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Chapter 15

IRIS

The queen’s lady-in-waiting looked as if she would happily strangle me with the ties of the corset she held.

Deyanira Leoven’s slate-blue curls nearly slapped me in the face as she strode past, adding another piece to the ever-growing mountain of clothing on the bed. She had made her dislike for my presence abundantly clear—the most outwardly hostile display I’d encountered since my arrival. Whatever her reasons, the discovery of caked-on mud still clinging to my boots and skirts surely hadn’t improved her opinion.

After a fortnight of anxious anticipation, the return missive from Marikaim led to immediate preparations for a departure at dawn.

“My clothes from Vaelithe are perfectly suitable for Marikaim’s warm weather,” I protested as she tossed my olive skirt into the reject pile.

“You are representing the royal family of Kacidon on this journey,” she snapped, not pausing as she spoke. “You must present yourself accordingly.”

“And I cannot wear my own clothing to do so?” Her sharp tone grated against my exhaustion.

“With mud up to the hem and not an inkling of Kacidon colors? Absolutely not.”

Stepping into her path, I intercepted a soft pink corset headed for the discarded pile and discreetly tucked it behind a pillow on a nearby chair, where a lightweight brown skirt already lay in exile.

“Kacidonian clothing will suffocate me in Marikaim.”

A resplendent lilac gown landed atop the approved pile, the beading delicate and intricate.

“This isn’t in traditional Kacidonian colors either,” I pointed out, eyeing the fabric. “While I adore gowns, what in the Divine will I need something this extravagant for?”

“You mustn’t arrive unprepared.”

On that, at least, we could agree. And I wouldn’t argue with an opportunity to wear something so splendid.

A knock halted her relentless sorting. “Ladies.”

I opened the door to find a grinning Theon, his lightly tanned skin crinkling at the corners of his angular eyes. “I hope the packing has gone smoothly.”

“It would have,” Deyanira shoved the last of the garments into a travel trunk. “If her clothes weren’t dirtier than the bottom of my shoes.”

I scoffed. “It has far less to do with the state of my clothes and far more to do with your vehement dislike of them.”

“Iris, you’re needed for one last meeting before you leave,” Theon said with a wink and far too much delight.

“And Deya,” he continued, his tone laced with placation and teasing familiarity, “her wardrobe only needed a few additions of Kacidon finery for gatherings with the new Queen of Marikaim.”

She ignored him, latching the trunk shut before brushing her hands down her deep navy gown. “She’s your problem now,” she said, patting the chest plate of Theon’s armor as she passed through the doorway. “Good luck.”

I whirled from where I had turned to sneak a few more items into the trunk. “What in the fucking Divine was that?”

Theon only shrugged, amusement tinged with something that might have been sorrow. “Not my story to tell.”

“Fair enough.”

Climbing onto the bed, I threw my full weight atop the trunk and looked up at Theon for assistance.

He raised a brow. “I watched Deyanira latch this before she left.”

“A few last-minute additions,” I huffed, pushing down harder until he finally secured the latch.

* * *

The sounds of wheels against stone filled the enchanted carriage as we pulled away from Arcton Palace.

“I cannot believe she sent you to chaperone,” Aspen muttered from the opposite bench, eyes closed, head tipped back against the seat.

Of course, this was what Queen Genevieve had called the last meeting to discuss. For good measure, she decided Theon would accompany us. In part, to ensure we stuck to the story she had crafted—and, I suspected, to keep us from tearing each other’s heads off. Which would undoubtedly undermine the message we were meant to send.

The message of a newly courting pair.

Lovely .

I couldn’t attend as a healer or apothecary. Doing so would invite too many questions Kacidon didn’t want answered. Instead, to bolster the image of Kacidon mending ties with neighboring realms, I would play the role of a second daughter to a Duke in Vaelithe.

Since the prince was unmarried, unbound, and heir to the throne of Kacidon, no one would question why the king and queen sought a suitable partner. And with our visit to offer Marikaim both aid and allyship, a small favor would be requested in return—the ability to translate a text in the old language as a gift to the newly betrothed. Queen Genevieve stressed that the arrangement had been framed as political and early in its commencement. Overt displays of affection wouldn’t be necessary, only civil cordiality.

I, of course, couldn’t utter a word about the forbidden topics. Especially not the Malum.

Parasitic things, life debts.

Another game to play. And I was to be a pawn.

I wondered if it would ever stop feeling dirty.

Across the carriage, Theon grinned so wide it threatened to crack his handsome face.

“Theon’s your personal guard. Why wouldn’t he be assigned to journey with us?” I asked, puzzled by Aspen’s exasperation.

“This isn’t a particularly dangerous mission,” Theon propped his feet on the cushion beside me, ankles crossed. “The prince takes trips like this alone when necessary.”

“Your guard doesn’t accompany you to other realms?” I directed the question at Aspen, but he merely scrubbed a hand over his face, offering no reply.

“He can handle himself,” Theon clapped a hand on Aspen’s shoulder. “He’s yet to best me one-on-one without magic, but he can hardly be faulted for that.” He laughed as the prince shoved him off. “Gav’s been trained his entire life in all manner of combat. Most of the time, I come along either for the merriment or to make sure he doesn’t accidentally piss off someone important.”

I laughed—the first real one since I last saw Nadya and Ferrin. “A tireless job, I presume.”

“He’s quite skilled at it,” Theon chuckled.

Aspen groaned, knocking his head back against the seat.

Theon stretched his muscular arms as far as the cramped space allowed, the bulk of his frame impressive even without his usual full suit of armor. He wore only a light linen shirt, tucked into black trousers. Leaning back, he folded his hands behind his head, several tendrils of his long dark hair falling from the knot securing them.

“This is going to be a riot.”