“And what a year it has been,” he mutters, inspecting his reflection in the flat of his dinner knife. His face has not changed, his beauty is undiminished by war, but so many other things are different now. A new king, a new country, new crowns for us both. And a mountain of problems to go with each.
The tumultuous year has been worth the cost, at least to me. A year ago, I was Training harder than I ever had, preparing for the inevitable Queenstrial. I could barely sleep for fear of losing, even when victory was all but guaranteed. My life then was decided, and I reveled in knowing what was to come. In hindsight, I feel stupid and manipulated, seeing myself as the doll I was. Pushed toward a boy I could never love. And here I am again, trapped in the same place I’ve always been. But now I know better. I can fight it. And maybe I can make Cal see reason the way I did. See what our worlds are, the strings we all dance upon.
Ptolemus picks around his specially made meal of lean, barely seasoned chicken, wilted vegetables, and pale fish meat. It lies mostly untouched. Usually he wolfs down his bland, healthy foods, as if eating them quickly can disguise the lack of taste.
Elane is quite the opposite. Her plate is clean, showing no evidence of the rack of wine-soaked lamb we shared. “Indeed,” she says. Her voice is quiet and measured. I try to read her thoughts on her face, her carefully worn expression of thoughtfulness. Is she remembering our lives a year ago? When we thought we would be happy beneath the Nortan throne together, living in a future built on our secrets? As if we were ever truly a secret to anyone with eyes.
“What about me?” Elane prods, putting her hand over my own. Her skin is the perfect balance of warmth against mine. “What part will I play in this?”
“You don’t have to do much of anything,” I answer, almost too quickly.
She puts her hand over mine. “Don’t be stupid, Eve.”
“Very well,” I grit out. “Do as you have before, I suppose.” Shadows are perfect spies, well suited to the intrigues of a royal court. To listen, to watch, safe behind a shield of invisibility. I don’t like the prospect of using her in any capacity that might be dangerous, but like she said, we have time. We’re at Ridge House. She wouldn’t be any safer if I locked her up in my rooms.
Not exactly a bad idea . . .
Elane smirks a little and pushes away her plate, half in jest. Her nose wrinkles. “Should I go now?”
I tighten my grip on her hand, smirking. “You can finish off the wine, at least. I’m not completely heartless.”
With a smile that stops my breath and leaves my pulse racing, she leans into me, her eyes drifting lazily to my lips. “I know exactly how much heart you have.”
Across the table, Ptolemus finishes his drink, rattling the ice. “I’m right here,” he grumbles, averting his eyes.
We have a week at least, if not two, before Davidson and his army return. Enough time to do what I can, with the added advantage of my own territory. Cal and Mare want each other, no matter how many obstacles might stand in the way. He requires only a very little push. If anything, a single word from Mare would send him scurrying to her bedroom. Mare, on the other hand, will be infinitely more difficult, married as she is to her pride, her cause, and that constant, unflagging rage she keeps burning in her chest. Of course, shoving the pair of them back together is only the first half of the endeavor. It’s getting Cal to realize, as I have, the weight of a heart. And how much heavier it is than a crown.
A small part of me wonders if this is impossible. Cal might never wake up the way I did. His choices could be set in stone. But that can’t be true. I see the way he looks at her, and I won’t give up so easily. I only wish I could solve all this with my own two fists and a knife. That might even be enjoyable.
Quite honestly, anything would be more enjoyable than what I’m doing now, prowling through Ridge House at dusk, searching for Mare Barrow. This is a chore and a bore.
Elane is gone, somewhere on the other side of the estate. Keeping an eye on General Farley while Ptolemus works through his evening routine in the training arena. A routine that nicely aligns with Cal’s own schedule. The would-be king is oh-so-married to his workouts, especially now that he can’t burn off his energy with a certain lightning girl.
I pass through the gallery halls, dragging my fingers across statues of reflective steel and polished chrome as I go. Each one responds to my touch, rippling like water disturbed on a still pond. Outside, the sky purples, and stars prick to life across the western horizon. The city of Pitarus glows in the distance, several miles away. A reminder of the world still marching on. Reds and common Silvers now living under the spreading shadow of war. I wonder what that must be like, to read about battles and hear of cities torn apart, and know you have no part in the conflict. No influence. No power should war come to knock on your own door.
And it certainly will.
This war has many sides, and there’s no way to stop what has already begun. Norta will be a rotting carcass one day, with the Rift, the Lakelands, Montfort, Piedmont, and whoever else is left all howling over her corpse.
I step onto the upper terraces, facing into the eastern darkness. A chill hovers on the air, and I think we might face a summer cold front before the week is out.
Barrow isn’t alone when I find her, to my chagrin. She looks up at the stars while her Red boy stretches out at her side, long limbs splayed without thought for appearance. He seems a tangle of blond hair and bronzed, sun-damaged skin.
Kilorn glances at me first, pointing his rounded chin in my direction. “We have an audience.”
“Hello, Evangeline,” Mare replies. Her knees are drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t move, her face tipped to the sky and the growing starlight. “To what do we owe this honor, Your Highness?” she drawls.
I chuckle and pause to lean against the railing edging the terrace tile. Biting to the last. “I find myself in need of distraction.”
Mare shakes her head, amused. “I thought that’s what Elane is for.”
“She has a life of her own,” I muse airily, forcing a shrug. “I can’t expect her to live at my beck and call.”
“You spent all your time pretending not to pine for her, and now here you are, in the same place again. But you’re bothering me instead.” Shrewd, she turns her gaze on me for a second, her brown eyes black against the deepening night sky. Then she looks back at the stars. “What do you want to know?”
“Nothing at all. I don’t care where you and Cal scampered off to today, or why you both were so incredibly late to a meeting about the survival of your own people.”
At her side, the Red boy tenses, his brows knitting together.
Mare tries not to rise to the bait or the implication. She waves a hand, dismissive. “It wasn’t important.”
“Well, if you ever need assistance with your unimportant doings, there are a few passages I can show you. Ways to get around the Ridge unseen.” I tip my head, surveying her as she pretends not to listen to me. “Cal sleeps in the east wing, near my rooms, in case you’re interested.”
Her head snaps up. “I am not.”
“Of course,” I reply.
The Red boy glowers, his eyes a dark green, the color of my mother’s stormiest emeralds. “Is this what you call distraction? Taunting Mare?”
“Not at all. I was wondering if Mare felt like sparring a bit.”
She balks. “I beg your pardon?”
“For old time’s sake.”
She huffs, as if annoyed. But I see the familiar twitch in her. The need. A coil in the pit of her stomach, begging to be unwound. Barrow looks at her feet, blinking slowly. She runs one hand over the other, smoothing her fingers against her palm. Imagining the lightning, no doubt.
There is a particular pleasure in using our abilities for sport rather than survival.
“I’ve almost beaten you twice, Evangeline,” Mare says.
I grin. “Third time’s the charm.”
She glares up at me, annoyed at the hunger inside herself. “Fine,” she forces through gritted teeth. “One match.”