We’d both been through hell.
She was beautiful. There was no tempering of my thoughts as I took in the sight of her, evidence of her ordeal washed away with warm water and scented soap, her hair coiled into loose curls that framed her lovely face. She wore a blue silk nightdress that clung to every curve, and I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
Her head tilted, eyes growing distant as though deep in thought. But I knew what she was contemplating were my feelings, which was exhilarating and horrifying. A smile grew on her face, then she was across the room, arms wrapped around my neck. She smelled like flowers with the faintest undertones of spice.
“Your mother is so kind,” she whispered.
I did not want to talk about my mother.
“And your servants. I’m not used to that.”
The wonder bordering on disbelief carved at my insides. That such a small thing – a thing I’d always taken for granted – would bring her joy spoke volumes to what she’d endured. But never again. I’d never let life be like that for her again. “Get used to it,” I said into her hair. “This is your life now.”
Anxiety pricked at me like a spider bite – not mine, but hers.
“You’ll never have to go back,” I said. “I promise.” And for once, the leaden weight of my word was welcome.
“Marc…”
I pressed a finger to her lips, wanting for her to begin her escape from the past now, with not another moment wasted on it.
Her lips curled against my finger. “You’d have me say nothing?”
“No,” I said, removing my finger so that I could kiss her. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Marc
The sounds and smells of morning came far too soon: the murmur of servants in the hallways, the faint clink of dishes, and the scent of cooking food filling the air. Pénélope was still asleep, tucked against me, her hair tickling my collarbone. The last thing I wanted to do was move.
But the worst thing I could do was ignore a summons from the King.
She stirred as I eased my arm out from under her, but then grew still as I settled the blankets over her shoulders. In the faint light of my magic, there was no mistaking the shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes. More rest would do her good.
I silently dressed, then eased out of the room, brightening my light only once I was out in the hallway. Following the smell of food, I ignored the urge to sneak out the back and went to find my parents.
But only my mother sat at the table, a steaming cup held delicately in one hand. “Your father has gone to speak with the Duke,” she said. “And His Majesty is expecting you.”
“I know.”
I started to leave, but then she said, “Sit with me and eat before you go, darling.”
Reluctantly, I tugged out one of the chairs, then selected a number of items for my plate though I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. Across the room, the piano began to play a simple melody, a lullaby I recognized from my childhood, her magic pressing the keys as though it were an extension of her fingers.
“Eat.”
I bit into a piece of bread layered with egg and butter sauce, one of my favorites, but the richness made me nauseous.
“How is Pénélope?”
I swallowed, the food sticking in my throat. “Sleeping.”
“Good. She needs to keep up her strength.” A note jangled harsh and loud, and my mother frowned. “She’s lived a difficult life in that house. Some villains are born. Some are made. édouard is both. As is his mother.”
It was strange to hear my mother speak so familiarly about the Duke d’Angoulême, which made me wonder how well she knew him. How much contact they’d had in the past.
“I understand your choice, Marc,” she said, setting down her cup. “You wish to keep her safe. And even if her life were not in danger, bonding always has an allure for those deeply in love. It is the pinnacle–” she lifted her hand high “–connection that can be achieved between two hearts. An ultimate and unalterable commitment in our world where loyalty flips on the turn of a coin. But…”
I couldn’t help flinching at the word, because no good ever came from it.
“But you are my son, and I fear the danger your choice has put your life in.” The music ceased and she pressed a hand to her temple for a moment before turning her face to me, her magic brushing my cheek. “No parent wishes to outlive their child.”
Her unseeing eyes turned liquid with tears, and my stomach twisted with guilt. “Mother…”
“Shhh.” Rising, she came around the table, pulling me against her. “I am terrified for you, Marc. As is your father. But above all, I wish for you to be happy and to know love, so for the sake of that wish, I will try to be brave.” Bending, she kissed my forehead in a way she hadn’t since I was a little boy. “Now go. You shouldn’t keep the King waiting.”
* * *
I was directed not to the throne room, but to the King’s study, where I found him reading reports with his feet propped up on the desk. I bowed, then waited for him to acknowledge me, my heart racing faster and faster with each passing second.
I was afraid of him.
Everyone was, to a greater or lesser extent, with the lone exception of my Aunt Sylvie, who mocked him merrily with only the slightest provocation, her safety guaranteed by the fact she was conjoined to the Queen. Most counted his power, which was greater than any troll living, as the reason he inspired such fear, but I believed otherwise. It was his mind. The way he seemed able to delve into one’s deepest thoughts and discover the slightest weakness, then exploit said weakness when one was most vulnerable. He never used his magic – at least not to its fullest extent – but his mind controlled Trollus with its endless hoard of information. With deception and manipulation. He understood people: trolls, half-bloods, and humans alike. His only equal was Angoulême, and sometimes it felt like Trollus was an enormous game of Guerre set between them, every one of us a pawn.
“Nephew.”
I jumped, then bowed again. “Your Majesty.”
He was silent, and I stared at the carpet – imported from the very far east of the continent – listening to him shift his bulk on the chair, taking my measure.
“You stole from me.”
“Yes.” Not only did the élixir belong to the crown, I’d abused my access to the glass gardens in order to steal it.
“You broke my laws.”
“Yes.” I’d taken the key and gone into the labyrinth without my father’s permission. Had bonded Pénélope without the assent of the crown. Even if I had the capacity to lie, there was no point. The truth was written in silver across my hand.
“Care to explain yourself? That you’re besotted with her is obvious, so you may skip that portion of your explanation.”
“I…”
“You will look at me when speaking, boy.”