Chapter 4
For everyone, the palace is the jewel of the city, a sparkling, iridescent gem set upon Sand Court.
Far more extravagant than any palace I’ve seen, with black and red walls, massive columns holding up the soaring ceiling, and depictions of our gods: mostly the twins Gorok and Chaos, with their little sister Jahwa.
Large vases, intricate macramé, delicate figurines, and countless flowers fill every available space, all courtesy of the Courtly Gardener.
For me, this palace was the only place where I could take a break from being an heir. The only place my Grams let me stay without supervision. The only place where I could simply play.
Compared to the grim and cold Castle of Hanovel, Santorili’s palace is extravagant and welcoming. As if the building itself promises to change your life forever if you let yourself get carried away by court life.
And what a life it was.
The parties that Jestin throws are a solid quintessence of debauchery. If not for a contraceptive tonic, Santorili would excel over the other courts in the number of bastards.
The moment the tonic was introduced, it grew so popular that the inventor became one of the richest Fae in Rhodria.
Understandably, these pups bleed the purses of Fae, especially the ones that come from nothing but sex.
Why should we punish Fae for a moment of pleasure, when it is the pups who are born that pay the price?
Some shouldn’t be parents. My dear mommy included.
I shake my head and match Samira’s pace. She says nothing as we move through the black-and-red halls, the air rich with flowers, yet the silence between us makes it hard to breathe.
Jestin appears beside her and murmurs, “Thank you, Sam. Can you oversee the other matter?” He seems unconcerned that I catch every word.
“Of course,” Samira nods and moves down the corridor towards the formal wing of the castle, where Jestin’s office, the strategy room, and the war room are located.
I clutch my satchel, suddenly feeling cold, despite the overbearing heat.
We continue walking in the opposite direction, and I already know where we’re headed and why. Jestin leads us to his personal quarters instead of the office. Maybe it’s better this way - Chief Gerald is probably still in the formal wing - but I don’t want to step into Jestin’s room.
Ugh… why can’t this just be a formal meeting? I don’t want to face him in the same walls where he scrambled my brain. If this was some tactical decision, he succeeded in throwing me off balance. I should wave a white flag and call myself a loser.
“Jestin!” The unwelcome voice jerks me from my thoughts, hammering my skull with a high-pitched ring, like a harpy shrieking in my ears. Hopelessly, infuriatingly annoying.
Aidon bends close and whispers in my ear, “It didn’t sound that bad.”
I snap a glare at him, sharp enough to draw blood. He only tilts his head, a lopsided grin in place, daring me to do more.
Why do I even bother?
“Zulu, how can I help you?” Jestin’s voice sounds as annoyed as I feel. At least that hasn’t changed.
I plaster an ugly smirk, meeting her funny green gaze. She strolls towards us, all elegance and grace. “Jestin, tell me my aide has gone mad and Seleste isn’t here?”
“Oh,” she makes a production of looking surprised, poorly if you ask me. “What a disappointment.”
“Zulu,” I acknowledge her. She’s the youngest among us, but damn, she’s the most cunning.
She smacks her lips. “And I was hoping my Solstice would be pleasant…”
I want to say something nasty, but I release a calm exhale and shift my head left.
“Happy to entertain,” I say, threading sweetness into my tone, hiding the disgust in the mental box designated for all the emotions I don’t get to feel.
With a flick of her hand, she dismisses me and turns to Jestin. “A minute, brother?”
Jestin and I have that in common—a wretch of a sibling. No wonder Trisha and Zulu were best friends.
He shakes his head in exasperation and gestures for me to enter. I grab the handle, but stall a little, waiting for them to leave first.
Waiting to eavesdrop, to be precise. I don’t have spies like other nobles; I can rely only on myself.
Pathetic excuse, Aidon chimes in my head.
Right? I don’t pretend it isn’t, to which Aidon smiles, planting a butterfly in my stomach.
“And you are?” Zulu pulls Jestin by his arm while halting before Aidon, batting her ridiculous eyelashes on him.
“Taken,” he replies just as I step forward, determined to wipe that absurd smile from her face.
Why do I react like that?
“Even better,” she teases, and fucking winks at me.
Jestin scowls and steers her into a nearby corridor, then walks off quickly without a backwards glance. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.
As their steps quiet down, I finally pull the handle, my fingers shaking.
Gorok please, I don’t want to be here.
“You’re so whiny,” Aidon states, but I ignore it when the familiarity of that room hits me right in the solar plexus. Or heart. The impact sucks the air out of my lungs.
The ambience is as cosy as I remember, sunlight slipping through the cream shades painting the room in soft gold. The air carries that perfect, impossible balance, cool enough to soothe and warm enough to stay.
I sigh and make my way to the enormous couch, sinking into the cushions while avoiding the ridiculously comfortable bed like a plague.
Everything here is too inviting. The silk drapes, the faint scent of Jestin, the quiet hum of magic keeping the temperature pleasant.
Portraits of him and me hang on the walls, our younger faces smiling.
Small chests of sand sit neatly on low tables so he can access his magic whenever he pleases.
Scattered among them are little souvenirs from childhood, delicate reminders of who we once were.
It feels like this room is a trap designed to make me forget where I am, what I have done, what waits outside those doors. This place feels more like home than my own.
I am in fucking trouble here.
Aidon rolls his eyes.
“Stop listening if you don’t want to be inconvenienced!”
“Sure,” he answers, mocking me with a sly grin.
“Get lost.”
I’ve spent many hours here as a pup. Jestin was my friend long before we shook the sheets, and damn, we shook them.
I fought it hard. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.
But spending months attending his court, mostly under the influence of Fae wine, made that a fool’s errand.
It was impossible not to cross that line.
The chemistry between us was my first aid.
I don’t know what to do with that friendship now, after I’ve tasted him.
Forever contaminated.
Happy to hear you keep him in such low regard.
Irritated, I glance at Aidon, who has shifted into a majestic cat and now lounges on Jestin’s pillow, silently intruding on my thoughts.
Ballsy.
“I wanted to see you shift,” I whine. “Did you just roll your eyes? I didn’t know animals could do that.”
And I thought you were supposed to have a superior education, Aidon remarks in my mind.
Getting nervous, I bite onto my cuticles. The magical silver nail polish I did a week ago is impossible to bite, so cuticles it is.
Tch. Absolutely no manners.
Is he a punishment from the Gods for my crimes?
I can appreciate the irony.
I keep glaring at the kitty, but he simply ignores me.
I shot him a vulgar gesture.
Indeed, my point, he sasses and in the same moment the door swings open, stopping me from ripping the head from the cat’s shoulders, or flipping him off again. I haven’t decided yet.
The echo of chuckling embers in my head. Or I’ve finally gone mad.
“Where were we?” Jestin walks in, eyeing the sitting arrangement.
No small talk on the menu today, straight to the point.
His gaze falls on the cat. “I hope you don’t shed.”
Aidon rubs lazily on the sofa, without a doubt with the intention of leaving fur.
“Disgusting.” Jestin wrinkles his nose.
He usually drops his stone mask in this room, but now it’s tightly fixed. My stomach drops.
“What’s with the frown, my love? I assumed that camping in the middle of my land was a giant flag: ‘Hi, Jestin! I’m here. Meet me halfway.’”
“Fair assumption, unfortunately, totally off base.”
“Oh, really? What were you doing out there?” He asks. “Why were you gone for half a year? What happened? Give me something—anything, or am I the only one who gives a damn?”
Each word is deliberate, his mask firmly in place as he folds his arms and leans against the door, so controlled, so composed, and yet entirely at odds with the storm behind his words.
I take a long breath, hoping the air will magically bring the right words. Of course, it does not. The space between my ears remains empty. Even the insults I normally hurl at myself will not come.
“Total accident. Can we talk now?” I finally answer, and give myself a mental face palm.
“Can we? Are you ready for ‘that talk,’ or are you planning to leave the second it gets slightly uncomfortable?”
Ouch.
“I did not know you would care so much,” I lie, my words dripping with feigned condescension.
Of course I knew. From the moment I made the decision to leave his bed, I knew. We had something good, and I panicked.
And now, I realise I’m only saying this to be reassured, to quiet the gnawing edges of my insecurity.
Pathetic.
I am pathetic and nothing rings truer today.
Jestin only shakes his head. His true talent is not in bending sand but in his golden patience. In a room full of ambassadors, his scrutiny turns him into a predator. Every glance is calculating, every pause deliberate. My Gram always said I had much to learn from him.
After a moment, he sighs. The sound almost weighs down the air. “Where were you?”
“Tricity,” I answer.
“Why?”
“I needed space,” I admit. It was true, still is. But we’re here now.
He comes closer and sits on the couch next to me. “Why did you run away?” he asks gently. Our breaths blend, the mixture so familiar my insides scream.