by Coco Ma
Luna shivered. “So we reveal her in front of all the royals at the ball. But how?”
“That,” Eadric said, patting a distinct bulge in his chest pocket, “will be up to me.”
Three hours later, Luna stood in a room of strangers. Orion sported a new haircut, jet black and cropped close to his skull. He stood even shorter but stockier, a cleft in his chin and a fearsome scowl etched between his brows. At his insistence, Luna inked a tattoo of a serpent onto his neck, a symbol of his allegiance to his temporary new kingdom, its head curled beneath his earlobe, a ruby tongue flicking the cartilage of his ear. The rest of the reptile disappeared beneath the collar of the elegant black getup that Laurel, the wily Elite who Eadric had described as “the only person in the world capable of stealing the boots off your feet,” had delivered just that morning. Both Asterin and Quinlan were clad in identical outfits, and with Orion, the trio matched perfectly.
Rose had been tricky—the ball would be her public debut as Queen of Eradore, so her appearance had to be kept as true as possible, since whatever face the guests saw would be the face they recalled on future occasions. Luckily, because Rose had taken such care to keep her face hidden from the Axarian court, it was unlikely that anyone would recognize her at all, save the Elites. All the same, Luna managed to project a layer of illusion over her face, so that her features blurred slightly unless examined at close range. Just in case, Luna thought.
She helped Rose into the ball gown that Laurel had snuck right out of Asterin’s closet back at the palace. The Queen of Eradore did a slow, admiring twirl, the streaks of gleaming silver beads and jewels on the bodice cascading all the way down the skirts to the floor like fallen stars. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I know that dress,” Asterin said. “It was too big around the bust.”
“But it fits Rose perfectly,” Luna said. So perfectly—so queenly, that it took her breath away.
Rose laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m wearing my combat suit underneath it.”
Luna couldn’t help but smile as she hung Rose’s cloak around her shoulders, transforming the black fabric and crimson underside to a deep plum and trimming it with gold. Lastly came Asterin’s tiara. Luna replaced the rubies with sapphires and adorned it with flourishes of white diamond.
Once the preparations for Rose’s outfit were finished, Eadric helped Luna fold the dress back into the box. Afterward, he hefted it into his arms and went downstairs to send it off with Laurel, who would deliver it to their next destination—the lavish Grand Hotel. A royal carriage that would take them to the palace was scheduled to collect them at six in the evening.
Finally, there was Asterin. Luna spent nearly two hours altering her best friend. She widened the cut of her jaw and forehead, dipping the bow of her mouth, stretched the crease of her eyelids and the arch of her brows. She bleached the ebony from Asterin’s hair and began layering in a faded brown from root to tip. In the likely event of combat, Luna decided that the more Asterin’s opponents underestimated her, the better, so she made the princess’s frame willowy, delicate. She looked breakable, even though the muscles and strength were still there, hidden beneath the surface of the illusions.
“Do you want to take a break?” asked Quinlan when Luna took a moment to roll the tension from her shoulders. “We’ve still got more than enough time.”
Luna ignored him and asked Asterin, “Any preference for eye color?” Even now, despite the rest of the disguise, those emerald irises belonged unmistakably to the Princess of Axaria.
“Whatever is easiest for you,” responded Asterin.
Luna’s jaw clenched. “Right.” As she began to work, she tried to forget the way her stomach had twisted at Asterin’s comment. Whatever is easiest for me? She could do better than that. So much was at stake here. Maybe she couldn’t call lightning or summon waterfalls, but she could help in her own way. The least she could do was try, do whatever was best for everyone—not easiest.
Lips pursed, she pressed the pads of her thumbs into the outer corners of Asterin’s eyes. Slowly, the bright green neutralized, stripped to a glassy, clear hue. Luna injected spurts of muddy brown, struggling to control the tiny amounts of magic she allowed to escape, perfecting the little details until the muscles in her shoulders throbbed in pain.
Her fingers trembled as she put on the finishing touches—a spray of freckles across Asterin’s cheeks, a handful of scars across her brow, neck, and arms. Another tattoo, reminiscent of Orion’s.
When at last she withdrew, the room had fallen silent. Luna had a feeling that even if Queen Priscilla stared at the girl before them for days on end, she would never guess her true identity.
Quinlan appeared at Luna’s side, holding out a glass of water. “Drink, Luna,” he murmured.
She felt sore just raising it to her lips. When she returned the glass, Quinlan’s eyes lingered on her trembling fingers before flicking back up to meet her stubborn gaze.
She tucked her hands behind her back. “I’m fine.”
“Sure,” he replied.
Luna collapsed into the armchair that Quinlan had vacated, sighing loudly in satisfaction to cover the true extent of her exhaustion. Much to her relief, the first part of the plan had been executed successfully.
A wild grin rose to her face. For once, she felt useful. For once, she had actually made a difference.
Over by the fire exit, Eadric reached inside his jacket, pulling out a little pocket watch. “Two hours to rest,” he said, focusing on anywhere and everywhere but Luna.
Her next swallow was like a mouthful of ash. She understood his worry, she really did. But she wasn’t a porcelain doll, for the love of the Immortals! Who was he to treat her as if she were made of glass? If Quinlan had shown up, battered and bloody, she doubted Eadric would spare him a second glance. And yet, here she was, with an infinitesimal tremor in her hand, and Eadric couldn’t even look her in the eye.
Luna took a deep breath, fighting down the rising resentment. She refused to hold it against him. I’m just tired, that’s all, she thought. Throat tight, she drew her knees up to her chest and stared blankly through the window by Harry’s head.
Bruised purple and gray clouds threatened the sky over the city, but it was the palace atop the mountain shining in the distance that drew her gaze. Clouds smothered the topmost turrets, but the palace only seemed to stand brighter against the soot-stained horizon, a beacon of light resisting the inevitable darkness.
Thunder rumbled off into the distance, promising an oncoming storm.
Let it come, Luna thought. She was ready to taste the rain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Priscilla folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at the angry clouds gathering on the horizon, her breath fogging up the great glass windows of her bedchamber. Rubbing the fog away with her palm, she stared at her reflection. With a heavy sigh, she swept her fingertips across the bags beneath her eyes, glaring at herself.
She was beginning to look old.
A sharp knock sounded from afar, and a moment later Carlotta poked her head into Priscilla’s chambers. “My queen, His Royal Majesty King Jakob has arrived.”
Priscilla’s heart leaped. She took a final glimpse at herself in the mirror across the room, her figure bathed in a golden halo from the glow of the chandelier. Her tiara threw crystalline shards of light with every movement, sitting perfectly atop platinum curls her maids had spent two painstaking hours plaiting and styling. Just getting her into the gown had taken all afternoon.
If things went as planned, all that work would go to waste. Hopefully, King Jakob would be in a favorable mood—and how could he not be, after fifteen years?
Priscilla hurried through the adjoining antechamber and over to the general, who waited in the sitting parlor, polishing a scuff on her boots.
Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Your Maj
esty, are you quite sure you don’t want to send for him? It’s hardly right for a queen in her own palace to heed the beck and call of anyone else.”
“No, Carlotta,” said Priscilla, turning her nose up in the air. “It is simply good manners to welcome him in person.”
“As you wish it, my queen,” the general grumbled.
It wasn’t a long walk to the quarters King Jakob occupied—in fact, they were right beside her own. No one had used them since Tristan’s death, but Priscilla thought it more than appropriate to allow Jakob to use them. After all, those quarters were meant for a king.
Priscilla gathered herself in front of the double doors, Garringsford still at her side, and shot a quick glance at the pair of soldiers standing guard—one Axarian and one Ibresean. She rubbed her suddenly clammy palms together and smoothed down nonexistent rumples in her newest pearl-white silk gown. In her daze, she watched her hand rise seemingly of its own accord, as if it belonged to someone else. Her fingers splayed against the wood, caressing it. And then she knocked.
Her hand hadn’t even fallen back to her side when the door swung open.
Before her stood the King of Ibreseos in all his intimidating magnificence, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. He had slicked back his sandy blond undercut, and his signature heavy crown glinted atop his head. He had grown a beard in the time they had been apart—fifteen years ago, he’d only ever allowed the faintest golden stubble to grace his chin.
“Queen Priscilla,” said King Jakob, his expression unreadable.
Her heart pounded faster at the sound of her name on his tongue. “Welcome to Axaria, King Jakob,” she said, pleased with the evenness of her voice.
Jakob stepped aside and beckoned to her. “Where are my manners? Please, come in.”
A warm flush of excitement crept up her neck, mind already whirling with flashes of bare skin and cries of pleasure. “Carlotta, you may leave.”
Carlotta, to her credit, didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Once the general had departed and Priscilla had seated herself beside Jakob near the hearth, she spoke at last. “I daresay you’ve gained weight, Jakob,” she teased with a smile. “Too many sweetcakes?”
When his expression didn’t so much as soften, just as unreadable as before, something cold settled in her gut.
“Perhaps,” he replied at last, voice gruff.
She couldn’t help but frown at his response. Before, he would have teased her back, eyes twinkling, the smirk she had missed for so many years rising to his lips. He would have grinned, seized her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist, gazing up at her through his lashes with those lovely cornflower-blue eyes …
“The beard suits you,” she tried.
His hand—oh, those lovely, broad fingers—ran through his beard briefly. “Thank you.” A small smile reached his face, finally, and his eyes focused on something far away. The familiar crease between his thick brows faded for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking about. He hesitated, returning his attention to her, and suddenly she did not want to hear his next words, but by then it was too late. “Adrianna suggested I grow it out.”
“Adrianna?” Priscilla echoed in disbelief. “You still speak to her?”
He nodded. “We’re getting married.”
She stared at him.
And stared.
And then she threw her head back to the ceiling and burst into hysterical laughter. Relief flooded her. He was just playing, she thought. Oh, Adrianna, you poor sad thing.
Expecting Jakob to join her but hearing only silence, Priscilla paused long enough to glance at him.
He was glowering at the wall, jaw tight and eyes stormy with annoyance.
She felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach clenching as her relief vanished just as quickly as it had come. What sort of cruel joke is this? she wondered. Her fingers curled into fists around her skirts. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” he replied, the two words a poison. “In fact, the main reason I came to Axaria in the first place was to personally invite you to the wedding.”
“Of all people …” Priscilla trailed off, thinking of the girl who had once been the sun to her moon. Her shock quickly dissolved into despair. “But … but what about us?” she demanded.
Jakob’s eyes hardened to ice. “What about us?” he asked. “There is no us, anymore, Priscilla. There hasn’t been, not for years. Not since Elyssa died—”
“Do not say that name,” she spat. “After everything I did for you? You’re just going to throw me away?”
Jakob suddenly took her hands. “Of course not,” he said, and his demeanor shifted, softening. The slightest flicker of hope filled her as his touch heated her to the core. She leaned forward. He gave her a kindly smile. “I will always cherish you as a dear friend.”
Priscilla felt her heart, her life, her entire world shatter at those words. Yanking her hands away as if he had burned her, she stood and stormed over to the door. She rested her fingers on the handle, so cold after the warmth of his touch. “I will never be your friend. That was Elyssa’s job.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll make you regret this, Jakob.”
“For the sake of old times,” Jakob implored, “let us be friends. We will have a wonderful time at the ball together, and I truly do hope that you will honor Adrianna and me with your presence at our wedding, Priscilla. You know how much it would mean to her—”
She scoffed. “It would mean nothing to my sweet, sweet baby sister.”
“Priscilla—”
“Do you know how many letters Adrianna has written to me?” she hissed. When Jakob didn’t respond, she went on, voice trembling with fury. “Two. In nearly fifteen years, she has written two letters to me. And not once did she mention your … relationship,” she sneered, chest heaving. “Nor have you, for that matter. Since when have you ever had any interest in her? The last time I checked, the two of you bore nothing but disgust and hatred for one another.”
“We did,” Jakob agreed, running a hand down the back of his neck. “But it’s been fifteen years, Priscilla. It was time I moved on.” He looked up, eyes filled with genuine pity. “It’s time you move on.”
She shook her head. “My dearest sister best watch herself.”
In a flash, Jakob was out of his seat. He covered the space between them in five strides and towered over her, expression thunderous. “Taunt me as you please, but do not threaten her in my presence. Touch her, and I promise that no one will ever hear from you again.”
Priscilla’s jaw dropped. “You dare speak to me like that?”
He swallowed, mouth thinning. “I apologize.” To her disbelief, he took a step away. The old Jakob would never have backed down like some weak-hearted craven. “That was most tasteless of me.”
Her hand tightened on the door handle. “After all the pain and struggle I went through to do what you asked of me …” She almost choked on her unshed tears. “You have no right.”
Jakob grimaced. “Perhaps not. But look where you are now.”
“I would undo everything to have you back,” she whispered shamelessly, and the tears fell down her face. “I should have stayed a pathetic, powerless duchess. I should have never left you. Then we would have been together and happy forever.”
“But you never made me happy either, not truly, even back then,” he told her softly, brushing a hand across her cheek. “It’s not your fault.”
Priscilla slapped his hand away with a smack that echoed like a cannon blast in the silence. “No.” She gritted her teeth, seeing red. “You’re right. It’s all her fault.”
“This has nothing to do with Adrianna—”
“Not her, you fool. Elyssa. She deserved to die sooner, before she birthed her little brat.”
Jakob glowered. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt the g
irl. I heard that she wouldn’t be at the ball. Where is she?”
Priscilla’s lips curled upward. “You promised that you would love me forever.”
“Where did you send her, you blasted woman?” Jakob seethed.
“She’s gone. Just like Elyssa.” Priscilla wrenched the door open, darting outside before he could grab her. She found Carlotta waiting in the corridor, ever the loyal hound, but she signaled for the general to heel when the woman started forward with a hand on her sword. Her smile widened at Jakob’s infuriated growl. There was no chance in hell that he would try and lay a finger on her now. “But don’t worry,” she went on. “You wouldn’t have been able to help her, anyway. And besides …” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s time you moved on.”
With that, she slammed the door in his face and strode away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
About an hour before they were due to leave, Quinlan slipped out of the Singing Sword and into the bustling streets to hunt for food. The trade district was a maze of avenues and winding alleys, throngs of people crowding every shop and corner. He passed jewelers, florists, and brewers of ale and brewers of potions galore. He navigated through an entire street strung lamp to lamp with arrays of scarves and shawls of every color and design imaginable. On the next street he briefly peeked into a shop boasting knives with blades as sharp as Ignatian steel. False, of course. His nose guided him onward until the street unfurled like a great flag into an open market, mouthwatering scents and sights spreading before him like a personal feast as he drifted in a trance to the first food stall he saw, his stomach rumbling loudly.
The back of his neck prickled as he paid for a cheese pastry and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. He glanced backward and caught a shadowy blur darting out of sight behind a cart of fat green melons.
Frowning, he continued on his way until he found a vendor selling beef skewers. He ducked beneath the cheerful, orange-and-white striped awning decorated with lines of faerie lights and flower baubles in the spirit of Fairfest. He handed the vendor some coins, one hand casually perched on the hilt of the dagger at his hip, waiting for some poor fool to slip a hand into his pocket.
