Chapter 18
Eighteen
- LYRA -
My head pounds like a drum. Over and over, despite my best efforts to nourish myself with all the food that’s been laid out on the buffet table, I can’t find a way to quiet the hammering. It’s enough to distract me from the distant soreness in my bandaged hands.
Aelia clears her throat to snag my attention off the interaction I watch unfold between Marcella and Devin. The two of them are like bristling wolves as they whisper in the dark. It tickles an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
Again Aelia clears her throat, and finally I tear my gaze from them. Just in time to see Cyrus strolling our way. Both of us do our best to straighten subtly in our seats.
He stops at our table and dips his head before extending a white-gloved hand out. “Aelia, will you have this dance with me?”
The biggest smile pulls on her cheeks as she dips her head and rises, taking his hand and sweeping out to the dance floor with him. I watch as they enter into a deep conversation, eye contact never breaking. Aelia says something, and his eyebrows lift with the ghost of a grin.
Willow takes a seat next to me, where Marcella had been sitting earlier. “Gods above, is he not the most attractive man you’ve ever seen?”
I don’t take my eyes off them as they dance.
Instead, I run my fingers over the small plate of food I had grabbed while he danced with Marcella.
Plucking a few grapes, I toss them into my mouth as I answer, “Indeed.” But there’s something else to him I can’t quite put my finger on. An allure beyond the physical. A pull.
“I’ll be heartbroken if he sends me home tonight,” Willow sighs.
My head still pounding, I turn in my chair to her. “What? What did you say?”
She meets my wide gaze and nods. Leaning forward, she tells me, “One of the ladies overheard Lady Bethany speaking to Devin. They’re preparing to send some of us home tonight. Cyrus has to make a cut.”
My face grows hot. It only exacerbates the pulsing in my skull. As I toss another glance toward Aelia, her cheeks rosy as she fawns over Cyrus holding her in his arms, my heart sinks.
“Don’t worry, Lyra,” Willow says next to me. “Gossip has it that he’ll be sending home Marcella. That, or she’ll leave of her own accord. How did she say her time with him in the gardens went? You came in with her afterward.”
I shake my aching head. “She didn’t tell me.”
“Well, I think most of us know it’ll be her. The General and Lady Bethany don’t seem to approve of her. And considering her expressions and gestures when she spoke to the King during that last dance, I imagine he won’t consider such a troublesome match.”
Glancing sideways at her, I open my mouth to fight the insult against Marcella.
She blurts out, “Unless, of course, he sends multiple women home.”
“I can’t leave yet…” I whisper half to myself, watching Cyrus and Aelia. I have to know more about him. There’s something there, something drawing me to him that I haven’t felt before.
“Don’t worry,” Willow pats my hand, “I’ve been told if you’re dismissed, you’ll be sent home with a generous sum for spending your time here.”
Still does nothing to disperse the panic in my chest. “How much is a generous sum?”
She shrugs, staring down into her wine glass. “I believe tonight would be about a month’s worth of the income you’d make back home if you stayed. And every month you’re here, it triples.”
Lady Bethany said we’d be here six months maximum. If Cyrus doesn’t choose me…at least I might be sent home with something that might better my home life.
I wince as the pounding in my head only gets harder once the music changes tempo. Dipping my head, I rise in my chair. “Thank you, Willow, for the encouragement. If you’ll excuse me, I must…run to powder my nose.”
“You look like you’re uncomfortable, I can come with you—”
“No!” I blurt, then wince. “Sorry, no thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute. Stay here for when Aelia comes back.”
She opens her mouth, and I scurry away toward the darkest corner of the room, where a door is slightly ajar. Away from ears. Away from eyes. I knock for only a breath before pushing it open.
It’s a small room. One with several wall sconces lit with candles, their wax dripping down in red rivers against the golden arms. The ceiling is four times as low in here, closing the space into something more intimate.
A massive red rug covers the stone tiles, matching the paintings throughout the castle with florals and dragon cherubs.
One lounge chair, two sitting chairs, and a loveseat are positioned in a circle. Several gorgeous paintings are hung about the room, all framed in curling, intricate gold details.
I shut the door quietly behind me, and slip my heels off my feet before collapsing onto the lounge.
Hiking my legs up, I rest my crossed ankles on the lounge’s arm.
Then sigh into the cushions, finding relief in the dulled noise.
Rubbing my temples as I close my eyes. Working the pain out of my skull like someone massaging out a knot.
Slowly it begins to ebb away, to something more manageable.
Sudden flashes of memory race over me. Of the women being shot by arrows. Of blood pooling. Of collapsing to my knees and screaming as fire raced over me.
I rub harder into my temples, willing it to leave me, but the more time that passes, the more of a reminder it is.
Perhaps it’s silly of me to think I have a chance at marrying Cyrus.
Apart from the bandages wrapped around my hands as a sign I barely survived the first trial, my feet also ache horribly. Clearly, my days wearing years-old flats hadn’t trained me well for a lavish lifestyle of gowns and heels.
No matter how hard I tried to absorb the proper etiquette and history lessons that Lady Bethany taught us over the last few weeks, the fact of the matter is I am neither lux nor lethal.
Perhaps my time would be best spent back in Kilamber. Making bread alongside my family until our knuckles ache from kneading. That is the soreness I am used to. Was born into.
Or are you just homesick?
The door opens behind me, and I jerk up off my back. Quickly reaching for my shoes as a tall, dark figure sweeps into the room. A pair of haunting white eyes quickly finds me. Tossing a look behind him into the dining room before quietly shutting the door, Cyrus asks slowly, “Are you alright?”
Blinking, I flatten my skirts down over my legs, my cheeks heating at the thought of him seeing my ankles. “Oh, yes, of-of course, my King—” I pause, shaking my head. “Sorry. Cyrus. I, umm…”
I straighten and stand, my balance wobbling as I didn’t quite place my left foot into my shoe well enough, so I seize the arm of the lounge.
“I can leave at once—” I blurt, and take a step before my ankle nearly gives, stealing my breath for a moment.
He lurches forward with outstretched arms, ready to catch me, but as I steady myself, he keeps his distance. “No, it’s quite alright. My apologies if I startled you. I had…wanted to ask something of you, and noticed you slipped into the reflection room.”
“A reflection room?” I repeat, shifting my left foot into my shoe harder until it fits properly.
Dragging his gaze from mine, he takes slow step after step to the nearest painting. His eyes and expression are distant as he admires it: a stunning field of blue roses at night, with stars peppering the sky. Lifting a hand, he tenderly brushes the corner of the frame with his thumb.
“Originally it was made for the royalty’s most trusted advisors to congregate during mass dinners and celebrations.
It helped for negotiating and discussing any sort of conversations that sparked during the events.
But I found it more useful as a reflection room.
I revel in the silence. The quiet is a friend to me, especially when everything else is so loud… ”
“I see…I’m sorry for the intrusion, then—”
“No.” He turns to me with a gentle, formal dip of his head.
“Don’t be. Settings like this?” Lifting a gloved hand, he gestures out to the dining room.
“Can be…a bit strenuous, depending on the factors and what’s expected of you.
You are more than welcome to use this room.
So, forgive me for the interruption. I can leave at once. ” He makes for the door.
That current about him that pulls me to him moves away with him for the exit. Like he’s taking all the air in the room with him. I blurt, “No, wait. You don’t need to leave. You’re not an interruption at all.”
He stops, turning slowly to me with a mix of surprise and relief. “I’m not?”
I shake my head with a timid smile, turning my attention to something else. I take a few hesitant steps toward the painting he was standing in front of and admiring. “It’s stunning. Though I’ve…never seen a blue rose before.”
His eyebrows lift. “You haven’t?” When I shake my head, he turns his attention back to admire it and murmurs, “They’re called the Gods’ flowers.
Our elders have always believed blue is the Gods’ favorite color.
It’s why it’s the color of the sky, the water.
That our realm was created out of this color long before there were any others. ”
He walks until we are next to one another. As his eyes collide with mine, it sparks my heart rate. Is he looking at the blue in my eyes, as he does the blue in the roses?
Clearing his throat, he steps away to the next painting.
One of a glowing blue river snaking through a night forest. It’s so odd, seeing so much blue in a castle that’s fashioned in gold and reds.
As I grab my dress to steady my hands, my face falls into a distant wonder. Because the fabric beneath my fingers?
It's blue.
“Lyra, tell me. Have you ventured much outside of Kilamber?”
“No,” I answer in a whisper, watching him stroll up to the river painting and stopping. His back is to me, gloved hands clasped back behind him.