Page 20 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

“ Y our home is beautiful!” Queen Regina of Vernallis gushes. “It’s so impressive how you’ve been able to do so much with so few resources.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” my mother replies, sounding startled.

“You will have to tell your kitchen to share the recipe for this fish with our chef. I’m always saying we should serve simpler meals from time to time.”

I grind my teeth and stab my fork into my fish with unnecessary force.

The full dining room is loud and buzzing with activity, but almost none of the chatter is coming from the high table where I sit with my parents, the king and queen of Vernallis, their son Prince Thorne, and my oldest sister Serena.

My other two sisters, Dellanore and Avaline, were excused from dinner, probably because my mother guessed—correctly—that they wouldn’t be able to resist taunting the Vernalli prince.

I wish I’d been excused too. Dinner has been an uncomfortable affair, and we’re barely halfway through the fish course.

Queen Regina exalts herself and seems to take her pleasure from tossing thinly veiled insults at my mother across the dining table.

Mother is too polite to acknowledge it, so the Queen of Vernallis keeps blurting out more and more obvious slights in an effort to gain a reaction.

On the opposite side of the table, my father is talking to King Florian.

It doesn’t seem to be going any better than Mother’s attempts at diplomacy.

I glance over at where my sister is attempting to make conversation with Prince Thorne. I lean in to listen just in time to hear him make a rude comment about her appearance.

Fuck this.

I shove my chair back abruptly and stand. All eyes at the table turn to me, and my father raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Uh, I just need some air,” I mutter, stepping back from the table.

Before anyone can stop me, I push my chair back in and stride toward the short steps that separate our raised table from the rest of the busy dining room.

“Excuse him,” my father says behind me. “His betrothed just entered the hall. You know how young princes can be.”

King Florian laughs, and the stilted conversation resumes.

I grind my teeth but don’t turn around. I hadn’t even noticed Lady Lyra enter the room, I simply had to leave before I did something stupid. Punching the prince of our neighboring kingdom would not be the best way to start this summit…even if he deserved it.

I avoid catching anyone’s eye as I stride along the far side of the busy dining hall. Eight long tables, packed with food and finely dressed nobles of both courts, fill the cavernous room, their chatter echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

At least the courtiers all seem to be getting along.

In theory, we’re here because Prince Thorne is interested in marrying my sister, but we all know that’s not the real reason.

An event like this is intended to let the courtiers mingle with each other while the royals talk politics. Undoubtedly dozens of marriages and business agreements will come out of the next three days, but none of them will involve the royal families.

No one in my family has ever married outside our own court. My own uninspiring betrothal is the perfect example of that.

Despite my father’s excuses to the Vernalli royals, I have no desire to stop and talk to Lyra, and I duck my head, pretending not to see her as I push open the heavy double doors and step out into the corridor.

Mercifully, no one else is out here. On one side of the long hall is the polished stone wall, which drowns out any sound from the dining room behind it.

On the opposite side, the wall is open and lined with white stone pillars and a low railing, which overlooks the rocky cliffs and ocean beyond the castle.

I cross the hall and lean on the railing. In the distance, I can see the chimneys of the nearby city and the tall masts of the docked ships.

I’ve barely had a moment to catch my breath when the doors open again behind me, bringing the sounds of the dining room out into the quiet corridor.

“Your Highness?” a familiar voice asks as the creaking doors swing shut again.

“What is it, Magnus?” I growl.

Magnus Von Bargen, my father’s favorite advisor, comes to stand beside me. I begrudgingly turn to acknowledge him.

Magnus is a thin, white man of above average height, with blonde hair, which hints that he’s originally from Thermia—though I’ve never asked. Technically, he’s my future father-in- law, but our relationship has never been anything other than prince and courtier.

“Your father wanted me to remind you that it leaves a bad impression on the court of Vernallis for you to disappear in the middle of dinner.”

“He said that, did he?”

Magnus huffs a breath and throws me a placating smile. “Well, no, not precisely…but you know what I mean.”

I sigh and roll my eyes—I understand exactly what he’s getting at.

My father is incredibly predictable, and so set in his ways that Magnus can foresee his words before they’re even spoken.

Like earlier, when Magnus practically dragged me outside onto the balcony so the arriving Vernalli nobles would get the full effect of our entire family looking down on them.

I don’t like crowds or putting on political theater, but predictably, my father didn’t care, and Magnus was sent to tell me so.

Father’s predictability is why Magnus has become my father’s chief advisor; essentially his sole advisor. Although Father doesn’t typically take advice from anyone, if he ever chose to, Magnus’s opinion would be the only one he’d consider.

“What do you think Father would do if I punched Prince Thorne in the middle of dinner?” I ask, conversationally.

To his credit, Magnus doesn’t seem surprised by the question and considers it. “I think he’d tell you that if you must, save it for after dinner.”

I let out a startled bark of laughter. He’s absolutely right; Father wouldn’t care about the violence, only that it was unplanned. Losing control is a far greater sin in my father’s eyes than anything else. I could probably get away with murder as long as it was well thought out.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Less than five minutes, I promise.”

He gives me an almost affectionate clap on the shoulder. “Fine. But if you’re not back by then, I’ll send Lyra out here to get you.”

I wrinkle my nose but just nod. I believe Magnus means well by sending his daughter, and I don’t want to offend him by asking for someone else.

I’ve been betrothed to Lady Lyra Von Bargen since before I was able to speak in full sentences. I can only assume the arrangement has something to do with my father’s affection for the man who just left, because it certainly has nothing to do with my affection—or lack thereof—for Lyra.

I don’t precisely dislike her, but I’ve never been able to picture myself married to her either.

Everyone says I’ll feel differently about it when we eventually form a soul-bond, but I can’t imagine that happening either.

Bonds tend to form from intense emotional shared experiences, and I can’t recall ever seeing Lyra show even a hint of emotion about anything.

A full-scale riot could break out in front of her and she would nod and clap politely like she was attending the opera.

I turn back to the view of the open ocean, sucking in a deep, calming breath. The evening air tastes like the ocean and the sweet orchid blossoms blooming along the rocky coast.

The door behind me opens again, and I stiffen. For fuck’s sake.

I spin on my heel, expecting to see Magnus. “I said five minutes, that wasn’t—” I stop short mid-sentence.

It’s not Magnus or even Lyra. Instead, there’s a pretty girl with cascading red hair standing in the doorway, her blue eyes wide with surprise as my shout echoes down the hall.

I clear my throat and step back against the railing. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

The girl blinks up at me, letting the door swing shut behind her as the confusion clears from her face. I wait for her to bow her head and insist the uncomfortable moment was her fault—just like any other courtier would do—but she doesn’t.

Instead, her eyes narrow and she scoffs. “Gods, I’m an idiot. I should have known,” she mumbles to herself, before tossing her hair over her shoulder and flouncing away from me without so much as a curtsy.

I stare after her, dumbstruck.

“Excuse me,” I blurt out, taking a lurching step after the girl.

Again, she ignores me. She walks down the hall, far enough that it’s clear she’s trying to put space between us, and leans on the railing overlooking the ocean just as I was doing a moment ago.

I sense my heartbeat quicken—it’s not anger. It’s indignation. Curiosity.

“Excuse me!” I repeat, striding toward her. “Did you hear me?”

The girl glances over her shoulder at me. “I don’t know how it would be possible not to hear you. Do you always yell at strangers like that?”

I blink in surprise, and answer her out of sheer force of habit. “No.”

“Good.” She turns away to look at the ocean again. “I would hate to think all the rumors about you are true…although, evidently, most are. That’s disappointing.”

I stop a few yards away from her. “What rumors?”

She sighs as if I’m annoying her.

As if I’m annoying her. Unbelievable.

She waves a hand in the air, still refusing to face me. “Oh, you know.”

My stomach lurches. “No…I don’t know.”

“You must know everyone says you’re as arrogant and cruel as Thorne—” she clears her throat. “Sorry, Prince Thorne, I mean.”

I blink several times. Who is saying that?

I’m not arrogant—at least, not in any way that I don’t have every right to be. If I’m not especially personable, it’s only because I detest large groups of people. I can’t mingle with the court like everyone else. I have responsibilities, and?—

I shake my head. Why am I even worrying about this? Who the hell is this girl who thinks she can insult me to my face?

“What’s your name?” I demand, well aware that my tone is just as rude as she accused me of being.