by K. A. Tucker
The heels of his boots click against the marble as he approaches, his attention on adjusting the cuffs of his jacket and not on me. “Where is Corrin?”
“She said she had things to do in the kitchen.” I add under my breath, “Thank God.” She made me stand before the mirror in my bedchamber and practice my curtsy for a half hour straight, calling me everything from lout to heathen until she was satisfied I could pass for regal.
“Is her help not appreciated?”
“I guess, but so is privacy.” I practically had to chase her out of my bathing chamber—a windowless, marbled room with an elegant tub in the center. Sculpted especially for the queen, Corrin made sure to inform me, an opulence for the royal household, as are the flushing toilets. “I thought she was going to climb into the bath with me at one point.”
“Princess Romeria’s staff did everything for her.”
“Well, I’m not her. I’ve told you that.” And there is far more truth to that than he will ever realize.
“And I told you that you will need to learn how to be her.” Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet mine before it shifts to my dress. Corrin was right in that the design suitably covers my scars, the gold embroidery cinching around my neck in a fitted decorative collar, the three-quarter-length sleeves opaque. But the plunging keyhole neckline coupled with a snug bodice that pushes everything up does little to hide much else.
Whatever Princess Romeria was, she wasn’t modest. And while I’ve worn my share of risqué outfits, having Zander’s attention on me now makes my heart race. The same questions as always cycle through my mind. How many private memories of this body I inhabit does he have? How many private moments with his body have I had that I am entirely unaware of?
I’m beginning to think complete ignorance will be my saving grace in all this. “How is Elisaf?”
His hazel eyes flip back to mine, his expression unreadable. “Wendeline is tending to him. It was a superficial wound.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I saw his bone.”
He sighs, as if searching for patience with a petulant child. “I meant, it was made with a basic steel blade. Not one like this.” He pulls his jeweled dagger from the scabbard at his hip. “Remember this one?”
“How could I forget.” I flex my hand where the faint line remains.
“I had no choice. I had to ensure you wouldn’t use the river to attack us.”
“And maiming me would stop that?”
“Pain would, yes. You cannot channel your affinity through it.” He approaches, holding the dagger for me to get a closer look. The silver gleams like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “The blade is forged with merth, meaning it takes much longer for your wounds to heal and scars are inevitable. Though, apparently, minor on you.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “And if you had been successful at distracting me and lifted this weapon from my scabbard as you were intent upon doing, and then stabbed me with it, the wound would’ve been much more difficult to treat. Depending on where you hit me, possibly fatal.”
So Zander was aware that I tried to steal it. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try again?”
“I think you’re smart enough not to.”
True. Now that I’ve seen firsthand how talented he is with a weapon, I can appreciate how foolish my attempt was. Are all elven as skilled as he is?
He slides his dagger back into its place at his hip. “Do your injuries still hurt?”
“Not really. Tight more than anything.”
“Perhaps Wendeline should take another look.”
“I thought her talents would be far better used elsewhere.”
“Do you plan on throwing back every word that’s ever escaped my mouth?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see what I remember.”
“Which is quite a lot, ironically.” He smirks. “Are you wondering why I’ve moved you here?”
“No. I understand.”
“I’m glad you haven’t lost your keen skills for deception.” His interest drifts over the mantel, the flowers, the furniture. Everything but me.
“So what’s the plan?”
“As I expected, the rumors are running rampant in the court. You will meet me in the throne room shortly to receive your formal absolution for all crimes. Tomorrow, Wendeline will begin helping you fill in holes in your memory, so you can at least appear to have some knowledge of who you are. You will smile and listen and not speak.”
“At all?” A princess who defers to her betrothed on all matters of the court.
“As little as possible,” he amends. “Should someone attempt to make contact, you will tell me.”
“Of course.” I have no reason not to.
He wanders, his fingers absently grazing a bloom in an urn. “Word that you are alive will reach your mother quickly, which is precisely what we want. She will not try to cross the rift with an army if she thinks you are still manipulating me. She would much rather claim this throne through duplicitous schemes than bloodshed. She will also likely attempt to contact you through her network of spies.”
“She has spies here, in Cirilea?”
“Surely, just as we have ears in Ybaris. They are not the most reliable or connected, but they are better than nothing.”
I frown. “How do you have contacts over there?”
“That is not your concern.”
I sigh. Another secret to add to the list.
“You will not be permitted to move about freely. Elisaf will be your escort any time you leave this suite.”
I expected as much. I wouldn’t let me roam freely either, and Zander is strategic, not stupid. I don’t mind having Elisaf as a permanent sidekick. “Sounds simple enough.” Not a necklace or ring to be lifted.
“Fooling some of the Islorian lords and ladies will be anything but simple. Though you did it once already.” His jaw clenches. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? That Princess Romeria fooled him too? “While in public, we will appear as if all is forgiven, and we are still very much enamored with each other. I assume that won’t be a problem for you. If the tower is any indication, you are more than capable of pretending, even without your memory intact.”
He’s not going to let that go anytime soon. “And what does being enamored entail exactly?”
“Take my arm when we walk, hold my hand occasionally. Pretend we enjoy each other’s company. We used to spend time walking the grounds in the evenings. I suppose we should begin doing that again. Though, for both our sakes, we can make sure your performance is far more respectable this time around.”
My cheeks grow hot, given what I suspect those cedar hedges and leafy corners are privy to once the sun slips beyond the horizon.
I’m not the only one, I’m relieved to note, as a slight blush mottles Zander’s cheek.
“Holding hands. Got it.” And nothing more. “Corrin mentioned a wedding. It’s just talk, right?”
“The king is expected to have a queen by his side to rule, and we have to give people something to look forward to. But we will push it to Hudem, under pretenses of proper mourning for the late king and queen. That will give us time to ferret out anyone within the castle who was working with you and buy time with your mother.”
That’s the night of the next blood moon. “And what happens if this traitor doesn’t come forward by then?”
“They will. They must.”
“But if they don’t …?” I press.
His gaze skitters over my dress again. “Then I suppose Islor will have its Ybarisan queen. At least, in appearance.”
I feel my eyes widening in shock. He’s saying I’ll have to marry him?
“Unless you’d prefer to go back to your confine—”
“No. It’s fine.”
His brow is furrowed tightly. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” He looks no more thrilled by the idea of marriage than I am.
But my opportunistic mind works quickly. “Would we be going into the nymphaeum too?”
His eyebro
ws pop with surprise.
“Wendeline mentioned it,” I add.
“Then she would have also mentioned that there is only one reason for us to go there.”
Two reasons, one of which you know nothing about. “I know.”
His teeth grit. “I would never force that upon you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not a monster, despite what you think.”
Is there nothing Wendeline didn’t repeat?
Marrying him is bad enough, but somehow convincing Zander that I want him to take me there might be my best chance for snatching that stone. Malachi could whisk me away with his godly powers before I’m required to consummate anything, and I can put all of this—including my marriage to a king—behind me.
But I am a snake to him. He still doesn’t trust me, even if he believes Wendeline’s version that the old Romeria is gone. He would never fall for that a second time.
Still, if there is some way the new Romeria can win him over … it might be my only opportunity.
His lips are pressed flat as he regards me a moment. “If there’s nothing else, I will see you in the throne room. Try to act like the future queen and not some boorish laborer imbibing at the tavern.” He strolls stiffly toward my door, pausing when he reaches it, his back to me. “Corrin was the queen’s lady maid and confidante—a rare position for a mortal. She feels responsible for what happened to them because she did not see it coming until it was too late. My mother trusted her implicitly, which is why I also trust her. That she was willing to take on your care despite her anguish is a testament to her love for my family, and for Islor. Perhaps you can keep that in mind when you show such casual disregard for her services.”
He leaves without a second glance, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.
Chapter Fifteen
Elisaf stands next to a coat of arms, dressed in his formal uniform, gripping the hilt of his sword with the arm that Zander nearly hacked off earlier.
I can’t help but beam as we approach him, my relief temporarily overwhelming the nerves churning in my stomach.
He bows and announces, “I will escort Her Highness from here per the king’s orders.”
Guard—I still haven’t learned his name—doesn’t need to be told twice. He offers a curt “Your Highness,” and marches away.
“I don’t think he likes his current assignment,” I mock whisper.
“I think you may be correct.” Elisaf falls into step beside me. “But Her Highness seems delighted.”
“I’m happy to see you’re not dead. I was worried about you.”
He offers a bashful smile. “No need to worry yourself. The priestess is more than capable of managing a mild wound.” He lifts his arm as if testing it and winces a touch.
“Right. Mild. And would Wendeline have been able to reattach your arm?”
“I do believe that would have been more problematic.”
I shake my head at his glibness. “And you’re not the least bit annoyed at your friend for maiming you?”
“My friend’s thoughts are weighed down by many challenges presently, one of which I’m leading into his throne room. I do not begrudge him for his miscalculation. Besides, I knew his head wasn’t clear. I should have stopped it.”
We turn down a grand hall, empty save for the royal guards that bank the sides every third gold pillar, standing sentry. At the end of it is a tall set of double doors that I assume is my destination. The rash of nerves that have accompanied me since leaving my suite come back with a vengeance. “What exactly does ‘receiving my formal absolution for all crimes’ mean?”
“His Highness did not explain?”
“I think he was more concerned with getting away from me as quickly as possible.”
Elisaf mutters under his breath. “Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?”
I groan. “You don’t have to ask me that.” I’m about to scream with all these formalities.
With a slight head dip, he lowers his voice. “Most of Islor’s immortal population despises Ybaris. Some of the more powerful lords and ladies openly challenged this union to begin with.”
“They don’t want peace between the two countries?”
“Peace is not so simply secured through a marriage. Our history is fraught with hatred that is deeply ingrained. It took great effort by King Eachann to convince the court this arrangement would be beneficial to Islor, but after what happened here and what Neilina did to her own husband, those lords and ladies will not be swayed again. Others want to believe but are wary. And now there is no benefit unless you and Zander can negotiate with Neilina.” He hesitates. “The Islorians have grown accustomed to living a certain way, and they fear change. They want the power of the casters returned to Islor, but they deem a union between you two is a trick for Neilina to seize our land, and the most recent assault only confirms that.”
“But he’s the king. Does it matter what they want or say?”
“He is the king,” Elisaf echoes. “No, he does not need their permission, but he also cannot rule a realm as vast as Islor on his own. The lords and ladies are the stewards of this land and its people. They ensure crops are sown and harvested, taxes are collected, and the king’s laws are upheld. Their soldiers may be bound to the king, but first and foremost, they are loyal to those they know. If the nobility does not respect the monarchy, ruling over Islor becomes more difficult for Zander. His laws are not upheld without challenge, uprisings and rebellions stir, allegiances with enemies prevail.”
“Like with Lord Muirn.”
“And whoever else feels they can do a better job of ruling in his place.”
“Are there others?”
“Always.”
“And could they? Rule better, I mean.” It’s a provocative question.
Elisaf’s firm “no” followed by a resolute head shake and a stern expression tells me he believes it wholeheartedly. That, or he would never want to be caught saying otherwise.
“Zander must make a formal declaration in front of them all, as king, that you are innocent, and that you will be queen of Islor.”
“And then they’ll accept it?”
“No. But it is a first step and one he feels he must take to travel down this path he sees himself heading.” Worry blinks in Elisaf’s brown eyes.
We’re approaching the doors, and I feel ill-prepared. Elisaf slows, bowing toward me to ensure only I can hear what he has to say next. “Walk in there with your head held high as your evil Romeria would. Do not speak more than necessary and do not forget proper salutations. The last thing the king needs is Boaz losing his temper and barking at you like some feral dog in front of the court.”
“I think that guy would kill me in front of the court if allowed.” Again.
“Likely. Though, he is not so bad.”
I can’t keep the soft snort from escaping.
Elisaf’s lips purse. “A plot unraveled beneath his nose that killed the king and queen he is charged to protect and ravaged a city his men are trained to keep safe. The burden he shoulders is heavy.”
I’ve been too busy despising Boaz for his cruel treatment of me, I never considered that. “He feels responsible.” As Corrin feels responsible, being a part of the queen’s staff whose duty it was to care for her. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he did kill me with that arrow.” I just didn’t stay dead.
Elisaf gives me a look. “He begged Zander to take his life as punishment for his failure.”
“That’s messed up.” But I suppose it speaks to Boaz’s honor and sense of duty. I’ve been so focused on my situation and how to be free of it, I haven’t thought about others within these walls who are in their own dreadful situations, still mourning losses. While I may not be guilty, Princess Romeria is, and that’s the only person they see when they look at me. I’m a conniving murderess within their midst, who they’re now forced to guard and feed and serve for the sake of Islor. Whether some invocation has wiped my memory or not means nothing to them. How w
ould I react in their place, other than with anger and hate?
I swallow against that sobering thought. “What did Zander do? I mean, besides not killing him, seeing as Boaz is still around.”
“Zander has few people he trusts. Boaz is one of them. He served King Eachann for the entirety of his reign, as well as his predecessor, never taking a wife, never fathering a child. That is a loyalty to the crown that you cannot buy for all the gold in the kingdom.”
“For how many years?”
Elisaf smiles. “I think you mean to ask for how many centuries?”
The set of doors parts then, distracting me from giving his shocking words the attention they deserve. Guards dressed in full livery push either side open, the strain visible in their faces and arms suggesting it requires strength. Beyond them, a grand ballroom and a crowd of well-dressed people stands between me and Zander, who sits in his throne upon a dais at the far end, his expression stony. He gestures at me with a slight wave of his hand. You may enter, he’s saying.
The muscles in my legs tighten, the urge to run overwhelming.
“I’ll be behind you the entire time,” Elisaf whispers. “Stop before the first step. Remember what I said.”
“That they all hate me,” I whisper back. “Got it.”
His barely concealed snort gives me a second’s respite from the tension coursing through my limbs. Taking a deep breath, I tilt my head and begin my trek forward, reminding myself that this is no different from slinking into a hotel ballroom full of strangers and pretending I’m someone else. Except I’m the center of attention, strolling down a makeshift aisle banked by a hundred people, all eyes on me.
If this were a job for Korsakov, I’d be quietly casing the situation and doing my best to blend in, not appear guilty. I do that now, trying to ignore the judging stares and buzz of hushed whispers, shifting my focus to my surroundings without looking enthralled. It’s difficult not to be. The room itself is magnificent, several stories tall and constructed in limestone and gleaming marble of every shade from ivory to ebony, the floor decorated in a swirling pattern. Busts of former kings and queens on pedestals fill the space between gold pillars.
