13
I spent the afternoon attempting to read another one of Celestine’s books.
I’d failed to read a thing. All I’d been able to think about was the wolf prince’s unveiled intent.
But my shame was not enough to keep my mind from revisiting his touch at my shoulder—the odd way he’d treated me. Nor was it enough to stop me from remembering the thickened state of his abrasive voice.
I want to kiss you again.
A lie. Undoubtedly. And yet—
Celestine knocked my elbow with hers. “You’re very quiet.”
I dug hard at my pigeon pie. “Just tired.” Once I was sure my cheeks were not stained, I looked at her and noticed some color had returned to her own. “How are you?”
She opened her mouth, then frowned and glanced behind us.
Though Darcen spoke low, I still caught some of it. “…smug this evening.”
There was no need to turn to know who he was speaking to. Prince Voran was the only one at the back table with him. Apparently, they were no longer eating in silence.
I stilled, but threw my eyes at Celestine.
“You haven’t heard?” Leaning close, she whispered, “Rosedon Manor has been taken. Meront received word from Father this morning.”
Tyressa’s home.
That explained why Meront hadn’t spoken since joining us.
I looked for the youngling, usually seated near the stairs, and was relieved to find her shoulders shaking with laughter. She didn’t know.
That might have been about to change.
I winced at Darcen’s raised voice. “People were hung by their feet from trees, their skin so flayed by claws that many were identified by their scent and hair, yet you sit here among us…” His chuckle lacked humor. “Seeking protection.”
My spine locked.
“You may be unaware because you also sit here in this illusion of safety, but that is war,” Voran said blandly—eerily so. “Violence.”
Shame dripped through my veins. I clenched my hands beneath the table. Prince Voran’s uncle, his fellow wolves, had mutilated our people.
And I’d spent a portion of my day tending to him.
“You think I do not know what war is?” Darcen seethed.
“You certainly seem surprised by the intel you’ve received. Speaking of…” Voran said, “I thought correspondence with anyone during our stay here was not allowed.”
“We are allowed,” Darcen shot back. “Being that you’re the precious royal mutt of the enemy king, you’ve likely been told otherwise.”
Silence.
Then, “You know, I’ve never been fond of fish.” Gone was the apathy in Voran’s voice. It had been replaced with low, crisp warning. “But I will eat it all the same, mermale.”
Wood screeched over stone.
The harsh sound quietened the prayer hall and drew all eyes to the arguing princes, including my own. Meront cursed. Our cutlery rattled as he leapt over our table before Darcen could reach Voran.
He shoved Coraldeen’s prince back. “He’s not worth the repercussions.”
Voran remained seated. “No need to stop him.” Appearing utterly unperturbed, he cut into his pie. “If he can actually grow a tail and gills in salt water, he’ll manage just fine in those sea cells.”
Meront snarled.
“And I could do with some fun.” Voran grinned like the wolf he was—exposing plenty of his bright teeth in challenge as he chewed.
Darcen stormed out of the prayer hall. After another withering look at the enemy prince, Meront followed. Priestess Yla arrived, demanding answers. While everyone quickly returned their attention to their meals and murmurs arose, I stared at Voran.
He stared back, his smile slowly falling.
Celestine sighed. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She stood. “Please come get me if my brother decides to do anything stupid.”
I’d lost my appetite too, though not for the same reason.
The next morning, Darcen and Meront ate their breakfast among the younglings.
I surmised Darcen had done so to gain distance from Voran, and more from Celestine. If she was bothered by it, she didn’t let it show.
She spoke quietly about a fight she’d overheard between Alixa and Priestess Renisha. Supposedly, Alixa had been caught leaving Meront’s room, and she’d told the priestess she’d wished to inquire about his well-being after the argument at dinner last night.
Except Meront hadn’t been in his room.
“I wonder why Meront is sitting with Darcen and the younglings,” I said, not wanting to believe he was avoiding me.
If he didn’t want to kiss me again, that was fine. We were friends. There was no need to ignore me. Of course, it stung. Only a little, seeing as I didn’t quite know how I felt about kissing him again anyway.
“He’s been acting strange ever since,” Celestine waved her spoon, “you know.”
Since her fated connection to Darcen had been revealed.
I frowned at my oats. “Has he been unkind to you?”
She shook her head and swallowed before speaking. “No, just…” Her nose twitched. “A bit odd. Distant. I suspect he doesn’t know what to say.”
“I have felt that way, too,” I admitted.
She smiled at me. “Don’t worry.” Scooping more oats, she said, “I wouldn’t know either. But at least you haven’t been distant.”
“Never.”
That earned me another smile, and as we finished eating, I did my best to keep from looking at the stairs.
I hadn’t seen Voran.
Unless he’d opted to eat as soon as breakfast was served, it seemed he was skipping it. The events of the previous day had kept me gazing at the window long into the night, and when I’d slept, it had been so light that I’d woken with every hoot from an owl.
I fed the gardens, pleased to see Tyressa smiling and unaware of what had befallen her estate—perhaps even her family—then I went to the courtyard to await a word with Meront.
But he was no longer there.
I waited until Darcen finished sparring with a youngling, then approached him. “Do you know where Meront is?”
He shrugged. “Probably went to take a piss.”
“I saw him go inside,” Oaken said.
Darcen trudged to the rack of wooden swords. As he removed short swords from the long and placed them back where they belonged, I tried to decide whether I should wait. Meront seldom spent much of his day indoors.
After hearing it for the past few hours, the clatter of wood began to grate. So I crossed the courtyard to the open doors.
Beyond them were the laundry, wash, and well rooms. He wasn’t in any of those. Nor was he in the kitchens or the prayer hall. He wasn’t in the west wing, where most wards took respite during the day. I continued my hunt until I reached the east wing, and quietened my steps when I heard something.
Muttering.
It was choppy. I could only make out a couple of words.
Curious, I followed the sound down the walkway between numerous aisles. Up here, bookshelves had been crammed so close that only one person could fit in an aisle at a time. The exception was the last one, brighter and wider due to the arched windows facing the books.
That was where I saw him.
Tucked just within that last aisle, Prince Voran leaned against the stone windowsill, a book in hand.
Scarcely breathing, I stopped in the walkway. Gaps between the rows of books provided glimpses of him.
His booted feet were crossed at the ankle. Dark silver hair curtained his cheeks, the rest ready to leave his loose braid at the slightest touch. His brows slashed low as he stumbled on the word frivolous.
Over and over, he failed to read it correctly. When he gave up and moved on to another word, I remembered the book of rhymes in his room.
The prince of Valadorn couldn’t read.
“A good spy you would not make, broshklin,” he said, softly and without removing his gaze from the book. “Not unless you learn to tame that wild heartbeat.”
A flush rose rapidly into my cheeks.
Of course, he’d caught me. This wing consisted of two upper levels. He’d likely heard my arrival before I’d even left the rickety stairs to the second floor.
It emboldened me to creep closer and gently state, “You cannot read.”
He’d known I was here, and he hadn’t tried to hide it from me.
“My father started teaching me before he was gruesomely murdered, but my uncle…” Closing the book, he said, “Let’s just say he prefers physical strength.
” He gazed down at the book’s gold title and swept his hand over it.
“Looking for something to read?” An edge now coated his lilted voice. “Or perhaps someone?”
Stunned by how much he’d told me, though it wasn’t actually much at all, and the mere mention of his father’s murder, it took me some moments to understand what he was really asking.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” I said, not unkindly.
He hummed. Though his head still inclined toward the book, I saw his lips wriggle. “The golden prince, then.”
I didn’t confirm or deny. I had no desire to talk about my friends with him.
After what had been revealed in his room and at dinner, I shouldn’t have been talking to him at all. The shame and fear that had kept me from sleeping well returned, and with force that made my stomach quake.
As if sensing my increasing unease, Prince Voran slowly lifted his gaze. “You will not find him here.”
Holding those stormy eyes worsened the noxious feelings—until it felt like acid had entered my very veins. Mercifully, I’d spent enough time among influential and high-ranking people to recognize a dismissal.
I made to leave.
Tauntingly, he said, “Fleeing again?”
“Well, you did just dismiss me, so…” I turned back to give him a shrug.
His brows clashed. “I said your prince is not here.”
The urge to tell him that Meront was not my prince sat like something sour on my tongue. Clasping my hands before me, I smiled tightly. “Exactly.”
As though he now understood, his frown gradually eased. He huffed and shook his head. “If I want you gone, I will say as much. I won’t hide it within other words.”
Oh.
Regardless, I’d lingered long enough. “Lunch is almost ready.”
His jaw clenched. He pushed off the sill to put the book back on the shelf.
This was my chance to leave.
Before I could take it, Voran spoke. “What you said about taking advantage of you…” He returned to the windowsill. “Precisely what did you mean?” Leaning against the stone once more, he watched me.