Chapter Two
Two dozen sapphire roses watched Lunelle from the center of a dazzling floral arrangement as she stepped into what would be the Lunarians’ shared study for the foreseeable future.
As far as she could tell, just about everything in the Plutonian palace was some shade of blue—from the oceanic tile of the floor to the deep navy sofas, to the delicate cerulean hue the Plutonians themselves seemed to carry within their complexions.
She did not think the color suited her.
“I meant what I said earlier,”
her mother hummed, pulling the fingertips of her gloves off as their maidens flooded the room and began unpacking trunks.
“The Sun is not to be underestimated. You’ll want to stay indoors as much as possible, dear. If you do go out, make sure you’re covered.”
Oestera sat softly on the plush sofa in the middle of their shared study—a silver star amidst a navy velvet sky—her cheeks still flushed from their jarring trip through the Rift. Lunelle knew she hadn’t taken it in years, but some memories never left one’s musculature. She had marveled at her mother’s gracious fall into the mystical portal she’d only ever heard whispers of, having been forbidden from ever leaving the bounds of the Lunar Court.
Oestera had simply given herself over to the flow of the strange threads, reaching for a deep navy as the colors of each of the courts poured into a ceaseless mirage.
Oestera had landed just as gracefully on the dull gray stone of the last of the Living Courts, Pluto. The Plutonian Gate was much darker and less crystalline than the sparkling amethyst of the Lunarian Gate Lunelle had spent thirty-some years staring at through her window, but there was something embedded in the stones that buzzed against her feet.
Something lurking in the shadows of the halls.
“Princess,”
Lura said. She slipped an envelope into Lunelle’s slender fingers. Under the Moon of the Lunar Court, her silvery complexion sparkled from the celestial energy. Here, she feared she was taking on the morose blues of the palace walls.
“It’s an invitation to a welcome tea, hosted by the Plutonian princess, Yallara. It seems the younger monarchs will be there.”
Oestera looked to Lunelle. The decision was hers.
“I could go for tea,”
she murmured, her eyes slipping toward the window at the far edge of the room. A sunbeam sliced through the silken curtains and traced a bright line across the dark furniture.
“I suppose the sooner I get to know our hosts, the better.”
“Tea it is,”
Oestera nodded.
“It would be good to get some face time with the princess. Perhaps the prince will attend.”
Lunelle’s spine tingled. She’d spent the last two days in meeting after meeting about the prince and his court. Arcas was unmarried, and therefore unable to take the Plutonian throne according to their laws, which would have been fine if his father hadn’t passed unexpectedly a few months prior. The instability, combined with Pluto’s modest offerings when it came to resources, made them a burden on the Outer Courts as they prepared for war under the Solar king Solan’s regime.
He’d hardly gotten his feet under him before Solan removed Pluto from the alliance. Arcas was young, alone, and frightened—a lethal combination in men as far as Lunelle understood.
“Perhaps,”
she replied flatly, her nerves flaring in rivers along her skin. She reached out to touch a rose petal, marveling at the spread of the bloom under the Sun’s touch. At home, the moonblossoms and roses ruffled quietly in the Spring and Summer. Now, she realized, they were mere buds compared to the expansive swirls in the vase, each bigger than her palm.
What else does not reach its full potential, hidden in the dark of night? she thought to herself as Lura preened over her hair, weaving it into an intricate braid.
“Go along,”
Oestera chirped from the sofa, her eyes already set on her notes from her ambassadors.
“And don’t be shy, darling, you’re just months away from ruling one of the strongest courts in the entire system. Don’t let them forget it.”
Lunelle sighed, pulling her braid to one side and picking at the silk cord holding it together as she wandered into the hall.
If you were here, you’d have whipped this entire court into shape already, she sent out into the ether. She had no idea if her sister was capable of hearing her over the distance, but it brought her comfort to reach out all the same.
The Plutonian palace was entirely unlike the glittering halls Lunelle grew up in.
Everything in Lunaria was fractured into crystalline angles and opalescent haze. The Moon’s light bounced off odd angles and shiny surfaces, bathing everyone in a mystic glow.
Pluto was all smooth, round stones and sapphire velvet.
She followed Lura and one of Pluto’s courtiers, a slim boy easily half her age, through endless twisting paths until she felt a shift in the air—a warmth she did not recognize.
“Oh,”
she breathed as the courtier drew back flowing white curtains, revealing a Sun-soaked garden rich in the same blue roses she’d marveled at moments ago. Dozens of dignitaries milled about, lounging on wicker furniture and overstuffed cushions on the fluffy grass.
They sipped tea and snacked, relaxed in ways they’d not seemed capable of in the Lunar Court. She lingered at the edge of the garden, unsure how to best insert herself into the small groupings lounging across the lawn. Her eyes fell to a harpist in the corner, her fingers the same shade of the sky above, weaving between cords to sing a soothing melody.
“Princess.”
She’d only heard the Mercurian king’s deep voice from a distance, and often only in low whispers to her sister over dinner.
They’d crossed paths a few times in Lunaria, but never at her own wishes. She’d avoided him, she was sure Astra had noticed. Mirquios seemed fine enough, but he was still the thing that was going to take her sister away from her far too soon.
At that moment, however, he was a friendly face—and she needed that more than she needed to hold a childish grudge.
“Your Highness,”
she smiled, stepping closer to him as he plucked a tea cake off a passing tray. She turned to face him, his tall frame hovering over her, wrapped in Mercurian greens that lit up his deep complexion.
She had been surprised when her sister’s amber gaze lingered on the king’s broad chest and bright jade eyes at the Solstice ball—not because he wasn’t handsome by all definitions of the word, but because Astra had rarely, if ever, given her attention to a man.
But, close up, unable to escape from the gracious lines of his regal posture and his easy warmth, Lunelle understood the appeal.
“How were your travels?”
he asked through a bite of the cake.
“Quite the trip,”
she replied, stretching her shoulders as she spoke.
“I’d never taken the Rift before.”
Mirquios laughed.
“That’s right! You and your poor sister, shackled to the palace like that.”
She shook her head as a servant offered her something blue on a plate.
“I don’t know what I expected of Pluto, but I suppose something less… ornate.”
She gestured to the surrounding garden, dripping in rich colors and opulent fabrics.
“Oh, Arcas certainly has more than he can handle here,”
Mirquios mumbled.
“It’s a bit much for those of us who are on the more conservative end with our finances, I suppose.”
She arched a silver brow, curious if he would say more.
“Not that Lunaria isn’t more than accommodating,”
he amended.
“I admire that you and your mother aren’t so ostentatious. Feels ill-advised given the state of things.”
“Of course,”
she said, reaching for a cup of tea from a passing tray, just barely missing the curved handle. The servant turned too quickly, darting away as someone called to them.
Lunelle sighed.
Mirquios sprang forward, cutting across the garden with his long legs, and stopped the servant, snagging a steaming cup and saucer from the tray before turning back to her.
Lunelle’s cheeks flushed as she reached for it, uttering her thanks.
“Your sister said she’d never forgive me if I didn’t look out for you.”
“That sounds like Astra,”
Lunelle laughed quietly, sipping the strange violet tea. Her head swirled with the porcelain’s contents, but she didn’t dislike it.
“I’m not as helpless as she implies, I assure you. I’m just not one to make a scene.”
Mirquios rocked forward on his heels.
“There is nothing helpless about any of you Lunarian women. Of that, I am certain. There’s strength in silence, too, you know.”
Lunelle’s silver gaze flickered over him before it fixed back on the laughing courtiers on the lawn.
“Do you think it’s a mistake? Trusting this prince?”
Mirquios considered her question for a moment before answering, the implications hovering in the air between them.
“Princess Lunelle!”
They both turned their heads to address the sweet soprano that rang out behind them. A petite young woman bounded across the gardens, a sheer black gown floating in waves behind her. She looked less like a princess and more akin to a goddess of death, a perfect little creature with a sharp gaze surrounded by shadows. Her pale skin glowed with a cerulean sheen that must have made her the Plutonian princess.
“Princess Yallara,”
Lunelle returned.
“So kind of you to host us.”
She bounced on her heels as she grinned.
“My brother doesn’t have a shred of fun in his bones, so I figured someone had to break the ice.”
Yallara sidled up to Lunelle as if they were lifelong friends and not strangers a second ago. Up close, Yallara was not a goddess of death, but a harbinger of mischief. The desire to spark chaos sparkled in the sapphire blues of her eyes.
She liked this princess, Lunelle decided. There was something so reminiscent of Astra about the defiance in her chin, the bubbling current of unpredictability in her veins that Lunelle admired.
“And you must be King Mirquios,”
Yallara said.
“I’m delighted to see you here as well!”
Mirquios nodded, his aventurine eyes briefly skimming over her face as he watched his courtiers rumble with laughter across the garden.
“I must know what’s in this tea,”
Lunelle mumbled, her head fogging over as she spoke.
“Oh!”
Yallara leaned over her teacup, her eyes dropping to the violet pool swirling in Lunelle’s hands.
“That’s one of the stronger cups. Brave woman,”
Yallara winked as she watched the tea slosh against the sides of Lunelle’s cup.
Lunelle’s face heated.
“Stronger… than… a chamomile?”
Yallara’s lips quirked at the corners.
“Well, Princess, it’s less of a tea, more of an…. experience,”
she explained.
Mirquios and Lunelle exchanged a skeptical glance.
Her sloped shoulders shrugged as if reporting on the weather.
“Should only be an hour or two. You didn’t drink all that much. Oh! Kahlia!”
Yallara darted across the courtyard, leaving them to stare silently at the teacup.
“Well,”
Lunelle said, a tingle slipping over her skin.
“This should be interesting.”
Mirquios held back a laugh.
Lunelle glared.
“This isn’t funny, Mirquios!”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”
He clasped his fingers over his lips, eyes wide as she calculated how long she had before she was a weeping puddle.
“I’ve been here for an hour and already my mother is going to murder me,”
she groaned.
“Here,”
the king murmured, taking the cup from her. In one swift movement, he threw the entirety of its remains back, wincing as the herbs hit his throat.
“If you’re going down, at least you won’t be alone.”
Lunelle gasped, “Your Highness!”
“Foul,”
he croaked, covering his mouth as he forced the tea to stay down.
Lunelle giggled into her hands, her heart warmed by his attempt at allyship. His lips curled into a smile that reflected hers. She wondered if he was feeling as lightheaded as she was yet.
He cleared his throat, passing the empty cup off to a servant before gesturing to the courtiers before them.
“These diplomacy dinners are always intensely boring, anyway. Perhaps now we’ll have a little fun.”