Page 31 of A Kiss of Healing & Honor (Darkstone Academy #4)

That night, the sky over Neapolis Capitola erupted in a kaleidoscope of colors, each burst of fireworks sending showers of sparks cascading over the tiled rooftops.

After the banquet, General Clovis had invited us to stay in his opulent mansion. Now, I watched the jubilant crowds thronging the wide street from the third-story loggia.

Their faces were illuminated by the flickering light of torches and bonfires. The air thrummed with the beat of drums and the raucous laughter of revelers, the scent of spilled wine and roasted meats wafting up on the cold spring breeze.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Mama’s voice was soft beside me, tinged with a wistfulness that made my heart ache. “I’d forgotten how much I missed this city.”

I turned to look at her, struck by the play of light and shadow across her face. In that moment, I saw the ghost of the young princess who’d fallen in love with a dashing Wind-Walker prince.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I asked, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Mama’s lips curved in a rueful smile. “Terrified,” she admitted. “I never thought I’d see my mother again, let alone dressed like… this.” She gestured to herself, to the travel-worn emerald silk that had once been a gown fit for a duchess.

I glanced down at my gown, the once-fine gold velvet now a patchwork of stains from days of travel and yesterday’s battle. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

Mama laughed, a sound of mingled mirth and anxiety. “Oh, my dearest. What will Mother think when she sees us?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implications. I thought of the grandmother I’d never known, trying to imagine the woman who had driven her own daughter into exile. Would she be cold and imperious, or would there be warmth beneath the facade of royal authority?

“She’ll see her daughter,” I said firmly, meeting Mama’s gaze. “And, hopefully, her granddaughter.”

Mama pulled me into a fierce embrace, her voice muffled against my hair. “If she doesn’t accept you, then I don’t care if she acknowledges me.”

I held her tightly, feeling the tremor that ran through her body. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

Then a wicked thought occurred to me. I stepped back and grinned at her. “And if she tries anything we don’t like, remember that we have an army of Wind-Walkers at our back. King Menelaus will burn the capital to the ground if he thinks anyone here disrespected his mate.”

Mama’s eyes widened. Then she laughed, and I saw some of her tensions ease. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said dryly.

The celebrations continued long into the night, but sleep eluded me.

I tossed and turned on the luxurious bed, my mind racing with possibilities and fears. I wished my men, housed one floor below, were here with me tonight.

But we’d agreed to sleep apart until after Mama and I had met with the domina-regent. Mama had stressed the need to avoid scandalizing General Clovis and his wife, Lady Livia.

When dawn finally broke, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold, I rose and went next door to find Mama already awake, pacing the length of her bedchamber.

To my mortification, Menelaus was lounging in Mama’s bed, naked to the waist under the coverlet, fondly watching her unbraid and brush out her hair.

“What happened to not scandalizing our hosts?” I demanded, indignant that I’d spent the night alone while Mama clearly had not.

My father grinned at me and waved. “I’ve spent enough nights apart from my mate.”

“He climbed through the window and refused to leave.” Mama continued calmly brushing her hair, but her cheeks turned pink.

“So, she told me I could stay, but I had to leave before the servants came to deliver breakfast,” Menelaus finished.

I averted my eyes as he rose from the bed with leisurely grace and dressed. He bent and gave Mama a lingering kiss before clapping me on the shoulder and leaving through the tall doors that led out to the loggia.

∞∞∞

After finishing breakfast in Mama’s rooms, there was a flurry of activity in the hallway outside, followed by a sharp rap on the door.

“Enter,” Mama called.

“Good morning, Your Highnesses!” Lady Livia swept into the room, her arms laden with gowns in assorted colors, all made from sumptuous satins, shimmering velvets, and fine wool.

Behind her trailed a small army of seamstresses and hairdressers, and an older woman introduced as Lady Livia’s tailor.

“When Your Highnesses informed me that neither of you had any baggage,” Lady Livia exclaimed, her black eyes sparkling with excitement, “I realized I needed to offer you something to wear to your imperial audience today.”

“Lady Livia, you’re a lifesaver,” I said, feeling a rush of gratitude.

“We can’t have you reuniting with Domina-Regent Jacinthe looking like you’ve been dragged backward through a hedge!” Lady Livia said. “Allow me to offer you something from my wardrobe. I apologize if my gowns aren’t up to the standards of the imperial court, but—”

“Thank you for your generous offer,” Mama interrupted. “And there’s no need to apologize. Anything you loan us will be better than what we have right now.”

Lady Livia dimpled with pleasure and bustled forward to spread her burden of gowns across Mama’s bed.

She was a vivacious woman with a pretty, heart-shaped face who looked like she was somewhere in her early thirties. She had the typical Capitolan black hair and olive complexion, and I’d noticed upon meeting her yesterday that her much older husband was clearly besotted with her.

“Your Highnesses, might I recommend the wine-colored velvet for Princess Jonquil and the plum wool for Princess Jacinthe? They’re both modestly cut and suitable for a daytime audience at the palace.”

Mama and I agreed with Lady Livia’s suggestions.

After the tailor carefully measured us, the seamstresses began altering the gowns.

While they worked, a stream of deliveries arrived: boxes of chemises and stockings, slippers in our shoe sizes, gloves, and even cloaks.

Early spring in Neapolis Capitola was marked by wintry winds and frosty nights, a far cry from the mild temperatures further south in Baleares and on Darkstone Island.

Meanwhile, Lady Livia’s hairdresser worked miracles, transforming my sleep-tousled hair into an elegant braided coiffure held in place with pearl-headed pins.

“You look every inch a princess,” Mama murmured when the hairdresser had finished her work.

“And you, Mama, are breathtaking,” I replied. It was true.

If I looked like a princess, Mama looked every inch a domina.

∞∞∞

When a squad of imperial palace guards arrived at the mansion to escort us to the palace, my heart leaped into my throat. This was it.

With Mama at my side, I descended the mansion’s grand staircase to the entrance hall.

Halfway down, I heard Boreas’ deep voice booming through the hall. “We’re accompanying them to the palace.”

I saw my four soul-bonded companions, plus Mage Armand, Alondra and Fernan, waiting for us at the foot of the stairs, along with six guards wearing sapphire-blue uniforms and polished gold breastplates.

The head of the guards, a stern-faced man with graying temples, shook his head. “Only those summoned may enter the imperial presence. Her Imperial Majesty has summoned only the two women who claim to be Princess Jonquil and Princess Jacinthe, King Menelaus of the Dragon Kingdom, the new Duke de Norhas, and Mage Niccolò Armand.”

Boreas’ face darkened with anger. I hurried to his side and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“It’s all right,” I said, infusing my voice with a confidence I didn’t feel. “My father will be there. Mama and I will be fine. We’ll return soon, I promise.”

“Fledgling Boreas, don’t you trust me to protect my mate and hatchling?” Menelaus asked sarcastically.

Boreas backed down. “Of course I do, my king. I meant no insult.”

“Good. And there will be no trouble,” Menelaus said confidently.

I hoped it was true. And that this day wouldn’t end with Mama and me in an imperial prison cell.

∞∞∞

As we entered the Imperial Palace a short time later, I fought to keep myself from gaping at the overwhelming splendor.

Intricate mosaics sprawled beneath our feet, depicting historical scenes in vibrant hues. Marble columns soared toward vaulted ceilings, their surfaces adorned with frescoes and delicate gilded plasterwork that gleaming in the light streaming through tall windows.

Embroidered silk hangings lined the corridors. Each one was a masterpiece, telling stories of conquest and peace, love and loss. Priceless works of art—sculptures and paintings from across the known world—stood in alcoves or hung on walls.

“This place… it’s overwhelming,” I murmured to Mama, who walked beside me with measured steps. “Did you really grow up here?”

She nodded, her voice low. “I never noticed how grand it is, but it hasn’t changed a bit.”

As our little group was ushered into a reception room decorated in pale blue and silver, I expected to see the domina-regent waiting to receive us.

Instead, we were met by a cluster of men and women in elaborate court dress, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“So, there you are at last,” commented a portly man with a thin mustache. “Duke Fernan, King Menelaus, please allow us to offer you refreshments in the Red Salon while we question these two ladies.”

When Fernan and a glowering Menelaus had been led into an adjoining room, the man said, “Her Imperial Majesty has tasked us with verifying your identities.”

Mama stiffened beside me. “I was under the impression that we would see Domina-Regent Jacinthe today,” she said, her voice tight. “She’s my mother. She can vouch for my identity.”

A woman with graying hair and sharp eyes stepped forward. “We cannot take the risk of admitting two strangers to Her Imperial Majesty’s presence. Do you have any proof that you are who you claim to be?”

“What proof do you require?” Mama asked. “I tell you, if you would only let the domina-regent see us, she would recognize me.” She spread her hands. “I grew up here. Ask me anything about the palace or the royal family.”

“I can vouch for Princess Jonquil and Princess Jacinthe,” Mage Armand said.

The woman stared at him in surprise. “And who are you, pray tell?”

Mage Armand drew himself up proudly. He wore new black velvet robes, his golden mage-badge with the imperial eagle pinned over his heart. “I am former Chief Court Healer Niccolò Armand, now Infirmary Head at Darkstone Castle.”

The woman huffed a laugh. “Oh, really? You really expect us to believe that the famous Mage Armand has returned from the dead, too?”

“Who said I died?” Armand sounded indignant.

I tried to push down my growing worries as the officials peppered Mama with questions.

If only I hadn’t accidentally destroyed Lady Erzabetta’s precious Truth Jewel! I thought in growing despair.

Mama answered every question calmly and confidently. But the open hostility of our interrogators left me wondering if anything she said would convince them.

How could we prove who we were if we weren’t allowed to see the one person who could prove Mama’s identity?

Then the sharp-eyed woman turned her gaze to me, her lips pursing as she surveyed my appearance. “And this girl claims to be the domina-regent’s granddaughter?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “With that coloring? Preposterous.”

I felt my cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. My exotic looks had always set me apart from the other people in our village.

“I assure you,” Mama began, her voice tight with restrained fury, “my daughter is—”

“Some Southern Continent half-breed, at best,” interrupted the portly man, his mustache quivering with disdain. “My lady Whoever-You-Are, how in the world did you expect anyone to believe your ridiculous charade?”

“Why not just use a truth spell on us?” I asked, frustrated.

All of our interrogators stared us in horror.

“What did you just say?” gasped the sharp-eyed woman.

Mama turned to me. “Dearest, truth spells are considered coercion of free will. They are illegal. You’ll learn all about things like that in your third-year Ethics of Magic class.”

“Oh,” I said crestfallen. “Then how do we get these people to believe us?”

“You don’t,” the woman scoffed. “The only reason you two weren’t arrested on the spot is because of the aid you rendered Their Imperial Highnesses yesterday. But a few good deeds don’t make you royalty.”

An older man with kind eyes entered the salon. He stopped short and stared openly at Mage-Healer Armand. “By the Twelve, is that really you, Mage Armand?”

Armand squinted at the newcomer. Then his lined face broke into a rare smile.

“Chamberlain Lucius? It’s been far too long, old friend!”

The chamberlain’s gaze shifted to Mama, and his eyes widened. “And… Princess Jonquil? I’d heard the rumors, but it’s really you!” He bowed deeply. “Welcome home, Your Imperial Highness!”

And everything changed.

∞∞∞

My heart raced as we followed Chamberlain Lucas through opulent corridors, each step bringing us closer to the domina-regent. Mama’s hand found mine, and her fingers were cold with nerves. I squeezed them, trying to convey strength I didn’t feel.

“Breathe,” I whispered to her. “We’ve come this far.”

She nodded, her face pale but determined. Behind us, King Menelaus’ presence was a steady warmth, while Mage Armand and Duke Fernan’s quiet footsteps provided a reassuring rhythm.

We paused before a door carved with the imperial seal. The eagle in the center of the seal looked like it was solid gold. The chamberlain rapped on the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

He announced in a resonant voice, “Your Majesty, may I present Princess-Royal Jonquil di Severieri and her daughter, Princess-Royal Jacinthe. They look forward to sharing a private moment with you. With them are King Menelaus of the Anemodareís, Duke Fernan de Norhas, and Mage-Healer Niccolò Armand.”

At the chamberlain’s gesture, we stepped into a wood-paneled room that seemed to breathe power and history. My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman seated on a gilded chair at the far end.

Domina-Regent Jacinthe was a breathtakingly beautiful woman in her late sixties, with shining silver hair caught up in a golden net beneath a simple diadem. But it was her eyes that held me captive—large, expressive, and the exact shade of hazel as Mama’s.

Those eyes widened as we filed into the room.

She rose from her chair, taking a hesitant step towards us. “Jonquil, my dear? Is it—can it be? You’re alive?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Tears welled up in Mama’s eyes as she nodded. “Yes, Mother. I’ve come home hoping you’ve finally forgiven me.”

“Oh, my darling girl!” The domina-regent rushed forward, enveloping Mama in a fierce embrace.

They clung to each other, years of separation dissolving in a torrent of tears and whispered endearments.

I stood awkwardly to the side, bracing myself for when the domina-regent’s attention would turn to me.

Menelaus loomed protectively behind me. His presence was a tangible thing, radiating tension and mistrust. I could feel the weight of his glower directed at the domina-regent.

Mama pulled back from the embrace, wiping her eyes. “Mother, I’d like you to meet someone.” She turned, gesturing towards me. “This is Jacinthe, my daughter. Her father is King Menelaus.”

I held my breath, waiting for the disgust to cloud those hazel eyes so like my own.

The domina-regent had vehemently opposed my parents’ relationship two decades ago.

Would she reject me now?