“How are you?” he asked.
Maybe it was the unfettered devotion in his actions or the fact that he was the one person she’d never had to bespell to ensure his loyalty. Whatever the reason, Irina found herself saying, “I’m so tired.”
He ran a hand through her hair, tugging gently at the tangles he found. When he reached the base of her neck, he cupped it with his hand and squeezed the tension away.
“You overworked yourself,” he said quietly. “You always do. You act like if you delegate too much, the kingdom will fall to pieces.”
She smiled a little. “I have you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
His eyes darkened. “The spell you did in Nordenberg . . . that was an enormous outpouring of energy, and it cost you so much.” His voice cracked, and he looked away as he drew a deep breath.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You keep using your magic as if there’s no cost demanded of you, but there is. There is and I can’t . . . you almost died, Irina. I almost lost you this time.” He was back to searing her with his gaze, and an uncomfortable sense of guilt heated her cheeks.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“How would you know? You’ve been unconscious for three days. Three days!” He pulled sharply at his already crooked collar as if it was choking him. “Your heartbeat was irregular. Your breathing grew so shallow the second day, the physician told me to have the maids pull out the black crepe to make mourning bands for the staff.”
“Well, he was wrong. Remove him from his post and—”
“He wasn’t wrong.” The finality in his voice silenced her. “You expended so much energy and caught one boy. Was it worth almost dying?”
“I had to.” She found the strength to sit up straight and leaned toward Viktor until she could feel the warmth of him against her skin. “Viktor, I had to. The rest of the village was loyal to me. They were ready to help me find the mountain girl. But this boy ran. Why would he do that if he wasn’t going to warn her? If he didn’t think she was the princess? I’d lose her and have to start all over, and I can’t. If Lorelai is alive, I have to find her and destroy her before she tries to destroy me.”
Slowly, so slowly she could’ve moved away if she’d wanted to, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her body swayed toward him, finding a home against his chest where she fit perfectly within the circle of his arms. Warmth that had nothing to do with the burn of magic rushed through her, sparkling like champagne in her veins, and she grabbed his mangled collar and pulled him closer.
He made a rough noise, tilted her head back, and kissed her with a desperation he only ever showed her when they were alone. Gone was the calm, unflappable Viktor who managed the castle’s affairs with a steady hand. In his place was a man full of fierce longing and need who kissed Irina like she was the air, and he was drowning.
For a few heartbeats, she let herself feel it. Let herself believe it. This could be hers. All she had to do was say the word, and she wouldn’t be alone.
She wouldn’t be alone, but there would be a price for that. There was always a price. Her father, who loved her sister best, had taught her that. Her uncle, who crushed her dreams by breaking Morcantian protocol that stated the eldest daughter was to be married first and letting Arlen have Tatiyana for his bride instead of Irina, had reminded her. And Lorelai, the little princess with the power so like Irina’s own, had carved that lesson deep into Irina’s heart with the knife of utter betrayal.
She pulled away from Viktor.
He looked at her, the desperate longing still raw in his eyes, and said, “What do you need? Just tell me what you need.”
Her fingertips itched. Her palms burned. The memory of Lorelai’s betrayal obliterated the warmth she’d felt while kissing Viktor, and the awareness that tingled at the edge of her power rushed forward.
Lorelai.
“Bring me my mirror, please.”
The moment her palm touched the mirror’s surface, magic sparked from her fingertips and the swirling gray depths of the mirror began to move faster. Her hands shook, her skin clammy as she gave the command.
“Mirror, mirror, your depths I scry,” she said as power gathered in her palms and leaped toward the glass. “Show me the princess Lorelai.”
The white light of her magic spiraled into the swirling gray of the mirror, and suddenly there she was—lying on a blanket inside a tent, her eyes closed, a black man with his back to the mirror bending over her, and an enormous gyrfalcon perched just inside the tent’s entrance. Her skin was as white as snow, her lips as red as blood, and her long hair as black as ebony.
“Lorelai,” the queen whispered. She looked up at Viktor, her voice shaking. “She’s alive.”
FIFTEEN