46. Soren
Chapter forty-six
Soren
Princess Aris sits alone at the breakfast table when my mother and I arrive. Delicate arrangements of food spread along the table, overflowing with fruits and fish and tea cakes. Morning sunlight streams through the open windows, casting the room in a warm glow. Aris turns at my entrance, teacup in hand, her lips still pursed mid-sip.
“Happy wedding week, Your Highness,” the queen says, her voice light and sweet. “What a splendid ball last evening. I look forward to another one tonight.”
Aris rushes to her feet, dropping into a curtsy. Her head dips heavily, her hair elaborately coiled, save for one strand that’s escaped the nest.
No sign of the shadow-guard. I suck in a jagged breath. Did she take the necklace and run?
I ball my hands into fists. Hugo’s fingers brush my shoulder in warning. I force the tension from my hands, unfurling each knuckle one by one.
I will not believe it. Enna is simply late.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. We are absolutely delighted by last night’s success, aren’t we, darling?” Aris’s voice rings with an air of falsehood, too sweet. The pageantry plays on.
“Of course.” I clear my throat to dispel the knot forming there. “Looking forward to continuing the merriment this evening.”
If I cannot find that necklace, I’ll be stuck dancing with Aris at a pre-wedding ball every night this week until the full moon. Four days from now.
I slide into my seat beside my mother, avoiding Aris’s gaze under the guise of selecting my breakfast. I pile food onto my plate until I run out of space, then pop a lushfruit into my mouth, chewing slowly as an excuse not to talk.
My mother eyes me sideways. With excruciating attention, she straightens the dainty necklace at her collarbone, then eyes me again.
Across the table, Aris plucks obliviously at a piece of cake, stabbing the cinnamon sponge with her fork. Her hand curls around the handle oddly, her knuckles overlapping, and I squint. Odd that a princess wouldn’t know how to hold a fork. She lifts the cake to her mouth with a smile, slipping the tines between her lips.
The doors open with a clatter, and I look up to see Enna push through. My heart climbs into my throat at the sight of her—hair dripping wet and wild, those eyes sharp and focused, dressed in nothing but her loin cloth and a knot of reedgrass around her breasts.
She is here.
“Apologies, Your Highnesses,” she mutters. “I seem to have overslept this morning.”
Water drips from her hair onto the marble floor, splattering in a soft symphony. She moves slowly, testing the weight of each step as she approaches the back of Aris’s chair.
Aris stiffens. Her jaw clenches, then grinds as if she needs to chew her words before letting them out.
“Ah, there you are,” she says.
“Yes, here I am,” Enna chirps, too happy for a casual tone. She’s only made it halfway to the table. Her hands twitch at her sides, hanging limply. Her brow furrows. Her gaze meets mine, liquid lava. Something is wrong.
Aris turns. “Come now,” she says with a hint of annoyance.
Finally, Enna stops behind Aris, grimacing. With careful fingers, she tucks a stray pin into Aris’s hair.
My body lifts, and the legs of my chair scrape loudly on the floor as I stand to my full height. Porcelain clatters as my mother nearly drops her teacup. I ignore her, gesturing to the remaining open seat at the table—the one next to me.
“Please, join us, my lady,” I say.
Three pairs of eyes snap to my face—my mother’s darken, Aris’s flash, Enna’s burn with purple flames. In her three weeks here, not once has she joined us for a meal, aside from the tavern. The shadow-guard smiles coyly, stepping around the table carefully until she reaches the open seat. Aris and the queen track her movements like she might explode. I pull out the chair and help Enna into place, signaling for table service. My fingers brush her shoulder, her skin still dewed with seawater. Aris’s hand clenches around her fork.
“Good morning,” I murmur. I sink into my chair, tasting the words, wishing them into being. Enna came back to me. It must be a good morning. I place my hand on her knee.
She stiffens, staring at the back of my hand. I squeeze her knee, soft and reassuring. Whatever is wrong, I will help her get through it. I’m here.
But she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes lock on the edge of the table, glazed. She fumbles with the pouch tied to her hip, fingers digging deep into the leather cavity. Her spines lift out of their sheath.
“Soren, darling? Are you quite all right?” I look up to the curious gaze of my betrothed.
Mother taps her spoon on the porcelain edge of her teacup. She frowns at me and fidgets once more with her necklace.
I drop my gaze back to the pouch, to Enna’s fingers now pinching a long, golden chain. Slowly, she places the shell pendant into my palm. It warms at my touch.
I close my fingers around the shell. She stole this from my room last night, and by the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what she was doing. Somehow, Enna learned the magic of this necklace and decided to take it for herself.
My knuckles pop from the pressure of my grip around it. Did she use this weapon on my people? What was she doing with it in the reef?
Enna brushes my wrist, her touch soft and timid. I assess her gaze once more. Those purple eyes swim with a chaos of emotions—sadness, confusion, fear—like she might burst any moment. The corners of her eyes prick with moisture. Her bottom lip quivers, and she mouths, Please.
At that word, my anger melts. Enna may be vicious and unpredictable, mysterious and guarded, but she’s never struck me as malicious. In her heart, she is good. I can feel it. And she knows Aris better than anyone in the room.
There is no turning back now.
“Aris, darling, I have something for you. A little early wedding present, if you will.” I bring the pendant to light. The metal rests against my palm, glowing softly at my touch.
Aris’s eyes widen in delight as I hold the necklace out for her admiration. I’ve only ever heard the rumors of Eero’s spell, never seen it in action. What will the pendant do when the princess finally speaks?
While Aris flutters in a show of excitement, Enna’s body turns to cold stone. Her hands grip the table, her bare knuckles bone white. The spines in her arms lift, long and wicked.
Aris lets out a delighted gasp. The pendant warms in my hand, and the room holds its breath.