Don’t Teach an Eagle to Fly – 16. chapter

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The doors of the hall opened slowly.

Kaelan entered first, upright and dignified, with the quiet certainty that belonged to a king. Beside him walked Nirella, her face calm, her gaze focused. Her steps were steady and smooth, the cloak he had draped over her shoulders moments earlier muting the sound of her movement. A tense silence spread through the chamber. Everyone was standing.

The hall was vast and domed, with tall columns and rich ornamentation. Banners and standards of Kaelan’s realm hung along the walls, a dark green field bearing the embroidered sigil of a silver wolf with its head raised. The air carried the scent of incense and wax, lanterns in bronze hangings suspended above the long table. The table was already laid for supper. Cloths edged with fine gold, silver goblets, bowls of fruit, bread and wine.

On the right stood Kaelan’s men. Gavran closest, still as a shadow. The other officers wore dark ceremonial coats, swords at their belts, polished and ready. They appeared calm, yet every one of them watched Nirella closely.

Opposite them waited the guests from Vargorn. Two older advisers with furs over their shoulders, two young soldiers in the uniforms of the mountain guard, and a woman in a dark green velvet gown.

When she saw Nirella, her face lit up. Nirella smiled faintly, released Kaelan’s arm, and with both palms made a gentle gesture showing that she could come closer. Kaelan did not like it in the least that she dared to step away from him, but the woman stepped toward her, practically broke into a run, so quickly that he had no time to react. She embraced Nirella firmly, warmly, almost unexpectedly.

Tension could be felt at once from Kaelan’s men. All eyes turned toward them, Gavran made the slightest step forward, but did not intervene. The woman held Nirella with an expression that revealed nothing. In a brief, fluid motion, she slipped a small blade into the folds of Nirella’s cloak during the embrace. So discreetly that it vanished among the layers of fabric and no one conceived even a hint of suspicion.

If she whispered anything to her, it was lost in the rustle of garments. Kaelan stood motionless, his face unreadable, his eyes never leaving either of them.

The embrace did not last long and the woman stepped back among her own. It unsettled Kaelan that he no longer held Nirella, but she did not try to move farther away, so he let it be for now. And then another man moved from a side arch, apparently waiting for the exact moment. Tall and broad, with shoulders squared like a gate and the cold expression of a man accustomed to command. His armor shone to a mirror polish, every movement precise and deliberate. His eyes were dark, impenetrable, until they fixed on Nirella.

He stopped. Did not move. And kept his gaze on her. Long. Personal. There was no pretense in it, no awkwardness. Only certainty. Kaelan saw it. Nothing escaped him. The commander bowed slightly to him.

“Your Majesty. I am Rholan of Dorthen, chief military commander of Vargorn. Thank you for receiving us.”

Kaelan only nodded briefly.

“Your presence is welcome.”

The man said nothing more, only looked at Nirella again, longer than propriety allowed. The lady in green meanwhile stepped into place beside him and with that the tension eased. Kaelan then nodded toward the table.

“The table is set. We may be seated.”

He reached for Nirella, took her by the elbow, and led her to the table. He seated her beside his own place and only then sat himself, although it was a gesture toward a lady, not a captive.

The food was abundant, yet no one present treated it as pleasure. It was ritual. Form. A necessary backdrop for the exchange of glances and words that said nothing and revealed too much. Conversation began politely. One of the advisers asked, with careful pronunciation, whether the princess was well. Nirella looked him lightly, elegantly, directly in the eyes and replied with quiet composure.

“They do not harm me here.”

Her tone was firm, courteous, and so royally composed that Kaelan felt as if another woman sat beside him. And at the same time exactly the one who unsettled him most. An older adviser from Vargorn mentioned the hardship of the journey. Kaelan nodded but added nothing. He himself could say little about mountain roads. He listened politely.

Nirella remained silent. She did not once turn openly toward Rholan. She carried herself with such noble ease that every movement of her hand, every lift of her goblet, looked like a lesson in perfect courtly conduct. Kaelan was aware of her more intensely than ever before. The same woman he had known naked, frightened, stubborn. Now she appeared wholly worthy of her future on the throne. Besides him, the commander directly opposite watched her in just such detail. Every gesture, every movement of her wrist, as if he were seeking intimately familiar details. Rholan of Dorthen. His voice was low, dignified, his posture unassailable. And yet whenever he could, he turned his head toward Nirella. Not rudely. Not intrusively. But with such familiarity that Kaelan’s chest tightened. As if he knew exactly when her mouth curved into a quiet smile, as if he knew the rhythm of her breathing.

Kaelan counted it. The looks. The breaths. The silence between sentences. And though he knew he should attend to the guests, every movement of Rholan’s eyes irritated him.

He saw Rholan lean closer once toward the woman beside him and whisper something. She replied with a composed face, but Nirella, though she did not turn, had a strange gleam in her eyes. Not a smile. More a hushed attentiveness.

Kaelan did not eat. He cut the meat without bringing it to his mouth. He felt his chest tighten. He hated the feeling of being vulnerable in a silence where nothing had yet happened.

Why did it matter to him where Rholan looked? But he knew the answer. She sat beside him. Head held high, shoulders straight, quiet and proud. And that man looked at her as if he had a right to her.

Nirella reached for her wine goblet. Gracefully, without wasted motion, as if every muscle obeyed music the others could not hear. Her sleeve slipped back slightly. Briefly. But it was enough.

Rholan’s eyes widened. He halted mid-sentence and parted his lips. He had clearly noticed the red mark left by the restraints on her wrist. Nirella, however, only tilted her head lightly and, with a brief, almost invisible gesture of two fingers, signaled to him to remain silent. Rholan lowered his gaze and closed his mouth. At once.

Kaelan saw it. Every detail. The look on Rholan’s face. That silence on command. And something in him moved.

He was subordinate to her. He obeyed her. At her word. How were they planning that in marriage? Would he remain her subject even then? Or would his status rise enough to reverse the hierarchy? And whom did she need? An obedient lackey? Or someone… who fucks her even when she resists?

The atmosphere at the table stayed tense, though the words grew emptier. Wine dwindled, food cooled, and everyone in the hall knew that the princess’s presence among them was only temporary. Rholan spoke no more, nor did Nirella. Only looks, a small lift of a brow, a silence where conversations unfolded that did not belong to the public.

When mention was made of returning to camp, Kaelan rose first. He gestured gently with his hand, indicating the supper’s end.

“We are pleased that you have assured yourselves of her safety,” he said at last. “Convey my regards to King Tharan. And tell him I expect him as soon as possible.”

The guests stood. Everything followed protocol. Words. Bows. Glances. Nirella did not rise until Kaelan touched her. This gesture of obedience from her filled him with deep satisfaction. He placed his hand on her shoulder, waited for her to stand. Then he led her away. Without a word.

The chamber was dark and quiet. Kaelan drew the curtains and removed her cloak.

“Choose what you will take off and what you will keep on for the night.”

Nirella did not try to protest. In silence she unfastened her outer bodice and let it slip from her. She turned her back to him, gathered her hair, and showed him her back. The shift was thin, of soft fabric. She drew the corset from beneath it and kept her underskirt on. And when she bent to gather the garments, with a subtle, inconspicuous movement of her fingers, she hid the blade beneath the fold of the bedcover. Kaelan noticed nothing at all. He was watching her, yet his thoughts were already slipping elsewhere. She lay on her side, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. When Kaelan bent over her, he bound her hands firmly, precisely. But he did not speak once and then he left.