Chapter Five
Lunelle’s neck ached as she forced herself to listen to another round of debate between the courtiers.
They dined in the ballroom that evening, the doors scrolled back to let the pleasant breeze act as a sort of current, carrying them through the night despite the near-constant darting looks from guards and sentries of all backgrounds watching every door.
They had been deep in discussion all day, broken for the afternoon, and immediately resumed as dinner plates hit the table. Intercourt battalion placements, preemptive strikes, and intelligence gathered through any means necessary. All important considerations, of course, but not once had anyone brought up the glaring factor that kept her from being able to pull in a full breath.
War was going to cost lives, no matter how well-aligned their allegiances were.
She’d sat and listened to them argue back and forth all night before she finally caved and scooted her chair back from the table, ready to escape the tension for just a moment. Her mother’s eyes pressed into her back as she stepped from the dining hall onto the terrace, watching whichever Moons she could find as they danced in the night sky, reminding her of home.
In the cover of night, she could relax. She felt safe in the darkness.
In the Sun, she was much too exposed.
“I am better,”
Arcas said from beside her. Lunelle felt the air tighten with his unnerving energy a moment ago, but she’d done her best to ignore it.
“What?”
she asked, twisting to lean against the delicately carved marble banister overlooking another lush orchard.
His sapphire eyes did not meet hers, and instead examined the curled hem of her gown.
“You asked how I was. I am better. Not great, but better.”
Lunelle’s chin dipped in a shallow nod, processing the asynchronous conversation.
“You seem to be the troubled one this evening,”
Arcas said.
“I fear we’re all too wrapped up in how to hold onto our power that we’ve neglected to consider who will pay the price of our war,”
she said quietly, staring at her fingers as she twisted them around one another.
“Not once has anyone ventured to discuss what allying with your court means for the Inner Court Army. They’ll suffer beyond anything the monarchs at that table ever will.”
The prince’s lips lifted in a crooked grin, so similar to that of her sister’s when she sensed something Lunelle couldn’t.
“I’m curious,”
he said, pulling at the edge of his sleeve.
“When you take the throne, what will be your first act?”
Lunelle’s eyes narrowed as Arcas circled her.
“I suppose that depends on what happens here.”
“I suppose it does.”
Arcas leaned beside Lunelle, far enough away that he did not encroach on her space, a consideration she appreciated. His eyes swept the trees below, something she couldn’t identify bubbling just under the surface of his skin.
“What would your first act be? If you ruled over all the sentiments and spirits of the Living Courts, if anything you did had a ripple effect across dreams and nightmares… what would it be?”
Arcas closed his eyes, just for a moment. His sky-blue knuckles rapped against the stone banister, gentle thuds matching the pace of her heart. Just when the silence became so heavy, so unbearably long that she was about to answer for him, he spoke.
“I’d crown someone else.”
A wide smile broke across his lips, but it burned out quickly as Lunelle’s eyes turned on him, lit with a disgust that forced him back a step.
“You hold your cities, your people in such little regard that you’d rather pawn them off on someone else than work hard for them? Nearly unchecked power, and instead of using it for good, you throw it away because what? It’s scary?”
Arcas tilted his head.
“You do not know scary, Princess.”
He stepped closer.
“Look at me. Look at my court. Do you think I’m ignorant of my situation? Blind to my ineptitude? My father pillaged these cities and left entire villages for dead rather than go without a single luxury. Do you know how I ended up on the throne, Lunelle? Has the gossip reached the Lunar Court’s lofty halls?”
He paced around her in a wide arc, his lips curled in a snarl as he spoke.
“I am my father’s third son. My father, my merciless father, beheaded my eldest brother for treason, and the next, he poisoned slowly over the course of a year just to prove he was weak. And do you know their crimes? Their grave missteps that cost them their lives at the hands of their own flesh? They wanted to grant citizenship to the Sirens of Sephonia, but because they were all female, my father did not see the point. So he killed them.”
He stopped beside her again, leaning his back against the rail and folding his arms. The bronze buttons at the end of his sleeve caught their matching pairs at his chest, tugging the dense navy velvet.
“I should have been an ambassador somewhere, just interesting enough to make me forget my rotten luck at being born the last son, and yet here I stand, crumbling under a crown I never wanted to touch.”
His eyes glazed over as he looked over his shoulder at the orchard.
“It digs into my skull and whispers nightmarish cruelties to me in every damned reflection I have the misfortune of coming across.”
Lunelle swallowed. “Arcas?—”
“And now,”
he continued, fighting for a steady breath.
“Now, I’ve been cast aside by the Outer Courts, forced to beg my way into the Inner Courts, and instead of focusing on improving things for my people, I’m going to be thrust into a war we cannot afford in riches or in bodies. I set aside my pride and invite the most powerful people in the entire system to my home and, on the first night, I leave dinner soaked in blood with my tail between my legs.”
He exhaled, waving a hand between them.
“So yes, Princess, I’d crown someone else. Perhaps the Mercurian king. He seems more than suitable for the job.”
“I’m sorry,”
Lunelle whispered. Her pulse raced beneath her skin. She moved toward the ballroom, needing a few steps to shake off some of the energy she’d absorbed from him. It was a dark thing, soaked in ancient lust and wrath.
“I did not know?—”
“No. You didn’t. Apologies, Lunelle, I should not have been so free with my words?—”
“No! No, don’t apologize. I actually appreciate seeing a side of you that isn’t so… stiff.”
She frowned. It wasn’t the right word. But he seemed to understand.
“The last season has been hard. I was blindsided by my father’s sudden Descent. I was unprepared for every aspect of the throne before the Solar Court began their plans. And then the rebellion took root—I feel as if I’m floundering at every turn.”
He inhaled, the tip of the breath shuddering under his anxieties, the misery of his station carved into shallow lines around his eyes.
Lunelle took in the real Arcas for the first time. Not just the misguided prince who couldn’t seem to get his priorities straight, but the little boy within him, terrified to be in any position of power. His lips twisted into a worried knot, and his chest sank in. She paced toward him, her sparkling lavender train dragging softly against the stones of the terrace.
“Arcas?”
His head snapped toward her, a softness at the edge of his eyes that betrayed his brooding exterior. He was not all Shadow. There was a lightness within him, wrestling with the weight of his lineage.
She edged closer, waiting for his eyes to pour into hers, waiting for him to shake the swirling thoughts distracting him so he’d hear her clearly.
“You need to look the child within you in the eyes and tell him to grow up.”
The prince’s nostrils flared, his gaze widening as her words bounced against his chest.
“Oh,”
he said, clearly taken aback.
“I… I suppose I was expecting something… something?—”
“Soft?”
Lunelle asked, her delicate brow carving into an amused arch.
“No,”
he started.
“No, well, perhaps a bit less harsh. You’ve been much less… blunt in our meetings.”
Lunelle’s jaw snapped, the threads she wove so carefully between her lips in the name of peace unraveling.
“I am quiet, Arcas, but it is not because I do not have anything to say.”
She rolled her shoulders back, breathing into a space between the strong muscles she’d neglected to stretch for too long.
“There is an advantage in keeping your mouth shut and your ears open—in watching. Waiting. You can learn so much in the number of breaths someone can tolerate without speaking, in the way their hands tick as they itch for their turn to speak. It’s shocking how much a single glance can give away.”
She inhaled, watching the curl of his fingers against his thigh as he made the calculations of what she’d seen, what she knew about him that even he didn’t.
She continued, “Someone told me recently there is strength in silence, but I don’t think he realized how right he was. There is truth in silence, and truth is power.”
Arcas glanced over her shoulders, the muscles in the side of his neck tightening as he searched for words. After grasping at a billion rebuttals, he settled on a simple, “Thank you.”
Lunelle’s head cocked to one side. It was her turn to be surprised.
“You’re welcome,”
she said reflexively.
“No, truly, Lunelle. Thank you for rattling me.”
He leaned onto his elbows against the railing.
“You are right, about many things, but especially about my need to grow up. I’m not a child. I’m a leader, and I’ve been scrambling to prove that to everyone but myself. If I don’t believe in myself, who should?”
Lunelle nodded, her eyes darting across the terrace as dinner ended and moved into more spirited pursuits. The high lilt of a flute bounced off the domed hall within, tickling something in her spine.
Arcas straightened, taller than she’d seen him before, his lips parting as he strung a question together.
“Would you like to dance, Princess?”
She glanced at his palm, reflecting the dark blues of the roses swimming against the night sky above, and surprised herself by resting her hand in his. She imagined he’d pull her into the hall, under the glimmering lanterns, but instead, he fell back on his heel, pulling her forward in a soft initiation, his hand gliding hers through the air in a wide circle as he spun her.
It was harder to hear any of the percussive elements of the music inside, but Lunelle did not have to fret about that.
Arcas was surprisingly capable of keeping time.
He wound her around and into him, carrying her hands on the slope of his forearms as he turned them about.
“I must admit, I’m curious. What else has the quiet taught you about me?”
Lunelle thought about this as he swept her away from the banister and into the shadows beyond the ballroom.
Where no one would stare, she realized.
“Do you really want to know?”
she asked, her eyes locked to his.
“It’s hard to hurt a third son’s feelings, though you’ve come close this evening,”
he chuckled.
She swayed along with him, turning over the notes she’d carefully collected in her head for anything particularly interesting. Yallara’s wounded face appeared in her mind, desperate for her brother to hear her out.
“You love your sister too much,”
she shared, observing the flex in his jaw.
“You inhibit her with your protective instincts. Any time she opens her mouth to speak, you dismiss her. But I believe it’s to keep her safe, not silent.”
Arcas snorted, his lips pulling into a crooked smile.
“She hates it.”
“I know the temptation. I am an elder sibling, too. She’s young, but she cares, Arcas. Let her test the waters, she’ll learn to swim.”
He nodded as he spun her away from him, the delicate lace along her hem sweeping over his boots.
“What else?”
She chewed on her lip.
“Hmm. Kahlia doesn’t respect you. You haven’t spent enough time appealing to their softer sensibilities. The Venusians are a people who worship at the altar of love herself, they need to see passion from you, they need to know you care deeply about your court and our cause.”
He considered this, his hand dropping around her waist as he twisted her in a tight arc, looping her arm over her head and spinning her again.
“One more,”
he murmured.
“You’re a glutton for punishment,”
Lunelle laughed.
Arcas stopped her spin, holding her crystalline gaze as his fingertips grazed the seam at her waist.
“Perhaps,”
he admitted.
“Punish me, then.”
“I am sorry you lost your brothers,”
Lunelle said quietly.
“But the moment they Descended, you ceased to be a third son. The crown of Pluto rests on your head. You need to show us it rests on more than desperation.”
Arcas tucked his hands behind his back, his eyes flickering over the terrace as a quiet slope overtook his lips. The shadows from before retreated, giving way to the lights of the ballroom.
He swallowed, brushing his coat as he looked away from her.
“Thank you for the dance.”
He gestured toward the ballroom, where her mother was hovering with two glasses of wine, attempting to appear uninterested in whatever Lunelle was doing.
He cleared his throat as she stepped away, drawing her attention over her shoulder.
“For the record, you may hurt my feelings anytime, Lunelle.”
She sighed, a gentle smile threatening to reveal the tingle she felt in her spine.
“Remember you said that, Your Highness.”
She was nearly back to her chambers when her mother caught her arm.
“You didn’t want to stay for another round of cards?”
Oestera’s eyes glowed with a delight Lunelle recognized. One that made her uneasy.
“I am quite exhausted,” she said.
“All that dancing, I suppose,”
Oestera mused, her brows raised as they wandered through the dark hall.
“Do you think you’re being subtle?”
Lunelle asked, the ache in her neck returning.
Oestera stopped walking, her face falling as she looked her daughter over.
“I was not trying to be. You know, Lunelle, duty does not always have to be painful. If you can find even a little joy in this, seize it.”
Lunelle chewed on her lower lip, stretching that knot in her neck, begging it to release.
“We can discuss it more tomorrow, darling. Get some rest,”
her mother said, disappearing into her bedroom.
As Lunelle pushed her own door inward, the heavy boots of the Mercurians echoed through the hall, buzzing in a large group as they returned to their chambers.
“Princess!”
Mirquios called, his bright eyes mellowed by the haze of a few too many glasses of wine.
“Good evening,”
she said quietly as he broke away from his court. He leaned against the meticulously tiled wall outside of her door and folded his arms, a playful smile tugging at his full lips.
It was irritating, actually, how ridiculously handsome he was. It should have been enough to be born a king, but she knew all too well that monarchs had a tendency toward greed.
Mirquios spoke in a low tone, laced with an amusement she resented immediately.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for eavesdropping earlier. I stepped onto the terrace for some fresh air, and I couldn’t help but overhear a rather vicious execution of a certain prince.”
Lunelle’s cheeks heated, trying to think back to what exactly she might have said to Arcas.
She waved her hand between them, clearing her conscience.
“He insisted I tell him what I really think!”
The king chuckled.
“I was not judging. I rather enjoyed it.”
“Oh, well, if you enjoyed it, then I suppose I should just go around dressing down every dignitary I find,”
she huffed, rubbing at the pain in her neck.
“I could start with you, if you so desire, Your Majesty?”
An even deeper laugh rumbled in his broad chest.
Ridiculously broad, Lunelle thought.
“You and your sister have a talent for eviscerating men, you know that?”
Her heart twisted around itself, an angry tide crashing against her ribs.
“Fire and ice both burn in the right circumstances.”
“I did not mean to offend?—”
Lunelle’s frigid glare silenced him. She shoved her door open with her hip, backing into the slim opening.
“You made a good point with him this evening, for what it’s worth,”
he said, pushing against the wall and stepping away.
“When I told you there was strength in silence, I had no idea how right I was.”
Lunelle huffed. I imagine the list of things you do not know is long, indeed, she thought as she pushed the door closed.
Astra would have said it, loudly and without hesitation.
They were different in at least that way.