31. At the Queen’s Behest
Chapter thirty-one
At the Queen’s Behest
T he next morning brought colder weather and with it an invitation to breakfast from the queen. Solveig didn’t dare ignore it, not when she held a tight grip on her future. She dressed quickly, before heading to her mother’s central wing, stopping dead in her tracks when she entered the circular tearoom.
Prince Emmerich sat at the table, sipping a steaming cup of tea. Solveig’s lips curled around her words as she spoke, “You again?” she yanked out a chair, the legs scraping across the tiled floor.
“Desperate times, Princess,” he said, taking another sip before placing his teacup back on the saucer delicately. “Hated to go over your head, but this is bigger than you or me.”
Solveig eyed the prince, taking in his dark curls where the sun had revealed hidden strands of gold and red within as they lay in a disarray across his forehead. His white shirt wrinkled to the point that she thought he must have slept in it. She shoved the image away. Reluctant to think of the prince in bed, somewhere within the castle. His smooth tan skin covered by velvet sheets, curls tangled, face relaxed, safe within the realm of dreams. No, she absolutely could not think of him that way. As something entirely human. He was a means to an end to her, and she had to keep it that way.
Asta cleared her throat as servants placed a pot of tea and a tray of breakfast food before the princess. “There’s a Manifesting Ceremony at the temple today,” the queen said with a pointed stare. There appeared to be bruises beneath her eyes, discolouring her otherwise pale skin, her hair pulled back hurriedly. The queen did not appear at all herself today.
“As a representative of the Hydromancer’s Guild, mother, I was already aware.”
“Good. Take him with you.” Asta flicked her gaze to the prince as though there was any mistaking who she was referring to.
“You think it’s wise to give him intel on the inner workings of our society?”
“Solveig,” the queen warned, “you are working to discover why our kind are dying. What better place to start than the moment their powers first manifest? Now eat quickly, the ceremony begins in a few hours, you must not be late.”
Solveig remained silent, knowing any argument was utterly pointless. Instead, turning her attention to the prince, who still sat happily drinking his tea, her eyes narrowed on the cup in his hand. She inched closer to him, all the while keeping her eyes on her mother, who sat barely a few feet away, reading her morning correspondence.
“I’d stop drinking that if I were you,” she whispered in his ear, pointing to the cup he still held.
Emmerich paused, his eyes searching hers as he swallowed another mouthful. “Why?”
She shrugged, before rearing back suddenly, watching to see if her mother had noticed, but Asta stayed focused on the papers in her hand, oblivious to the warning. Her eyes met the princes once more before flicking to her mother and then back again. Emmerich followed her gaze. Placing his cup down as though he understood her silent warning. Turning to ask a nearby servant to fetch him a glass of water instead.
Solveig stood in the castle entry way, picking at the fragmented edges of wood in the door where her dagger had landed days ago. Now here she was, about to escort her target out in public, to the Temple of The Oracle, no less. Teris had dressed her in a demure blue, long-sleeved gown that kissed the floor as she moved. Her cuffs remained visible at her wrists.
They had clipped a veil to her hair, ready to be draped over her face once they arrived at the temple. As a leader of the Hydromancers Guild, Solveig was required to dress similar to the acolytes of the temple, for the Manifesting Ceremony at least. It was symbolic. A prominent position within your elements’ guild was akin to being as close to The Oracle as the Temple Leader. Specifically chosen for the balance you would help bring.
“What’s so interesting about that wood grain?” Emmerich drawled as his perpetually booted feet stomped unceremoniously down the wide stone staircase.
“I was imagining how much better it would look if I’d stained it with your blood.”
A smirk spread across the prince’s face, eyes shining bright. “Aren’t we about to embark on a holy excursion? Surely, it’s blasphemous to talk of bloodshed.”
Solveig spun to meet him head on, taken aback slightly to find him standing closer than she had first thought.
“You,” she scoffed, incredulous. “An outsider, presume to tell me how to best serve…” Her words trailed off as her eyes finally took in what he was wearing. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, head falling backward slightly.
“What?”
“You lecture me about the appropriateness of my thoughts when you intend to visit a temple, dressed in that.”
Emmerich’s gaze swung down to his scuffed and dirt encrusted boots. Scanning up the leather pants, sword holster, black v neck ruffled shirt, and leather jacket that still sported the hole she had decorated it with.
“TERIS!” Solveig shouted, her voice echoing along the bare stone walls. “You’ll have to change immediately. I cannot escort you into the temple dressed like some rogue who wandered in from the battlefield, half drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” he laughed, though he did not deny the rest of her assessment, as Teris appeared atop the staircase.
“Thank The Oracle,” Solveig muttered.
“You needed me, ma’am?”
“Yes Teris, please take the prince upstairs to change,” her gaze flicked back over to him, “you’ll find him something more suitable to wear in my chambers. Quickly, if you please, I fear he is purposely attempting to delay us.” She eyed him with suspicion and the sly grin he responded with told her she was right.
Teris hurried the prince up the stairs and out of sight without a word. Ten minutes later, he returned, dressed in a pale blue tunic atop black trousers and polished shoes. His skin glowed against the colour. She’d also taken a few minutes to slick the prince’s curls away from his face.
“Happy now?” he asked, flinging his arms wide as he spun slowly for her approval.
“Much better. Now come along.”
They sat in silence on the brief carriage ride over, neither catching the other’s gaze, content to be silent in each other’s company. Soon they came to a stop and Solveig hit him with a sudden glare, “You do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your head down and we might make it through this.”
“Careful, Princess, I wouldn’t want anyone to think you cared what happened to me.”
“I’m more concerned about having to spill your blood on the white temple floors if you do or say anything against The Oracle inside their holy house.” Solveig could feel his ardent gaze rake over her.
“Are you carrying, Princess?” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The prince groaned in response. “You’re just tempting me to find out where you’re stowing those daggers in that conservative get up.”
“I didn’t think I would have to say this to you, of all people, Prince. But I am engaged.”
“Oh, I know,” he laughed, leaning in closer to get a waft of her lotus flower scent. “I’m simply enjoying that blush creeping over your cheeks. It makes you look more alive.” He flung the carriage door open, ignoring her orders completely as he held out a hand to help her down. A job that was supposed to be reserved for her betrothed.
Yet Solveig gripped hold of Emmerich’s hand regardless, a small gasp escaping her throat as she felt a strange warmth bring life back to her icy fingers. She thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of a knowing stare within the prince’s eyes, but had no time to ponder when she heard someone clear their throat. Her gaze snapped up, colliding with Gabriel Orson’s, his jaw clenched tight as anger simmered beneath the surface.
Solveig tore her hand away from the prince’s. “We should head inside,” she said without meeting his eyes, as Gabriel helped her pull the veil over her head to conceal her face. He placed her arm through the crook of his. Leaving Emmerich to be escorted in by one of the many waiting acolytes. All the while, Solveig couldn’t ignore his burning gaze on her retreating form.