The Starlight Heir

The future king of Oryndhr’s face is beautiful in repose. His hair has been trimmed, his body washed and groomed, and he’s clothed in rich garments. I wonder wryly if his inner circle thinks he’s going to wake up and want to have a coronation ball straightaway. The Imperial House certainly has a skewed idea of celebration.

I glance around—the chamber is full of advisers and specialists, as well as the aldermen of the four houses—all sworn to secrecy, of course, and there’s no chance that anyone’s going to listen to me about getting a minute alone with him. The Imperial House is not going to let the future of Oryndhr out of their collective sight, not while he’s still breathing. If he dies, there’ll be anarchy in the non-blooded succession of a new monarch. The houses will be at war.

My gaze coasts over a familiar face. Helena, one of the chosen from the arena. That seems like a lifetime ago. Her haughty, icy gaze meets mine, hostility burning in her eyes. Clearly, she hasn’t gotten over her issues where I’m concerned, but that’s on her, not me. I can’t believe she’s still here, but her father is the alderman of Regulus. It makes sense that she’d be at court. A few women from the contest surround her, all watching me with varying degrees of envy and enmity.

Wonderful.