Chapter Thirty-Five
Loreleivnna
Sneaking into the palace is second nature.
I don’t fear being caught by my parents, and I trust the servants not to snitch.
Still, there’s an added sense of urgency knowing that if I did somehow get caught, Father would give that disapproving, disgusted look, knowing I’d spent the night with my betrothed—who happens to be his very best friend, who betrayed Father’s trust to be with me.
Ugh.
I’m nearly past the throne room when I hear raised voices that send a chill down my spine.
Rarely have I heard Father skip past diplomacy straight to hostility. Despite my racing heart, I flatten against the wall of the servant’s entrance, craning around the corner as close as possible while remaining out of sight.
The voice I hear next scratches down my spine like the drag of thorny brambles. His voice. The one that invaded my memories like a noxious weed.
“The circumstances were unfortunate, but your council was ready to support—” Halor begins.
King Vyrion cuts my former betrothed short. “Swallow your rotten words before you spew venom in my home.”
Without seeing his face, I can picture the stern, unwavering expression Father bears.
“Keep your territory’s gifts,” Father spits. “The trust I have in her first mate is worth more than any economic boon. Princess Loreleivnna is safer with Vir Pikquarrys than she would ever be with you slippery serpents.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Halor drawls in his saccharine way. “Your daughter will be happy in the Isles, and Svitaeryl will know profit like it’s never experienced.”
“My daughter has chosen, and chosen well.” Father’s voice is lethal. “Your silver tongue will get you nowhere, except lower on my list of those I trust, if such a thing were possible.”
My heart swells to hear Father speak so highly of Pikr. Though Pikr hasn’t broached the subject, I know losing his closest friend has weighed heavily on him. And since I’m essentially to blame, I’ve worn the guilt like a stone around my neck.
“Respectfully, sire,” Halor tries again, stubborn and arrogant to the last. “The third princess has few responsibilities here. Wouldn’t a diplomatic arrangement benefit your realm—both of our realms—greatly? More so than becoming the wife of a disgraced sword-smithy.”
That’s enough.
Stepping out of the servant’s entrance, I clear my throat. Father’s eyes catch mine first. Halor drags his self-righteous gaze to my face, his teal eyes oozing with pretentiousness.
“Your Highness,” he drawls, bowing his head.
“Halor.” He starts to straighten, but I growl and point a steady, unshaking finger at the skyrite floor. “I do not permit you to stand. Grovel, you cheating, manipulative fiend. How dare you show your face after the pain you’ve caused?”
“I meant no harm,” Halor protests, neck still bowed. “I truly believe the life I can provide will satisfy you. I’ve been inside your heart. I know how you long for adventure.”
My lip curls in a sneer. “Foolish to pretend you know me after nothing but manipulations and stolen glimpses. Your hubris and scheming disgusts me. Get up!”
The ventus’serpentaur stands, and the hate swirling in his eyes makes my stomach roil in disgust that I ever found him attractive.
“Leave Svitaeryl and do not return,” I snap, “until you have a legitimate treaty for trade that does not include brainwashing a female into becoming your mate.”
Halor’s snout curdles with a snarl. “I’m eager to be rid of this kingdom and its stuffy god-plants anyway.”
He doesn’t bother to bow to the King and Queen on his way out, least of all me.
The moment his tail’s feathered fin is on the other side of the threshold, Father flicks his wrist. Vines whip forth to slam the door closed.
“May his soil ever be soggy. Bah!” Father exclaims.
I breathe easier once Halor is gone. I can’t help the smile that replaces my rage, remembering all the kind words Father said about Pikquarrys. There is hope yet.
Climbing the dais, I sit on the arm of Mother’s throne. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close, humming contentedly.
“See, my sweet Sapling? I may be peeled, but I know things,” she whispers before kissing my shoulder.
“You’re no madder than unraveled loopflower, Dearest,” Father says, the clouds of his anger dissipating until only love remains. He leans over and pats my leg. “And you, Littlest Bloom. I have much to beg your forgiveness for.”
“Father, there’s no need.” Knowing he hasn’t disowned his best friend because of me is enough. Everything else will come with time.
“Seeds are planted with faith,” Mother chimes in, patting Father’s hand. “We often disregard the growth happening underground until it breaches the soil.”
“Indeed.” Father sighs. He sits back on his throne and scrubs his face with his hands.
“I’m seeking a shift in perspective. Grant me your patience, Little Bloom.
It’s difficult to detangle the memories of Pikquarrys in the wild years of our youth, and reconcile that he is the same man who now looks at you like you’re the sun and he is a heliophyte. ”
My cheeks heat. I know Pikr used to be free with his stable-suite, but that doesn’t bother me. What’s past is past. I’m secure in knowing his feelings for me are true, and backed by the fate roots. What shocks me is that Father can see all of that by observing Pikr’s eyes on me.
“Thank you, Father. I’m relieved to have your blessing.”
Father chuffs, giving me a narrow-eyed glance. Whatever he’s about to say stops when Mother reaches over, taking his hand in hers.
“Yes,” Father says instead, squeezing his wife’s hand. “You have my blessing. I trust Soreivsanna’s judgement. I only wish the spiritvines hadn’t conspired against me. They kept this secret too far below my nose for a whiff to reach me. Cursed fate-roots. Cursed Wise Ones.”
“Still your cursing, love.” Mother chuckles softly. She places another kiss on my shoulder and beams. “What a grand journey you’re set to embark on, my sweet Sapling. I look forward to the stories the roots will bring me of your travels.”
I’m still puzzling out her riddle when Father grumbles, “Just make that old fool visit more often. No more semi-centennials away from home, now that my daughter is wayward.” He wags a finger in my face.
“You’ll come back to us at least once a decade or it’s straight to the dungeon for that glorified horse. ”
I hide my discomfort behind a smile, hugging them both before taking my leave.
Once in my room, Mother’s words rattle in my skull. I open my sketchbook and flip through the pages depicting naturescapes I’ve only seen in books. Traveling with Pikr would be a dream come true, but would he want me tagging along? I’m easily distracted, and I would certainly slow him down.
I resolve to risk rejection and ask him plainly. For now, I find hope in Mother’s sure words about our future and take solace in the glimmer of Father’s acceptance.