Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
We leave the dance floor, making our way to a large open space beside the main pavilion where a performance is about to begin—an artistic representation of the legend that this celebration is centered around.
And just like that, I’m reminded, all over again, of where I am. Of the bloody and wicked history of this brutal kingdom, and what a dangerous game I’m playing by pretending I could be its queen.
My head throbs and my stomach aches, but I carry on, sitting down with the king on one of several benches that have been arranged for viewing purposes.
Prince Arlo makes his appearance just before the show starts, wiggling himself between the king and me. He watches everything with a wide-eyed expression, and I try to pay attention to his reactions more than the performance—because he doesn’t make me sick to my stomach.
But despite my best efforts, I find my gaze drawn far too often to the dazzling display before me.
The dragon-shaped kites rise as the last bit of the sun bleeds from the sky, silk panels of red and gold catching what remains of the light.
There are dozens of them, their tails curling and snapping against the darkening blue.
A hush falls over the area as the performers begin to work their lines in tandem, guiding the kites in sweeping arcs to tell their story.
There are dozens of staked torches outlining the perimeter of the performance area. When the finale arrives, they flare to life all at once, igniting the colors of the kites, and for a blinding moment, it really does seem as if the dragons have harvested the sun in the name of the king.
Arlo falls asleep soon after this fiery display, his body curled against his brother and his hand holding mine. A servant eventually comes and gathers him up to carry him inside; he’s so exhausted, even after so little interaction, that he doesn’t even stir as the servant jostles him about.
Concern gnaws at me as I watch his too-still body be carried off. I can tell Reave is worried, too, though he says nothing.
We sit silently for a while longer. His hand rests casually on the bench beside my own. People come to us in waves, making small talk and offering endless compliments, trying to curry favor with us.
As the hour goes on, Reave’s touch inches closer, until one of his fingers is curled around mine. Not for the sake of appearances—because no one else can really see our hands, hidden in the shadows of our bodies and the cascading fabric of my dress.
I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.
Or if he realizes what it’s doing to me.
An involuntary shiver courses through my body when he eventually stands, trailing his touch over my hand as he goes.
It’s more than just the chill of the settling night, but I don’t protest when he takes off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders.
He’s walking away before I can find my voice, anyway, off to give a short speech to his guests.
I sit alone, wrapped in the wintry-sweet scent of him, studying my surroundings.
Briar appears to have made several friends.
She’s surrounded by a group that includes the princess—who’s actually laughing.
Briar is probably more than a little drunk by this point, but I don’t begrudge her the chance to have fun.
It’s been too long since we’ve relaxed at all.
There’s always tomorrow for more strategic talks and scheming, I suppose.
That group of nobles who cornered me earlier do the same to Reave as he finishes addressing the gathering, pouncing on him the second he steps down from the platform he’d been speaking from.
I try to tell myself I don’t care; we’ve given a convincing enough performance for the evening, haven’t we? I don’t have to be the center of his attention at all times.
But then I notice Lady Desna throwing a glance my way, her hand smoothing the collar of Reave’s shirt as a chirpy, annoying little laugh bubbles out of her.
Something flares in my chest, something hot and…gods, I don’t know. I don’t want to think too hard about what that something is.
So I don’t.
I just follow the urge to get to my feet and march myself over to them.
Reave tenses as I place a firm hand on his wrist. The conversation comes to an awkward halt, and for a brief, terrible moment, I think maybe he’s gotten tired of our game—that he’s going to pull away from my touch and reprimand me for stepping out of line.
I swear the music has gotten quieter, and dozens of heads have turned to watch us, waiting for my humiliation.
Then the king does pull free of my grip…only so he can casually slide his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers more tightly than he has all night.
“If you’ll excuse us.” He gives a polite dip of his head. I follow his courteous lead—though there may be a touch of smugness in my expression when I look up and give Lady Desna one last glance before walking away at Reave’s side.
“A rather possessive move, interrupting me like that,” he muses, drawing us to a stop as we come to a large magnolia tree, its shadow providing us with some measure of privacy. “Some might think you were jealous.”
“I’m only trying to make our act believable.”
He lets out a quiet laugh at his own words being used against him, then turns to face me, slipping a hand around to my back. “Of course, now the question becomes…how do we keep making it believable?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
His fingers trail along my back slowly and deliberately, tracing the gold designs edging the dress’s opening while he lifts his other hand to cup my face and angle it toward his.
“A hint of affection will suffice,” I whisper, close enough now that our noses bump. “It will fuel their imaginations well enough…that’s what you said, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” His lips barely part with his next words, as though he didn’t truly intend to let them out: “Though I might be regretting that statement, now.”
I start to give a teasing reply, but I go still at the hunger that flashes through his eyes. At the obvious desire smoldering in their depths. He looks as if he’s a heartbeat away from claiming my mouth with his, regardless of who’s watching us.
And I’m horrified by the realization that part of me wants him to do exactly that.
I force myself to take a step back. The tiniest of steps.
I desperately need space, but I’m determined not to ruin the careful performance we’ve been giving all evening.
It’s like balancing on the last patch of solid ice, feeling the cracks threatening, knowing it’s dangerous both to move and to stay.
I briefly close my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to recalibrate.
When I open them again, the yearning in his gaze is almost enough to drive me fully, immediately back into his arms.
Luckily, he blinks the emotion away quickly—fast enough that I can tell myself I was only imagining it. But he’s still agonizingly close. The air between us hums and crackles with uncertain, unspoken things.
Kestrel and Briar save me before the standoff becomes too disastrous, swooping in and claiming they’ve been looking for me.
Kestrel playfully scolds her brother for hogging me.
Sparkling laughter rises from everyone within earshot.
I’m not fooled by her words; I know she’s just providing me with a gracious excuse to put space between myself and the king, a natural exit that won’t make a scene, that won’t have people talking tomorrow.
After pulling me away, she parades me around and introduces me to more people. She’s exactly like her brother: a player on a vast stage, perfectly reciting her lines, never missing a step.
Or exactly like I thought her brother was, at least.
But the way he was looking at me a few minutes ago…
It didn’t feel rehearsed.
It felt dangerously unscripted.
“Are you okay?” Briar whispers.
I’m about to reassure her that I am, when suddenly I turn my head and find Reave’s eyes fixed on me, even though he’s surrounded by others who appear to be trying to have a conversation with him. He looks away quickly. But the damage to my composure, to all my carefully laid plans, is already done.
“Owyn?” Briar prompts.
No.
No, I’m not okay. I’m lightheaded, confused, dizzy from questions that I don’t really want the answers to.
Why is he searching for me across a crowded space?
Why am I looking back and meeting his gaze—and why does my heart stop when I do?
“I’m fine.” I give my best friend a weak smile. “You know I hate being the center of attention, that’s all. I just need to find somewhere quiet to clear my thoughts after all of this.”
“Go ahead,” Kestrel says, her usual sharp-eyed appraisal somewhat softer. I can only assume it’s the copious amount of alcohol she and Briar have consumed that’s making her so willing to protect me. “Others are beginning to leave, anyway. I can make an excuse for you.”
Briar gives me a long, searching look. Her frown is etched deep, but she knows me well enough to tell when I’d rather be alone, so she doesn’t follow when I turn and walk away.
I end up on the path Reave and I took the other day, strolling along the creek to the same small sitting area as before. Settling down on the bench, I stare at the moon’s reflection in the rippling water. My thoughts race. I absently trace the symbol Malachi and I shared—once a source of comfort.
Now it just makes me more confused.
At some point, you have to move on from the ones you’ve lost. I know that. If I’d carried every piece of my parents, of Mal, of everyone who’s died…the weight of it all would have pulled me under long ago.
But sometimes it feels a little like betrayal, allowing myself to keep living in spite of them. To laugh, to love, to hope. And this…whatever this is that’s stirring in my heart whenever I look at the king…how could I possibly let myself feel it?