Chapter CLXVI: Close the door

The great hall of Stormspire was a vision of opulence, adorned with towering candelabras and garlands of winter greenery. The scent of roasted meat, spiced wine, and fresh bread filled the room, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The tables were laden with silver platters holding every delicacy the Stormlands could offer—boar, venison, rich cheeses, and ripe fruit glistening like jewels.

When Princess Rya entered, a hush fell over the room. She wore a striking red dress embroidered with gold thread that shimmered in the candlelight, a dress that had once belonged to Queen Isabella, her mother. The dress hugged her figure gracefully, the fabric draping in a way that highlighted her regal bearing. The dress was slightly altered to be less revealing, given it was from a time when her mother was still her father's concubine, but it remained far from modest. Her dark hair was swept up, loose curls framing her face and making her emerald eyes even more vivid. 

Belton stood near the head of the table, a goblet of wine forgotten in his hand as he watched her enter. There was no denying it—Rya was mesmerizing. She held her head high, meeting the gazes of the nobles with unwavering confidence. When her eyes met his, a smirk played at her lips, defiant and knowing. Belton's jaw tensed, the memory of their kiss, wild and stolen in the woods, replaying in his mind.

As the evening wore on, the music grew livelier, and the crowd parted for dancing. Belton's eyes found Rya's again, and before he could second-guess himself, he approached her and extended a hand.

“Your Highness,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “May I have this dance?”

Rya raised a brow, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she accepted his hand. The touch of her skin sent a spark through him as they moved to the center of the hall. The musicians played a quick, lilting tune, and they began to move, the air between them taut with unspoken words.

“You’ve gone to great lengths to make me feel welcome,” Rya said, her tone light, but her eyes challenging.

“It is my duty as host,” Belton replied, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Perhaps,” she said, leaning in as they spun gracefully, “your hospitality will extend to reconsidering the opening of the southern roads.”

Belton’s eyes hardened as he looked into hers, but what he saw caught him off-guard. Beneath the fire of her defiance was a vulnerability, an innocence that made his chest tighten with something close to guilt. He had stolen what was probably her first kiss, and had seen the wonder and confusion in her eyes after. Rya was not just a royal negotiator; she was a young girl with hopes and dreams… Who believed in something, who might believe in him—dangerously so.

He broke their gaze and stopped abruptly, halting the dance. The crowd around them faltered, curious whispers starting to ripple through the hall. Belton dropped her hand and took a step back, his expression closed off.

“You are too young and too naïve to understand the way the world truly works, Princess,” he said quietly, though each word struck like a hammer. “I apologize for letting things go too far before. That was a mistake on my part, and I won’t let it happen again.”

Rya’s eyes widened, a mix of confusion and anger blooming across her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a small shake of his head.

“No,” he continued, a bitter edge to his voice. “I’m not opening the roads. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Rya standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

The feast had stretched long into the night, the once roaring hall now dimmed with the languor of wine and song. Lord Belton finally retreated to his chambers, his head buzzing with fatigue and the faint ache of intoxication. He’d spent the night avoiding Princess Rya, though the effort it had taken gnawed at him. Her presence had been impossible to ignore—that provocative red dress gleaming, those green eyes holding the room captive like flames in the dark. Every stolen glance made him remember the searing heat of her lips, the scent of her, the way she made him lose control. It was maddening.

Belton splashed cold water on his face, letting the chill bite away at the haze. He undid the stiff collar of his tunic, threw himself onto the bed, and stared up at the stone ceiling. Sleep eluded him, his mind traitorously alive with the taste and touch of her. Even the thought of sneaking into the village to throw himself into Lina's familiar embrace offered no solace; her appeal was drowned out by this new, wild hunger.

Minutes, maybe an hour, passed before the silence of the early morning was interrupted by a faint knock on his chamber door. He frowned, pushing himself up. Who would dare disturb him at such an hour? He rose from his bed and approached the door. He opened it to find Princess Rya standing before him, her expression unreadable. Before he could speak, she brushed past him and entered the room.

“Princess,” he whispered harshly, immediately peering out into the hallway to ensure no one had seen her. Panic lanced through him. “You cannot be here.”

“Close the door, Belton,” Rya said, her voice calm but commanding.

He hesitated, his mind racing between logic and the thrill coursing through his veins. With a grimace, he shut the door and turned to face her. “You can’t be here, Your Highness,” he repeated, the tension in his chest tightening.

Rya met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. “But I am,” she said. She took a deep breath, the delicate rise and fall of her chest betraying her nerves.

Belton stared at her, torn between disbelief and desire. “Your Highness, this is madness. What if someone saw you?” He said, his voice a strained whisper. His eyes darted to the door, as if expecting someone to barge in at any moment.

“No one saw me, Lord Belton, I was careful,” she countered, her voice unwavering, eyes locked with his. She took a step closer, and he felt the heat radiate from her skin. Belton's breath caught in his chest as she held his gaze, unwavering and intense. “I don’t understand this, either,” Rya said, her voice a mix of vulnerability and determination. “This pull between us... It terrifies me. But I know enough to understand that I want this. I want—”

He shook his head, the conflict etched into every line of his face. “Princess, you don’t know what you’re asking for. This isn’t—”

“I’m not a child,” she said, taking another step toward him. Before he could respond, she undid the tie of her silk robe and let it slip from her shoulders. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her clad only in a thin, sleeveless nightgown that barely concealed the soft lines of her body. The firelight painted her in shades of gold, making her look ethereal, like a dream made flesh. “I’m old enough to understand what desire is. I know what I’m asking, Belton. And I want you to give it to me.”

Belton’s breath caught in his throat. Every sensible thought, every attempt at restraint shattered at that moment. The room felt suffocating, his pulse roaring in his ears as he took in the sight of her. “Princess,” he said, shaking his head as if to ward off the insanity. “You don’t want this. You think you do, but—”

“Who are you to tell me that?” she interrupted, her voice firmer now. She stepped closer, pressing her palm against his bare chest. One of the thin strips of her nightgown fell off her shoulder with the movement of her arm, like a tempting invitation from the devil himself. The warmth of her touch burned through him, erasing any semblance of control he’d fought to keep.

“Fuck this,” he breathed, his voice rough with surrender.

He pulled her against him, capturing her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. A line had been crossed the moment she touched him, and any barriers he had built crumbled entirely. The taste of her was sweeter than he remembered, and every coherent thought slipped away. There was no room for reason, no room for the consequences that loomed over them. There was only the feel of her body against his, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, and the fire that ignited between them, burning away all doubt.