Chapter 40
It lingered in the distance—the ethereal melody that wandered through the stone corridors. My shepherd was the candlelight. It slipped through the dark, reaching for me, and swayed my steps to where the strings sang. The air kept a crescendo of laughter, teeming down the stones, and drifted around me.
My fingertips chased relics of gold through the passageways, the riches budding a sense of belonging in me. This castle, being here as a welcomed guest, evoked a strange yearning to be what I was once born to be. It was a quiet pull of what once was. It was the piece of myself that thought, perhaps in another life, I could have been the monarch Andrael desired.
But the princess was dead.
My throne and crown were ash. Royalty had been burned from my blood, though I appeared more as a royal than a god server this night. While I stood in a castle of abundance and treasures, my brothers and sisters suffered in the king’s prisons, awaiting to see their gods.
My gut knotted at the thought. The time would come, I knew it would, where I could fall into the shadows of this castle—shadows I knew well—and save my people.
Surrounded by tapestries of burgundy and hemmed in a gown of crimson, I strode towards the laughter and folly with Freya and Catriona at my side. I glanced down at the dress’s corset, and the dark tresses spilled over my shoulders. I recoiled my touch from relics and traded for silk—smooth as ink and soft as a breath.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Catriona reminded me for the eleventh time.
Woven in my hair, Freya had fashioned two braids that conjoined in the center, and loose strands waterfalled down the bare skin at my back. Sleeves draped from my shoulders before chaining around my wrists. The silk hem skimmed over the royal aisle runners, and the corset was tight around my waist. Though I could not claim this dress was entirely comfortable, I perhaps felt worth gold and jewels.
Two gilded guards stood at the dining hall’s entrance, silent and stationary. Scents of florals, wine, mead, and roast wafted from the doorway, joining the candlelight and melody as another herder to follow.
I walked beneath the doorway. The dining hall opened up before me.
My breath was bound in the enchantment, and my lips bloomed in a smile. Sparkling reflections painted the vaulted arch above us, illuminated in the night. A tower of silver glass reached for the gods, and each chalice overflowed with bloodred wine. Tapestries hung over golden bars—house banners standing beneath the mighty backdrop of the Torrance Tree that covered each wall.
Merriment was had. Music was toxic. My hardened heart was ground to flesh by the laughter and dance around me.
“There’s the Raven.” Catriona pointed towards the crimson banner near the front of the hall.
“Shall we?” She squealed in delight.
Stretched tables outlined the banquet, ensuring a plentiful clearing for chatter and dance. Roses, ivy, and elderberries followed the spines of the tables, filling voids left between golden platters. Beneath the décor, ebony tablecloths glimmered with speckles of gold, and each end had stitchwork of my father’s crest.
Standing beside the doorway, my eyes traced the grand dining hall. Men and women swayed their feet to the songs, children galloped in glee, and others isolated in circles, conversing like wolves surrounding prey.
Then, my eyes stayed. Another was watching me.
He stood beside four others I did not know, though his conversation seemed to halt as his dark eyes stole me. Broken from his eyeline time and again, others leaped in the distance between us, drunk on delight, possessed by dance. But it did not matter. They were faint figures, blurring between the line Alistair had forged with his devoted stare.
His dark hair was oiled and slick, yet untamed as it always was. Across his face, each strand cast a shadow between faint traces of light. Clad in black, fabrics draped over his frame with a neckline that fell, revealing a taste of his stature beneath. Where his shirt stretched, I was lured. Where it hung loose, I was curious.
Alistair’s eyes fell from mine, but his attention did not deviate from me. His eyes follow my curves. He reached his hand to the back of his neck, bicep flexing, and bit his lip. A shade of scarlet crawled his neck and tacked his jaw. The shadow of a smile crept over him.
“I am starving!” Catriona barked, and she yanked me from my place.
I let out a yelp as my steps stumbled. Alistair fell from view.
“Where is your father, Freya?” Catriona noted the empty seat with Lucien’s nameplate.
“Probably consorting with his contacts,” Freya remarked with bitterness.
“Many men who work alongside my father reside in the castle.”
Catriona spoke as she heaved a boar’s leg onto her plate.
“I did not know he was so famous.”
Lips straight, Freya uttered.
“Infamous, actually.”
Moonlight skipped through the towering windows, nightfall upon us.
Horns’ single note cut into the dissonance of laughter, debating, and instruments. As the hall hushed, a bind of anticipation—utter dread—rooted in me. A herald stepped forward between the two trumpets, setting himself before the emptied table upon the hall’s front stage.
The crier cried.
“Presenting his royal majesties, Prince Knox Torrance, first heir to the crown of Andrael, and Prince Evandor Torrance, second heir to the crown of Andrael!”
All rose in their respects, and some men clapped. My legs shook where I stood—there was another coming, I knew there was. His seat was set in the center of the table, laced in gold and burgundy streamers.
Deceit? My thoughts fired, lurid. Please, come back to me. I sucked in two thin breaths. I cannot be here alone. I cannot see him alone.
Surrounded by all, I was the outlier. And my father knew I had not died that day. Or, perhaps he believed I had, my blood spilled over the white rose brambles as I succumbed to my wound. Perhaps he believed his little girl fled to a dark hole, never to arise. But I was here, years later, sworn in oath to the gods.
I prayed that he might not recognize his late wife’s eyes in mine.
“Lords and ladies,” The herald’s lungs swelled.
“Her Majesty, Queen Consort, Flora Murdina Torrance.”
My father’s harlot took her seat where my mother once sat. She was slender with curves in all the right places. Her hair matched Knox’s, glimmering with gold. All her teeth were crooked, though she masked them behind the thick pucker of her lips. She was everything my mother wasn’t. I imagined Flora as an unholy beast with snake hair and a hunching spine.
“And with great honor, I present his Royal Majesty.”
I cringed where I stood.
“King Paden Torrance!”
My damn father.
With each step, the ground quaked. The weight of his stature did not slow his stride, each piece of him wearing muscle and velvet with mighty fists in a clench. A square jaw framed his mouth, stretched from years of howling his damned decrees. He was Knox, only older, though far from aged. It appeared time had misplaced Paden Torrance—years only carving thin creases where he scowled with flaring nostrils.
My father was just as I remembered, though I desperately tried to forget.
“Welcome, lords and ladies!” The king’s voice was rigid and boastful.
I could hear his words of old echo in the forefront of my mind. I fell into myself—
…
“You are no daughter of mine!” My father yelled as his blade stung the air.
I trembled backwards, barely dodging the blade, my skin snapping from that of my mother. I thought seeing her might give him solace. Might finally allow him to look at me as though I were not a walking shadow of regret. That I might see a shred of love in his eyes.
I was wrong. He hated me.
“You are the spawn of my beloved, but my love died with her!”
He swung again, drunk in Shadow, outraged. It was the first time I saw his intent to kill, but it was far from the last. Sharp iron came for me, and sharp iron found me. I held my side, blood filling the cervices of my little hand.
“Father, please!” I cried in his study, cowering smaller and smaller.
Run, Davina! Deceit hissed, filling space beneath my skin, tugging me backwards, urging me from my father. From my home. Go, now!
I don’t entirely remember how I escaped his hands, but I remember the vow he shouted at my fleeing form—
“You will fall! You, and all those who dare serve the gods, will fall to my feet in cold blood!”
My father denounced me that night, so I ran. I ran until my feet bled crimson.
Then, in the bramble of white roses, I denounced him and upheld another.
Rhoswen Fallen, Deceit had hissed in my mind. Rhoswen Fallen, the server risen from ash.
Together, by roots and by stone, we built a barrier where Davina was to forever rest, only, I was beginning to understand—forever was a construct.
…
Men cheered in the dining hall, and knives clinked glasses.
“The gods,” the king continued, black veins tracing his skin.
“They aim to bring down man. To make us grovel like filthy worms in the dirt, but they will not prevail.”
A wraith-woman sauntered from the edge of the stage, joining the crown. Constantine’s head neither rose nor dipped as she walked, her feet near hovering above the ground.
The king opened his palm to Constantine, her knifelike nails curling around his hand. Upon her touch, the ebony veins hurried to his eyes. Within a blink, the king was swallowed by the dark—ink dripping down his coiled lips and narrowed eyes. His face fell ashen.
He was all the more pleased for it.
Shouts of praise rang in my ears. I kept waning in and out of a trance—caught between Davina fleeing the castle and Rhoswen standing beside the crown and his people, as one of his people.
The king shouted above depraved praise.
“When I was crowned, this kingdom was plagued by weakness. My father was weak. Elves walked the lands, and light of the damn goddess flourished.” My father grabbed a silver chalice and swilled the entire glass. He licked the red wine from his lips.
“Though I come from the old king’s loins, I seized strength! I knew my days would rectify mankind. And when the Shadows befell Andrael, my aims were clear—destroy the elves, drown out the light, bring the gods to their knees, and raise up the dark that will deliver us from their hands!”
The king threw his fist against the table.
“Men will usher in a new era. The Shadows will bring conquest! Damn the gods. Damn their light! WE ARE THE NEW GODS!”
The dining hall roared violently. Mans’ flying tongues spat worship to the darkness.
I shrunk—heart, mind, soul. This was not my place, sitting beside men.
My oath was to the gods.
The matron removed her hand from the king and sat beside Evandor. Then, I noticed who sat at Evandor’s other side.
Maisie.
Adorned in ivory, Maisie looked entirely beautiful upon the stage. And entirely out of place. Evandor poured her a glass of wine while spilling words into her ear, and she responded with her sweet, innocent smile. Perhaps Alistair had told Evandor to look after her, and perhaps he was. Perhaps I should be glad to see Maisie, her cheeks turning a shade of rose above curled lips, but I wasn’t.
While Maisie sat beside my brother, beside the crown, I felt sick.
The king shouted more immoral nonsense, blood beating black, and my fears were beginning to cripple me, from pounding heart to short, fluttering breaths. My shoulders folded forward, and I set my hand to my heart as it pounded in my ears.
Deceit? I begged.
The god refused me.
In a knock of breath, I fled.
If Freya or Catriona called for me, I did not hear them. I wedged between other houses, desperate for distance.
The doors were shut, and gilded guards were a wall between me and my escape. I scurried along the back of the dining hall, slipping and veering around those hailing sin. The king continued to shout to his people, but my senses had fallen deaf. With nowhere to turn, I veiled behind the silver tower of glass, confiscating wine by the reed of the flute.
I drank. The wine was smooth on my tongue.
“Well, hello there, beautiful.” The words scraped into my ears.
“Are you in need of company?”
I turned with a sigh.
“No, thank you.”
The young man was lanky and tall, capped with tussled hair of pale browns.
“Are you certain?” He asked with a smirk.
“It is quite lonely over in this part of the hall. Are you trying to avoid someone?” He set his palm upon the table, not accounting for the slippery nature of silk—his hand slid, and he nearly fell. Regaining himself, he acted composed with reddened cheeks.
“Or be avoided,” I said after he held steady, myself biting down a giggle.
Arms crossed over his chest, he raised his pointer finger.
“Ah, yes, a woman of title and wealthy garments, disgusted by the company of men with the same.”
My grin was amused.
“Only you are mistaken, good sir. I am without a title.”
Buck teeth showed in his smile as his freckles lifted with his cheeks.
“Oh, what pleasantry it must be, having no obligations of a title.” He leaned forward to whisper.
“If I can be entirely honest with you, these sorts of events leave me tired. All these men speaking in half-truths, attempting to be the greatest in the eyes of the king.”
I giggled and sipped another taste.
“Tell me, sir, to what house do you belong? If you assume I have a title, surely you do.”
“Indeed.” He bowed like a willow branch.
“I am Sir Poe, fourth son to Jarl Thranen of Shalimier.”
Suddenly, his cerulean attire gave meaning.
To my right stood Shalimier’s sigil of a white horse upon the blue tapestry.
“You have traveled far.” I plucked another glass of wine and set it in his hand.
Poe accepted my offer, taking a large gulp, and cleared his throat.
“Through brutish conditions, I might add. And where is it that you come from, sweet lady?”
I rolled my eyes, smile intact.
“Outside of Tharen Crest. I serve Lord Alistair Raven as an advisor.”
At Alistair’s name, Poe’s eyes twitched in discomfort. It appeared the lord of the western lands retained his title as dangerous and cruel. I once believed the same.
Poe dismissed his unease.
“Gods, you’re an advisor, beautiful and wise.” He pivoted towards his family’s table.
“Come. If you are dallying by the wine, you must be bored by the Raven.”
“No, please, I could not impose.”
“Nonsense. I have seven brothers and three sisters. We believe that a full house brings joy and life!” He said, loudening in declaration.
“Please, join me.”
He extended his hand.
My eyes scraped over the masses of men, finding the Raven crest close to the king’s table. Shalimier remained in the back, apart from the monarch’s eyes. With that, I took Poe’s hand, and we ventured to his house.
The table was full, shoulders scrunched together. Poe offered the only empty seat, and three women stood at my coming—I assumed, the sisters.
“Gods, your gown is stunning.” The young woman had hair similar to Poe’s, though the strands reached down to her knees. I could smell the wine on her breath as she stroked the fabric upon my arm.
“Tell me, how did someone so beautiful have to end up nattering with one of my insufferable brothers?”
“Insufferable?” Poe barked.
“Says the girl notorious for inflicting headaches with merely her voice. ‘Tis a gift, sister. A dreadful, painful gift.”
The young woman huffed and retreated to the silver wine tower.
“What is your name?” Another lady with tussled hair and bucked teeth asked.
“What house do you belong to?” She quickly lowered herself in respect.
“I am Misty, third daughter of Jarl Thranen.”
“Rhoswen Fallen, my lady. I am an advisor for Lord Alistair Raven. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Another young man raised his say.
“Oh, do not waste your respect on her. Eleventh in line to father’s title, we might as well trade her for a loaf of bread.”
“Eric, shut it!”
“Children!” The Jarl shouted between gorging bites of potatoes and boar.
There was another woman, slumped in her chair, with a painted smile. I assumed she was the Jarl’s wife, given her age. Her eyes were motionless, lifeless, as she stared at nothing, and she was skinny as though her eleven children had sucked her dry.
“You said you serve Lord Alistair, is that right?” A sister asked. She appeared the oldest of the three, adorned in a gown cut to emphasize her age.
I nodded.
“Yes, my lady.”
“That lord has your respects well-ironed out, doesn’t he?” She laughed to herself.
“I am Cadence. Come, play a game with us.”
I smiled.
“Oh, that is quite all right. I should return to my party.”
“No, please, stay,” the youngest, Misty, moaned.
I glanced at the twenty-four eyes that watched me—the entire house of Shalimier, apart from the wife. The jarl’s wife giggled with glossy eyes. No others paid her any notice.
Jarl Thranen cleared his throat.
“Rhoswen Fallen, should you leave now, surely you disrespect my house.” He tipped his bronze circlet towards me, each sapphire glinting in the candlelight.
“Well…”
I glanced at the Raven banner once more, seeing the king beginning to make his rounds to the guests. Catriona was in a low bow before His Majesty, a position I was determined not to fall into. I looked back at the family.
“I would never want to show disrespect, Jarl,” I said with a smile.
“What game are we playing?”
The girls squealed while Poe’s eyes followed the line of my form.
“It is simple.” Poe came to my side.
“Something our family tends to play at every event.”
His arm laced around mine, and he guided me to a seat at the table. Chair legs grinded as he pried out the chair and motioned for me to take my place. I accepted, snuggling my shoulders between the others. To my left sat the mother. The eldest daughter, Cadence, was to my right.
Poe leaned forward, his chin grazing my shoulder.
“All you do is, take a piece of bread, and throw it into a cup.”
“A cup?” I asked.
“Sounds simple enough.”
Poe chuckled.
“No, not so simple, sweet Rhoswen. Here, I’ll show you.”
He took a discarded piece of bread, lingering close between my shoulder and cheek. Raising his hand, Poe tossed the bread into the swarm of men. It dunked into a chalice held by a man of expensive tailors. The man jolted where he stood, dumbstruck.
We laughed for a short moment as he searched the dining hall for falling food.
“If you miss, you drink from your cup.” Poe gestured for me to try.
Bread in my hand, I looked for anyone who might be within reach. An older lady spoke to a man at her side, her scowl lines deepening. The man yawned, the lady’s scowl deepened, and I tipped my wrist back. Positioned trajectory, and…
Flung the bread at the man’s bald spot. He flinched, quick to turn towards us.
The entire Shalimierian table looked down, us mirroring the Jarl’s wife’s appearance.
“Now, you must drink,” Cadence reminded me.
I sipped while constraining a laugh. The man continued to glare at Shalimier’s table, as though such folly was expected from the Jarl’s children. We continued in line, one after the other, leaving wealthy people puzzled and flabbergasted.
“Rhoswen,” Cadence whispered at my side as the Jarl himself plucked a piece of food from the table to catapult into the throng.
“Lord Alistair. Can you tell me of him?”
The question was unexpected, though I supposed that was a reason for gathering—to learn of the houses in the kingdom.
I spoke knowingly.
“Our Lord Alistair is the greatest lord in Andrael. His reign fends off elvish people, dividing the realm from Ethereum.”
“No, I know that. I mean, tell me about him. What is he like?”
Scarlet pinned my cheeks.
“Oh, you mean—”
“Is he suitable? Is he kind? Father has been nagging me to get married and start bearing children before my womb shrivels up. I’m already eighteen and have no prospects. Mother was on her fourth child when she was my age.”
My tongue was tied there. The sister looked at me with tension.
“Lord Alistair is serious,” I finally said.
“Is that all you can say of him?”
I gulped wine.
“And sometimes he is… not so serious.”
Cadence’s eyes grew large.
“What do you not say, Rhoswen? Is he cruel? Does he beat you? I’ve heard he was marked by a Shadow when he was young. Praise to the Shadows, but I know they can have a terrible influence on men’s actions.”
I was quick to refute.
“No, no, he is not cruel.”
“Then what is it?”
“Miss Fallen,” another voice charmed the table.
Before I lifted my gaze, all siblings and the Jarl rose from their seats, a hundred leg chairs shaking the castle.
“Your Highness,” cast from the family, apart from the wife, who still sat in her place with glassy eyes and slacked lips.
And there he stood before me. Ever cunning, ever wise.
“My Prince.” I arose beside the others.
“Join me for a dance?” He asked.
Evandor was adorned in a black jacket with golden floral patterns, not dissimilar to the stitchwork on my gown. He reached out his hand like a fox to ensnare a hare—only, I did not wonder if this was a trap. I was more so wondering why this didn’t feel like a trap. Why, given the corrupt blood in his veins, I assented so willingly.
I slipped along the table’s edge towards Evandor.
A sister whispered.
“Gods, Poe, you had to fall for a woman who is eyed by a prince.”
“Shut up,” Poe muttered.
I took Evandor’s open hand.
“It would be a pleasure, my Prince.” I then bowed to the Shalimierian house.
“It was lovely to meet you all.”
It was a babble of farewells, the house all speaking at once.
Evandor guided me into the arts of twisting form and cawing serenade.
He held me gently, such a far cry from Knox’s treatment of the cupbearer this morning. The prince’s hand nestled at the curve of my waist, my arm wrapped behind his neck, and our two hands locked together at our sides. We danced.
I understood here that the prince’s knowledge carried far beyond books, scrolls, and swords. I would not expect this man, who was sewn to his seat in study as a child, to break beyond the bindings and coverings of old tomes. Within Evandor, ink words seemed to breathe life in the sway of music, carrying him through a gallant glide. In his lead, we were harmonized with the string of harps.
For a moment, I was caught up in the extravagance of it all. I had to remind myself this was a deadly dance. There was an enchantment in this castle, something causing me to forget who truly stood before me. He was not a noble prince of noble birth, but a bastard by birthright. Born from the harlot, Knox and Evandor laced their fingers around my crown while the circlet was still warm. And in the fall of the guild, it was Evandor who stood in the bloodbath of my brothers and sisters—a day drawn in unpassable darkness.
Evandor’s fox smile stayed.
“That is quite the gown, Rhoswen. Do you aim to impress anyone tonight?”
I was growing weary of the blush that continued to stain my cheek. I masked it in magic.
“Impress?” I chirped.
“But of course.” I dipped my tongue in a hint of charm.
“I am dining in the very same hall as the king and his noble, clever, inspiring, remarkable princes.”
Evandor snickered.
“Oh yes, I am certain that gown is in honor to my daft brother and myself, and not for another particular lord of the lands.”
I sucked my lips, attempting to hide a coy grin.
Evandor continued.
“It is fitting on you. The dress, in this place, surrounded by nobility.”
“Fitting? How do you mean?”
“You were crafted for this. I am not sure what reaches of the realm you have seen in your time as an advisor, but I can tell—you belong within the arms of opportunity. And it is the crown that forges opportunity.”
We swayed in dance, many eyes marking me as my hand conjoined with the prince’s.
“That is quite a compliment from someone of your standing.”
Evandor’s glance swept down to me from the pinch of his nose.
“You don’t care for standings and titles. You see past that, do you not? A man might be a lord, but if he were rash and unwise, you would not give a damn for his praise. But…” His eyes traded between mine.
“You are wise enough to know that you must offer a smile and say thank you.”
“Yes, though I hope my obligation to respect does not undermine the meaning of it. I am thankful, and I will gladly smile.” So I did—I smiled.
Evandor’s eyes narrowed upon me, as though he was trying to dig through my mind. It left me with unease, knowing my brother was scrutinizing my behavior. Studying me. Attempting to understand me for reasons I had yet to know.
Glancing over Evandor’s shoulder, I caught sight of Maisie. She twirled across the dancefloor, ivory skirt twisting delicately. Her arms were covered in loose gossamer, and pearls hung from her neck. Her gown brought forth the gloss in her black hair. Neil held Maisie’s hand, pulling his daughter to him in a dance, a striking smile adorning his face. Light glimmered in his eyes, in his smile.
“Maisie seems to be well,” I hushed to Evandor, my lips remaining in a bend.
The prince mirrored my smile.
“You might be glad to hear—she is finding her place in the castle, each day offering new challenges and opportunities.”
“Challenges?” I asked. “Is—”
“Fret not, Rhoswen. Your lord asked I keep an eye on her. I keep two.”
I glanced back at the prince, quick to find the sincerity in his severe gaze. His attention was upon Maisie and Neil. With a pluck of the strings, all men lifted their partners. My feet touched the ground, and Evandor’s eyes came back to mine. They tightened at the corners.
“Chills again,” he said, brows in a furrow.
“I’m sorry?”
“I have chills again, seeing you.” He sighed towards the moonlit windows.
“There is something about you, Rhoswen. Far too potent with familiarity to be a wasted sense. But I cannot seem to place it.”
My stomach churned, the unease creeping.
“I am afraid I cannot be of help,” I said, smooth and assured.
“Your time at Lord Alistair’s estate was our first meeting, I am certain. I would remember meeting a prince.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Evandor shook his head.
All the knowledge he had, but he could not uncover the truth his intuition strived to tell him—the truth lingering behind my mother’s eyes.
His sister was alive.
Evandor cleared his throat.
“Tell me, where did you learn swordsmanship?”
A drum hastened its beat, and I swung from Evandor’s arm. Our hands tethered, I then spiraled back to him.
“My father taught me when I was young,” I said as I peered over Evandor’s shoulder, looking at my father conversing with Lord Alistair.
“He believed it best I know how to defend myself.”
The scar along my stomach inflicted a phantom throb, as though to scorn me.
Evandor dryly quipped.
“And your lessons stopped before you were any good.”
“I traded blades for quills shortly after my father passed. Society is far more appreciative of women who can write rather than women who can fight.”
Evandor recounted.
“So, your upbringing began in the eastern lands, your father passed, and you and your sister traveled to Sariem for a new life?” The greens in his eyes grew more vibrant, as though his mind sought to tempt revelation.
“Yes,” I confirmed. "Our mother passed before I could form many memories of her, and after my father’s burial, there was no reason to remain in the east. In Sariem, a family took us in and gave us a home, though they too succumbed to death.”
“Death awaits us all,” Evandor noted without a lick of compassion, sounding in likeness to the God of Deception.
“I am reminded with each breath.” My smile seemed misplaced when speaking of death, but I’d grown accustomed to the subject.
Evandor’s lips mirrored mine.
“Why don’t you join me at the combat field tomorrow. Your lord and I have a wager of who can strike down Knox the fastest.”
I clouted a laugh from my lungs.
“That will certainly not be me.”
“Gods, no, I’ve seen your form,” he said without modesty.
“Though, perhaps we can practice with you. Hone some of your skills into something of actual benefit.”
My curled lips stayed, though I loathed the notion of spending time with Knox.
“In days as these, I could not refuse such an offer.”
Another sly smile carved along his face.
“Even if we lived in different days, you could not refuse. Your prince commands your company. I will send a servant for you at dawn.” Evandor looked me up and down.
“And do leave your sultry attire at rest. Wear something practical.”
I hid my blushing cheeks behind Deceit’s mask.
Evandor lifted his palm from my back and began to pivot away.
“Prince Evandor,” I spoke quickly before he could offer his leave.
“May I ask you something?”
“I do not see why not,” he said with an arch to his brow.
We resumed our steps in rhythm to the lutes.
“You search in the east for the Amulet of Light.” I prodded for knowledge that was not mine to have.
“Why the eastern lands? Have you explored other areas?”
Evandor’s brow wrenched further.
“Gods, spare me talk of the amulet. It’s all anyone wants to know about these days.” He leaned closer, granting my curiosities a whisper.
“Though, I will say, there have been rumors in the east of those who have seen the light or have been allured to it.”
“Allured?” I hushed into his jacket, feeling the echo of Deceit’s nails graze my ears.
“These rumors speak of the amulet’s beckon like possession.” His own interest on the matter sparked a sudden life. Evandor’s pupils consumed the greens, and his hand tensed around mine.
“Like an invisible force compelling their steps. Only, those I have spoken with deny ever seeing it.” He sighed.
“Most recently, I spoke to a man who was said to have gone blind from it. In meeting him, he claimed he had always been blind.”
I chewed on his words.
“It sounds as though others are attempting to distract you.”
Evandor spoke assuredly.
“Andrael only reaches so far. We will find it.”
“And destroy it?” I asked.
A smirk was a line across his face.
“You are curious.” The corners of his eyes tightened. “Why?”
I lessened my voice to that of a guiltless woman—one who did not consort with the enemies of the king.
“I only wish to understand.”
The prince’s chin kicked back in a short snicker.
“Sorry, advisor.” He patted my shoulders.
“Such information is not fit for your title. But do not fret.” He crept nearer and poured a low tone over me.
“You can always eavesdrop on me later.”
The unease, the discomfort in my stomach, stirred.
“Eavesdrop?” I asked.
He couldn’t have known I had eavesdropped at Alistair’s estate, though—
“Not much gets past me, Miss Fallen,” he said without bite or teeth, only that cunning smirk.
“I thought it best I invite you to spar with Alistair and me tomorrow, otherwise you’d assume you’re welcome and hide behind a stone arch.”
Blood left my face.
Evandor pulled away from me and straightened his jacket by the hem at his waist.
“Sands, Rhoswen,” he laughed.
“Don’t worry, you won’t meet the guillotine. Regardless of what others might think, I’m not as unforgiving as my father. Besides, my friend—your lord—seems to like you. He rarely cares for anyone, so you’ll live to eavesdrop another day.”
I did not know whether to laugh, cry, give thanks, or leave.
Evandor did not give me a chance to act—the tail of his jacket flicked like a fox’s tail, synchronized with the final note of the song, and he began to step away.
“Might I steal a dance?”
At another’s voice, the weight of unease nearly crashed me to the floor.
“By all means, Lord Alistair,” Evandor said.
“Rhoswen and I have just concluded.”