Castles in Their Bones (Castles in Their Bones #1)

Sophronia

The wedding happens more quickly than expected. No sooner does she arrive at the palace than she is accosted by a group of servants and shoved into a gold silk gown that fits her perfectly. She has a thousand questions on her lips, but as she is herded down the Temarinian palace’s gilded hallways there is little opportunity to ask them, and she is suddenly so nervous she worries that if she opens her mouth, she won’t be able to control what comes out.

Two guards stand at the end of the hallway, and when they see her and her retinue of maids approaching, they offer low bows before pulling open the tall filigreed doors behind them.

The royal chapel is full with more people than can count, all dressed in elaborate finery—embroidered gowns of bright silk, tailored suits edged with precious metals, and so many jewels that ’s eyes hurt just looking around the room. It’s almost enough to outshine the night sky above, showing through the glass roof. When she looks up, she understands the haste. The sky is littered with stars in their various constellations, but can make out the vague shape of the Lovers’ Hands—a constellation that is said to look like two hands clasped together, though can never quite see it. Regardless, it is the sign of romance and unity and an ideal sign to marry under. Already, she can see the Stinging Bee rolling into view from the east and the edge of the Wanderer’s Wheel encroaching from the south. In just a few more moments, the Lovers’ Hands will be gone.

quickens her pace as she walks past hundreds of Temarinian courtiers, feeling their eyes on her all the while, toward where Leopold is waiting at the front, dressed in a suit of white and gold with a yellow satin sash over one shoulder and a gold crown around his brow. With his suntanned skin and burnished bronze hair, he looks every inch the gilded king.

She has imagined this moment more often than she would ever admit aloud, even to her sisters, back when Leopold was a hazy idea made up of pretty words on paper. She thought she would be giddy to find herself walking toward him, that she would catch his eye and they would smile at each other, and the rest of the chapel would fall away.

But the truth of it is not so romantic. She’s far more aware of the crowd around her, their heavy gazes and murmured words, than she is of Leopold, and even when he does catch her eye and smile, it doesn’t feel like a comfort. It feels like a lie.

Which is a good thing, she reminds herself. It is a lie, and so is she.

reaches the front, coming to stand beside Leopold, who takes her hand in his. She barely hears the royal empyrea—Valent, she remembers from her lessons, Temarin’s version of Nigellus—give his speech about partnership and unity and the bright future of Temarin. He places a hand on Leopold’s shoulder and a hand on hers.

“It is time for blessings,” Valent says, looking from one to the other. “Your Majesty, what do you wish of the stars?” he asks, his gaze settling on Leopold.

Leopold tears his gaze away from and looks at the empyrea, clearing his throat.

“I wish the stars to grant us trust and patience,” he says, the words unwavering.

’s heart stutters. Trust and patience. It is what a peasant might wish for on their wedding. Every wedding she has attended among the nobility in Bessemia brought less sentimental wishes—many were blunt enough to simply wish for children, but others wished for wealth or fortitude. She has heard men wish for their wives to stay beautiful and women wish for their husbands to stay faithful. But never has she heard someone wish for trust or patience, let alone both.

Her own prepared wish suddenly seems crass— I wish the stars to grant us prosperity. Her mother worded it for her, crafted it to seem about their marriage as well as Temarin as a whole. Now, though, it doesn’t seem right at all. Saying that will make her sound cold. Her mother has always said that the best-laid plans are the most adaptable ones.

“I wish the stars to grant us love,” she says, holding Leopold’s gaze. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she worries it was the wrong thing to say, that it makes her sound too na?ve or unworldly, not at all like the queen she will be in just a few short moments. But then Leopold smiles at her and the gathered crowd lets out a cacophony of sighs and pleased murmurs and realizes that the lovestruck princess is exactly what they all want her to be.

Valent lifts both of their hands up toward the stars, tilting his head back the way she always saw Nigellus do when he communed with the stars on her mother’s behalf.

“Stars, bless this couple—King Leopold Alexandre Bayard and Princess Fredericka Soluné—with trust, patience, and love as they are joined together under your holy light as man and wife.”

There is thunderous applause as Valent releases their hands and Leopold kisses her in front of the entire court. It is a chaste thing, just a brush of lips that barely lasts a second, but it’s enough to seal their vows and make her now, officially, Queen of Temarin.

—

Afterward, at the wedding ball, sits on a throne beside a husband who is far more of a stranger than not, and she can’t stop stealing glances at him while the dance floor below fills with whirling courtiers dancing in a jewel box’s array of silks and sipping from delicate crystal flutes of champagne. In his wedding regalia, grinning like a fool, Leopold is so handsome and boyish that can’t quite reconcile him with the king who had children thrown in prison just a few hours ago.

Unaware of the torrent of thoughts tearing through her mind, he takes her hand in his and kisses the back of it, letting his lips linger just a second too long on the silk of her glove.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

Yes, she should say, but after all the letters they exchanged, she suspects Leopold knows her better than almost anyone, so she offers him a shade of truth.

“It’s a bit overwhelming,” she says, lowering her voice to a murmur. “I only entered Temarin this morning, and now I’m its queen. And we’re married. A few hours ago, we’d never even met in person. It all happened so quickly.”

Leopold frowns slightly. “Do you wish we’d waited? I thought—”

“No,” she says quickly, offering him a smile she hopes is bright enough to mask the lie. “No, I’m glad to be your wife, and your queen. I’ve been looking forward to it for so long. It’s just so much change in such a short period of time. It almost doesn’t feel real.”

He smiles back and shakes his head. “I know what you mean,” he says before pausing. “Do you remember what I told you about when my parents took me on a trip to the Cellarian border to meet my uncle Cesare and my cousin Pasquale for the first time?”

nods. Pasquale will be Beatriz’s husband, if they haven’t already married. She remembers comparing her letters with Beatriz’s, noting how the two princes expressed similar feelings of excitement and nervousness about meeting each other, though Leopold had sent five full pages, while Pasquale barely managed to fill one.

“I looked forward to it for months,” Leopold says. “And the entire week of the summit passed in a blur. I know I had fun, I remember playing on the beach with Pasquale and hiding under the banquet tables at night so that we could avoid our bedtime, but it all went so quickly. That’s a bit what this feels like.”

bites her lip. He sounds like the boy who wrote her letters. But that boy doesn’t exist, and neither does she, really. Not the he thinks he knows, at least. If he knew her— really knew her—he would run away screaming. But strangers or not, it is their wedding, and she is meant to be the lovestruck young bride. “Then we should ensure that we enjoy every moment of it,” she tells him.

Leopold grins and rises to his feet, pulling with him. “A dance, then?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” says, following him out onto the dance floor, where the other couples give them a wide berth. The orchestra begins to play a glissant —’s favorite. She notices Leopold watching for her reaction. “You told them to play this for our first dance,” she says, her smile feeling slightly more genuine.

“It’s your favorite,” he says, lifting their joined hands and settling his other on the curve of her waist. She rests her free hand on his shoulder and they begin to twirl across the dance floor.

It feels like she’s danced with him a hundred times before.They move together perfectly, and though has danced more dances than she can count over the years, this is the first time she’s truly felt comfortable with a partner.

Love is an illusion and a weakness, her mother is fond of saying. And I will not tolerate weakness.

shudders.

“Are you all right?” Leopold asks, concerned.

“Fine,” she says, a little too brightly. “Just tired—it’s been such a busy day.”

Leopold looks like he doesn’t quite believe her, but before he can press her further, the song comes to an end and there’s a tap on her shoulder, and she turns to see a boy of around fourteen with the same bronze hair and sharp features as Leopold.

“I was wondering if I might have the next dance with my new sister?” he asks.

smiles. “You must be Gideon,” she says, letting go of Leopold’s hand to take his. “And I would be honored.”

“Try not to break her toes, Gid,” Leopold says, pressing a quick kiss to ’s cheek before leaving her to dance with his brother.

The orchestra begins to play a much faster devassé, and lets Gideon sweep her through the quick steps and turns. He’s a couple of inches shorter than she is in her heeled slippers, but they make a good go of it and by the time the song ends, is breathless and giddy, and then Leopold’s other brother, Reid, is there to take the next dance. He is barely twelve and blushes madly the entire time, tripping over his own feet twice and hers three times.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to her, staring down at the floor studiously. “This is the first ball I’ve been allowed to attend—Ishould have paid better attention in dancing lessons.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him. “At my first ball, I knocked over a bowl of punch and then slipped in the puddle. The court spoke of nothing else for an entire week.”

Reid glances up at her and smiles shyly. “I’ve always wanted a sister,” he admits.

“We’re a good match, then,” tells him. “You with two brothers, wanting a sister, and me with two sisters, wanting a brother.”

He smiles at her, looking somewhat more relaxed. When the song ends, she’s intercepted by a tall, stately woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a sweeping chignon, topped with a demure tiara. Even without it, would have recognized her from the sketches made by her mother’s spies: Queen Eugenia—the dowager queen, now that is here.

She thinks of her mother’s instructions, the specific ideas on how to push Temarin into war with Cellaria. Leopold rules Temarin, but Eugenia’s hand is in every action he takes. In sowing tensions, start with her—many have not forgotten their hatred of the onetime Cellarian princess.

As stands before Eugenia now, she finds herself unimpressed. She expected Queen Eugenia to have the same energy as the empress—the kind that radiates power and influence. But if she weren’t wearing a crown, suspects the dowager queen would all but disappear.

“Your Majesty,” says, dropping into a curtsy.

“ Your Majesty,” Dowager Queen Eugenia replies, one corner of her mouth quirking up in an amused smile as she dips into her own curtsy. She glances at her youngest son.

“It’s time to say good night, Reid. It’s past your bedtime,” she says.

“Yes, Mother,” Reid says, giving one last bow before skittering away.

“You must be positively exhausted after the day you’ve had, my dear,” Queen Eugenia says, guiding off the dance floor. “I’ve sent Leo to fetch some water for you, but would you like to sit with me while we wait for him?”

“That sounds lovely,” says, following Queen Eugenia back toward the thrones. A servant is quick to bring another chair for Queen Eugenia and set it beside ’s, and though it looks plush and comfortable, is all too aware that a year ago, the throne she is sitting in belonged to Eugenia.

“You and Leo seem quite taken with each other,” Queen Eugenia says.

“I feel so relieved,” tells her, remembering that the dowager queen was once in her position. She knows she can endear herself to her through that connection. She lowers her voice to a whisper, like they are two friends sharing secrets. “You wouldn’t believe the thoughts that went through my head—that he would be hideous or cruel, that all this time it was his valet writing me those letters.”

“I’m sure he had some similar thoughts,” Queen Eugenia says. “Stars know I did when I came here close to two decades ago, though I admit I was…less relieved.”

She says the words carefully and glances at her with a furrowed brow, as if she doesn’t already know how unhappy their marriage was. “In his letters, Leopold mentioned that his father could be a difficult man,” she says cautiously.

“We came to understand each other, eventually,” Queen Eugenia says. “Admiration and respect grew, even if romance never did.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this—just to say you aren’t alone, I suppose. I’ve been where you are now, only younger and with a husband who terrified me, in a court full of people who hated Cellaria after a decade of war, and hated me for my association with it.”

tries to imagine what that was like—fourteen years old, in a strange and hostile land. Eugenia hadn’t been raised for it the way has been, trained from birth in Temarin’s language and customs, taught to navigate court politics and control every situation she found herself in, taught not just how to survive in a foreign country, but how to conquer it. Eugenia had only been a girl—young and frightened and cut off from everything and everyone she knew.

“When I was young,” Queen Eugenia continues, “my mother told me that a queen always hopes for sons—not just to ensure the line of succession, but because it’s easier. Sons you can keep, daughters you only borrow. I don’t think I understood her at the time, but I never saw her again after we said our goodbyes on the Cellarian border.”

thinks of saying goodbye to her own mother just a few days ago. Had the empress been sad to see , Daphne, and Beatriz go? It would only be a year, but that was a year longer than they’d ever been separated before.

“Perhaps I was lucky, after everything,” Queen Eugenia says, giving a smile that reminds her of Leopold. “I had three sons. None of them will be sent off to foreign lands, never to be seen again. And now, I have a daughter I get to keep.”

Queen Eugenia takes ’s hand in hers and squeezes it, sending a bolt of guilt through , though she manages to hide it with a smile.

“I would not wish my first years here in Temarin on anyone, , and I will do everything in my power to ensure you have an easier time than I did.”

A lump rises in ’s throat and she looks down at their entwined hands, suddenly struck by the urge to cry. She has known Queen Eugenia for only a few minutes, butalready the queen has shown her more affection than hermother ever has. It will make it that much harder to betray her.

—

It’s nearly dawn before and Leopold are able to escape the party and make their way to their bedchamber. It’s the first time has seen it. The room is large, with a ceiling so high it is cast in shadow. The walls are painted a soft cream color, complemented by gold molding and polished oak furnishings. The oversized four-poster bed is dressed in gold silk.

The bed.

In all the chaos of the day, nearly forgot to worry over this. She is a married woman now, and that marriage isn’t official until it’s consummated. Her mother has emphasized the importance of consummation so often, knows it by heart. If their marriages aren’t consummated, nothing else they do will matter. The sooner it is accomplished the better.

“Alone, finally,” Leopold says. He takes her hand and pulls her toward him, into a kiss. It’s nothing like the kiss they shared during the wedding ceremony—that was only a quick press of lips; this is something so much more. Leopold kisses her like he wants to devour her, his arms twining around her waist to hold her close. And she finds herself kissing him back, even enjoying the feel of his mouth against hers. There was a time when she looked forward to this.

She knows what comes next. Her mother sent and her sisters to lessons with courtesans so that they wouldn’t freeze in this exact situation. She learned all about the mechanics of the act, but nothing can prepare her for when his hands move over her hips, up the curves of her waist, when her hands move of their own volition, sinking into his bronze curls, anchoring his mouth to hers as if she will die if he stops kissing her…

Then she thinks of those thieves—those boys —in the woods. She imagines them huddled together in a cold, dank prison somewhere, frightened. She thinks about the blood and tears of Leopold’s people, the people he doesn’t care about at all. He cares about her, that seems obvious, but it isn’t enough to erase the rest. It isn’t enough to dull the repulsion she feels when he touches her.

And that is why she forces herself to break the kiss, bringing a hand to Leopold’s chest to put some space between them.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s been such an overwhelming day and I’m so tired and we don’t really know each other yet, do we? Can we…wait?”

She almost expects him to say no—the courtesans told her and her sisters that some men could be forceful—but instead Leopold smiles and kisses her forehead.

“Don’t apologize. We have the rest of our lives, . We’ll only sleep,” he tells her, nodding over her shoulder to one of two gilded doors. “Your dressing room is through there—there’s a bell you can ring to summon a maid to help you change into your nightgown.”

watches him leave through the doorway to his own dressing room, relief flooding through her. Soon, the marriage will have to be consummated. But not tonight.