Chapter 27
Corinne couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror.
Five days—it had only taken the dressmaker five days to make this gown.
It was more exquisite than any attire she’d ever worn, the flowing white fabric accentuating the curve of her breasts, the inward dip of her waist. Gold-embroidered flowers decorated the bodice and the top half of the off-shoulder sleeves.
Faye had indeed made it in a way that her movement wouldn’t be terribly restricted, which Corinne was grateful for.
But she stared and stared at the nasty handprint-shaped scar on her forearm, fully on display with the thin sleeves that stopped just past her elbows.
She wasn’t supposed to heal it for another week.
You just want to hide it.
Corinne shook her head. Perhaps some part of her did want to hide this shame from the world to save herself the embarrassment, but most people wouldn’t know its significance, anyway. It would only lead to awkward questions she did not want to answer.
She was protecting the Lightguards from the scrutiny of those who would not understand their ways. She could always recreate the scar, as horrific as that would be.
Corinne looked outside for the fifth time in an hour, both eager for the sun to go down and dreading it.
She and Aryel hadn’t spoken much in the days following her healing Aeson, him being busier than ever with party preparations.
They’d skipped training while he attended meetings or fittings or gatherings of nobles, and aside from a few light exchanges as she escorted him from place to place, Corinne had kept her distance.
She wasn’t sure how else to deal with this physical pull she felt toward him, that temptation with him stronger than it had ever been with anyone else.
Stay the course, Corinne. Or, rather, find the course again. She would do this last disservice, this last bending of a rule tonight in the name of protecting the Lightguards, and then she would keep her eyes on the path.
With a deep breath, she summoned her light.
It concentrated in her right forearm over her scar, smoothing over the puckered, discolored flesh.
Corinne winced as deep aches of pain spread through her arm.
Magic injuries did not heal as easily or painlessly as nonmagic ones, the scar on her thigh a testament to that. Helaera forgive me.
Several minutes later, the burn was gone. Corinne eased the sharp lance of guilt through her gut by assuring herself she would recreate it at the next opportunity.
The sun was fully set now. Corinne checked the ties on her golden sandals before venturing outside, feeling rather naked without her sword on her hip.
But the queen had insisted she not carry it tonight; it would be improper while wearing such a gown, and the priority was for Corinne to be nearby but not draw too much attention as Aryel’s sworn protector.
She was powerful enough with only her magic, anyway.
A guard stood outside Aryel’s door, nodding to Corinne once. She turned and paced a bit toward the breezeway as she waited. Aryel had insisted on being left alone most of the day in preparation for the evening, and Corinne couldn’t blame him.
She turned quickly when the door opened, her hands clasped behind her back.
Aryel emerged in a deep blue shirt covered in silver embroidered moons and stars, tucked into loose black trousers that flowed to the floor around his black-sandaled feet.
The deep V of the shirt’s collar allowed his tattoos to peek out more than they usually did.
Corinne kicked herself internally for gawking at him right as she noticed his lips part slightly as he looked her up and down.
“Evening,” Corinne said, glad for the darkness should her face give anything away. “Happy birthday.”
Aryel took a moment too long to respond. “Thank you.”
“Shall we go?”
He merely nodded, quietly dismissing his guard before joining Corinne.
They set off side by side, and he held the door for her as she swept through, mindful of her skirts.
The dress might support her free movement, but it still wasn’t nearly as practical as trousers.
She’d thought it more closely resembled what a Lightguard may wear, like their robes, but perhaps that choice had been a mistake.
“You look lovely,” Aryel said quietly, and Corinne’s stomach flipped pleasantly, her neck warming.
“Thank you,” she said. They continued on in excruciating silence for another corridor before Corinne asked, “You’re twenty-eight today?”
“I am,” he said. “This will be the tenth year my mother has thrown festivities like this.”
“I don’t envy you,” Corinne said, her body relaxing some as they eased into normal conversation.
“What do Lightguards do on their birthday, anyway?”
“Most years we are allowed to spend the day as we please.” Corinne lifted her skirts as they started down a stairwell, holding the railing with her other hand.
“But our twenty-fifth year is sacred—it’s the year we are old enough to accept the oath to Helaera and become Anointed.
For mine last year, I spent the day in the mountains praying. ”
“I would much prefer that to this.”
Corinne laughed. “It was certainly more peaceful. And it’s always beautiful up there in autumn.”
“So your birthday is in autumn?”
“Mid-autumn,” she said. “When the leaves have changed.”
“That’s my favorite time of year,” he said.
They reached the first floor, and the buzzing sound of a crowd drifted to meet them from down the corridor.
Aryel turned to Corinne. “Remember, you don’t have to dance with anyone unless you wish to,” he said.
“How would I dance with anyone if I’m supposed to be watching you?” Corinne asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Aryel grinned wolfishly. “Excellent point. I suppose you can only dance with me.”
“Only if you need rescuing from someone else,” Corinne said, rolling her eyes.
“I almost certainly will,” Aryel said, setting off again, this time a few paces ahead of Corinne as they approached the ballroom. He glanced over his shoulder. “Good thing I taught you how.”
Corinne shook her head. If she recalled the steps from days ago, it would be a miracle.
Two guards stood on either side of the ballroom doors, opening them with a bow at Aryel’s arrival. A wall of sound rushed into them, music and chatter and shifting feet, and Corinne forgot how to breathe as they stepped inside.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of Vytanos and the star-smattered indigo sky above the surrounding mountains.
Paper lanterns with cutouts of crescent moons were placed in the windowsills, and every sconce had been lit along the walls.
Dozens of people were already milling about, holding wine or some other sparkling liquid in narrow glasses, and crystal chandeliers—Corinne counted eight—hung from the ornately carved ceiling.
At the far end of the long hall, two thrones stood before a window, and upon a slightly lower dais to their left was a little stage where an octet of musicians played stringed instruments, drums, and a flute.
Directly to her left by the entrance was a massive table piled with food and rows of drinks.
How on Helaera’s earth was Corinne going to keep track of Aryel amidst all this?
“Come on, Sunshine,” Aryel said, beckoning her forward.
Corinne almost didn’t hear him over the noise.
She forced herself to focus and followed him off to the left side of the crowd.
Many nobles greeted him as he passed, offering birthday wishes, and he accepted them graciously but continued forward.
Corinne kept her eyes trained on his back, ignoring the stares that followed her.
It didn’t matter what any of them thought about her—she was here to do her duty and guard Aryel.
Aryel continued forward until he’d reached the far side of the ballroom, passing the musicians and approaching his parents. Queen Erina stood with a bright smile at his approach, descending the dais to embrace her son.
“Happy birthday, Aryel,” she said. She wore a deep blue gown with silver stitching that matched the embroidery on Aryel’s shirt, and delicate silver organza sleeves that cinched at her wrists.
Her crown was more ornate tonight, the crescent moons and stars sparkling with iridescent deep purple stones. “Do enjoy the festivities tonight.”
King Theo stood from his throne as well, and Corinne tensed, nearly reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.
His attire was coordinated with his wife’s and son’s, deep blue and embroidered, but the neckline of his fine shirt was not nearly as low as Aryel’s.
He stepped down from the throne with a box in hand, holding it out to Queen Erina as he stopped before Aryel.
“Happy birthday, Aryel,” he said, unsmiling.
The queen opened the box, and the king retrieved a crown from within. It wasn’t as intricate as his own, nor was it encrusted with fine stones, but the silver had been woven together beautifully, dipping at the front into a delicate crescent moon.
Corinne’s muscles went taut as Aryel bowed before his father, allowing the king to place the crown on his head. Rationally, she knew the king wouldn’t dare harm his son in such a public setting, but seeing him so close put her on edge anyway.
Once the crown settled on Aryel’s head, the moon resting in the center of his forehead, he straightened again. Several nobles, who had been nearby, watched the exchange between the king and prince but did not approach or say anything.
“It suits you so well,” Queen Erina said, clapping her hands together with a smile.