players would've accepted the gambit and tried to counterattack the now semi-exposed king side of white. Dylan, however, was no ordinary player.
She moved her queen's pawn to the centre. "Not often, Your Majesty."
It was called the Queen's Gambit. If the Emperor took the hanging pawn, she'd control the centre of the board. From there, it would be easy.
"I see," said the Emperor, taking the bait.
She smirked and moved her next piece. In eight swift moves, Dylan had taken control of the game. "Checkmate," she said.
He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "How interesting," he muttered.
Despite beating the Emperor at chess in only eight moves, she sat there in silence, an icy expression on her face. She was completely unaffected by it.
He laughed without heart as he thought of it. "Very well," he said. "I'll give you a gift." He leaned forward in his chair, and his hands were knuckled together between his knees. "I will give you Cadence."
'What. The. Fuck.'
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Who could Cadence be..???