Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
It took Alethea an entire day to recover from using her gifts on Goran Arranil. She hardly had reason to leave her rooms, so her two handmaidens joined her in her sitting room and took turns attempting to distract her from her own thoughts.
The ceilings were painted to create an illusion of endless skies, while delicate white curtains billowed gently against the open windows, allowing sunlight to spill in and illuminate the room.
The bed, with its ornate white canopy and blue bedding, stood as the focal point.
The furniture, meticulously crafted from pale woods native to the island kingdom, was carved with intricate patterns and celestial motifs.
Luxurious blue carpets lined the floor, muffling footsteps and providing a comforting contrast to the white tiles.
It was a gilded cage.
It was also the last piece of her father she had. He had commissioned the room’s remodel for her sixteenth birthday. It was the one place she was free from her mother, as the queen never bothered her here.
Alethea spent most of her time in her rooms, dedicating herself to her small library. The many tomes she’d collected over the years granted her the freedom she longed for within the bounds of her own sanctuary.
Talia particularly enjoyed the romance section and had pulled a novel down from the highest shelf to read. Yet, despite the thrilling erotic tale, something else had captured the handmaiden’s attention, as she’d been lingering on the same page for a long while.
“What a dreadful affair,” Talia murmured, letting go a long, troubled sigh.
“What happened?” Alethea asked quietly. Millicent had set her up on a sofa by the open doors to the balcony, so she could enjoy the early-afternoon breeze, and now the handmaiden was attempting needlework in a chair opposite Talia. They were the very picture of three courtly young ladies.
Millicent cleared her throat in the middle of one of her stitches. “The execution of the Great Lord Arranil this morning. Well, former Great Lord, I suppose. What a gruesome event.”
Alethea’s stomach twisted. Her handmaidens knew of her abilities, of course—they were sworn to secrecy on both counts, her powers and anything she uttered because of them—but there was no way they could know of her involvement in the matter.
She schooled her features regardless. One of the few benefits of being so ill after using her powers was that Alethea had been spared the spectacle of Goran’s public beheading.
“I wish they would excuse us from the executions,” Talia added, turning the page of her novel to punctuate her remark. “The blood makes me faint.”
At the tender age of nineteen, Talia had a great interest in the romance in her books but floundered and panicked when it came to real-life courtship. It was a shame. Her coiled auburn hair and warm, tawny skin made her quite popular among the young noblemen.
“I know the feeling,” Alethea muttered, letting her head fall back against her chaise. Her stomach rolled with guilt to think of Goran Arranil’s fate. “Maybe we could… talk about something else.”
“I heard the queen is planning a trip to Rai’Sharr,” Millicent offered.
She and Alethea might have been mistaken for sisters in another setting, but Alethea’s blonde hair was long and curly—too long, spilling down to her thighs in waves that tangled and caught on everything—whereas Millicent’s hung straight, only reaching the tops of her shoulders.
Alethea’s eyes lingered there for a moment, on that neat, practical length.
There was something freeing about it, she imagined.
Her own hair had never been cut, not once in ten years; her mother would not allow it.
A symbol of their wealth and status, Zenobia always said.
Millicent had no mother to speak of, and sometimes Alethea wondered which of them had it worse—a mother who was an absence, or a mother who was a presence that suffocated everything she touched.
Talia lit up, lifting her eyes from the page for a moment, a sly smile crossing her face. “Perhaps to arrange a marriage for you, Your Highness.”
Alethea’s relief at the change of topic was short-lived. “To whom?” It wasn’t uncommon for her future to be discussed like this, but it never failed to twist her stomach.
Talia finally set down her book, a gleeful smile on her face as she made her guess.
“Who else? The Crown Prince Aureo Macierre, that’s who.
Oh, he is so dreamy. I hear he’s an incredible swordsman, a skilled hunter, and he even raises and trains his own hounds and horses.
Not to mention, he’s a fire mage. He’s the perfect prince.
Handsome, charming… did I say handsome? He’s six and a half feet tall! And he’s going to be Emperor.”
“That is entirely too tall,” Alethea groaned.
She was only a few inches over five feet.
“Can you imagine it? When we walk anywhere together, it’ll look like he’s kidnapping me.
” While she’d also heard those same rumors about the Crown Prince, she hadn’t seen him since they were children.
“And he’s seven years younger than me. Besides,”—she turned her head lazily to Talia—“it sounds like you are already in love with him.”
The handmaiden blushed, sinking lower in her chair and hiding behind her novel once more.
“When will you tell us what happened with Reingard?” Millicent asked, though Alethea wished she hadn’t. “You two seemed like such a good match, is all. He’s handsome, which is clearly important to Talia.”
“Yes, and he’s very well aware of how handsome he is.” Alethea longed for a book of her own to hide behind. The last thing she wanted was to go back over ancient history, but her maids were not as eager to let the past stay buried.
Talia waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “So handsome. And he’s the firstborn prince of Azmarin. You were so smitten with him! We all were, to be quite honest.”
Alethea tugged her hair over her shoulder, plucking at the end of the messy braid. “That was years ago. Whatever was between us is solidly over.”
“Is that so?” Millicent’s eyes sparkled with curiosity—a gleam that bordered on mischief as she reached underneath Alethea’s bed and pulled out a long-forgotten box, flipping the lid to show at least twenty opened letters. “Then why do you still keep all his letters under your bed?”
Embarrassment flooded the princess, and her pale cheeks flushed with color. “Gods save me now. I’ve just forgotten to throw them out!”
Talia burst into giggles as Alethea buried her face in her hands.
“Shall we go through them?” Millicent pried gleefully. Whether she was truly curious or just thought it would help distract her was unclear.
“I would rather throw myself from the tower,” Alethea groaned, but still, she managed a small smile. It was working, this brief respite from the burdens of her station, and for that, she was grateful.
Mercifully, Millicent put the box back where she’d found it, smoothing out the lush duvet afterward. Alethea made a mental note to burn those cursed letters. If only she hadn’t been too sentimental to throw them out when she’d returned from that ill-fated trip to Azmarin...
“I really thought you two were going to be married by now,” Millicent admitted, her touch gentle against Alethea’s shoulder. “I remember you seemed so... happy.”
If she didn’t know any better, Alethea would think Millicent actually cared. These ladies were the closest thing she had to friends, even though they were employed by her mother—which was something she’d learned well to never forget.
She tried to hide her frown, but as usual, she was unsuccessful in keeping her feelings from Millicent.
Once upon a time, the two girls had been closer than sisters, but after the handmaiden betrayed Alethea’s confidence to the queen, their friendship was never the same.
If it had only been the princess who’d suffered, that would have been forgivable, but an innocent man was rotting in the dungeons because of it.
Alethea shook her head. “That’s over now. Besides, it appears we have more pressing things to worry about. I have no doubt the trip to Rai’Sharr is to petition for Empress Illyria’s support against this brewing rebellion.”
For a moment, she wondered what such a rebellion would look like.
Would they storm the castle? Would they fight on a distant battlefield?
Just the thought of bloodshed had her stomach in knots.
Her mother had warned her their position as the sovereigns of Lenorea had been hanging by a thread for a decade now, but to Alethea, the prospect of rebellion remained an uncertainty, more akin to a ghostly warning than an immediate peril.
Talia seemed more than happy to share her thoughts on the subject of the mysterious rebel, bookmarking her place in the novel and holding it against her chest as she spoke. “Well, I heard Nakir Hasan is a horrible monster of a man. Horns, talons, fangs. And a terrible dark magic. Can you imagine?”
Millicent fixed her gaze on Talia, eyes narrowing. “Aeshlien aren’t monstrous by default—you know that. They’re just another bloodline, cursed to pay for Aeshma’s sins against his father, the Creator. May he rest in divine peace.”
Alethea kept her eyes down. Talia’s words reflected exactly the kind of fear-mongering that had lost the Hasans their throne.
“I know that,” Talia rebutted, still clutching her novel.
“But! I did hear he was monstrous—not just on the outside. I heard he once killed twenty royal mages single-handedly! They also say he took down an entire coven of Forsaken by himself. He sounds so dangerous. Probably the most dangerous man in the Realm—with his magic and his sword. And I heard he has a court full of mages who are just as terrifying and evil as he is.”
“Where do you hear these things, Talia?” Millicent questioned with raised brows.