Page 31

Morgana

T he room the servant takes me to isn’t so different from the other one beside the barracks, except for the very obvious lack of deadbolt on the outside of the door and yes…windows.

I’m pleased to see the korigos already curled up by the couch on a luxurious cushion. Respen must’ve had it brought here right after the trial. It’s deep asleep, only occasionally flicking its four tails as I move about the room. The poor thing must be exhausted.

As am I, for that matter. I take the opportunity to wash up, enjoying the warm water against my skin. But as I lather the soap across shoulders, I remember the way Leon’s lips felt on them, which leads to me recalling the sensation of his fingers between my legs.

That man is a menace.

I scrub my skin hard, trying to scour away the memory.

Still, as much as I’m annoyed with Leon, I’m more annoyed with myself. I shouldn’t have let it go that far, but gods help me, I’m weak. The moment he had me up against the window, it was like all reason flew out of my mind.

Leon didn’t have to give me a speech about how good he can make me feel. My body remembers all too well. He only has to get close to me for that desire to reawaken, as hot and aching as ever.

My body temperature climbs again at the memory, and I try to calm myself. Pleasure’s not the only thing he’s made me feel. I’ve also suffered plenty of pain from his secrets and lies.

Still, that pain might be just a little less sharp than before, and that frightens me.

I shove it all away, packing it into a box I don’t want to examine. I have bigger things to worry about, after all. Like making sure I’m prepared to heal Fairon. And Tira, of course. I’m always worried about Tira.

Once I’m dried off and changed into a dress, I go to find her. As Leon promised, she’s in the bedroom next door, curled up in the bed with her curtains drawn, even though it’s only the afternoon.

“Go away,” she groans when I pull the drapes open to let the light flood in. She doesn’t open her eyes, pulling the blankets over her head instead.

“Hey, I nearly just got eaten by a giant spider, missy. You could sound a bit more pleased to see me.”

She pulls the blanket down, eyes wide.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” she says in her defense. “I thought it was one of the soldiers. It’s like they think they’re my babysitters.”

“Well, that’s because you look exactly like a huge, ugly baby. It confuses them. Now budge over.”

She makes a rude gesture at me but rolls over so I can climb up on the bed next to her. I lay my head down so our eyes are at the same level. Then I just look at her for a few long moments.

“Don’t do that, it’s creepy,” she says, dropping her gaze so she doesn’t have to meet mine.

“I won’t ask you how you’re feeling,” I say, ignoring her deflection. “Because I assume the answer is ‘shitty.’”

“Yep,” she says. Now I’m closer, I can see the tear tracks where she’s been crying and the still-damp patch on her pillow. “So let’s not state the obvious. Tell me how you’re doing, and how the hell you survived that test, because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were toast.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” I grin.

I tell her about the room they put me in last night, and Leon’s attempt to free me.

Tira is as surprised as I was by the lengths he went to, including his offer to help me even if I did break the vow.

She seems pretty impressed by it, actually.

I’m not ready to hear from her all the ways Leon might be a good guy, so I talk over her, skipping to the part where I found the korigos, and then the test itself.

“Do you think he actually wanted to kill you?” Tira asks. “The fae king? I mean, when that monster crawled out of that pit, I was pretty sure we were about to watch your execution—not that Leon would’ve allowed that, of course. He practically ripped his seat apart trying to get to you.”

“I don’t know…I don’t think Respen was necessarily trying to kill me. I just don’t know if he would have cared that much if I died.”

“Nice guy,” Tira says, deadpan.

“I do think he really did want to see what my magic could do before I went anywhere near Fairon.”

There’s a knock at Tira’s door, and I rise to answer it as she burrows back under the covers.

“Whoever it is, tell them to go away,” she says, voice muffled.

“Your Highness.” The servant at the door bows. “Prince Leonidas said I might find you here.”

He hands me an envelope and departs.

“What is it?” Tira asks when I’ve closed the door again, sticking her head back up over the blankets.

“I have a bad feeling it’s an invitation,” I say. The envelope is made of thick parchment with my name on the front, embossed and decorated with gold leaf.

“An invitation to what?” Curiosity flares in Tira’s eyes.

“A ball they’re throwing to celebrate Leon and the unit’s return,” I say grimly as I open the envelope and read what’s inside. “Oh great.”

I grimace at the flowing script before tossing it down on the bed. I’d thought it would be from Leon trying once again to reel me in—as if a formal invitation would make me feel more obligated to go. But it isn’t from Leon at all.

“ Lady Naia Delsafier? ” Tira sounds incredulous as she reads aloud. “What does she want with you? And what the gloam is a ‘wreathing?’”

“I have no idea. It doesn’t sound fun though, does it?”

Tira grimaces. “Is he really engaged to her?” she asks.

I look away. “Apparently their parents ‘betrothed’ them when they were small. Now it’s up to them to decide whether they want to actually get married.”

“So he’s not engaged, but he’s not not engaged,” Tira says. “And how do we feel about that?”

“It’s complicated,” I say. I’d rather not talk about it, but Tira is clearly enjoying the distraction. My silly love life is something to escape into, away from her problems. “I told him I refuse to be involved with a man who’s already committed to someone else, in any way.”

“So you’d get involved with him again if he weren’t committed?”

I hesitate for a second, then shake my head. It’s too dangerous to entertain that question.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because he is. So there’s no point getting into it—or going to the ball, or whatever this wreathing thing is before it.”

“You don’t want to go at all?” Tira asks, surprised.

“Well, I don’t know…” I catch an almost wistful look on her face. “Do you want to go? I’m sure Leon’s invitation extends to you, if you like the idea.”

Just like that, her wistful look is gone, replaced by something more conflicted. I choose my next words carefully.

“I suppose it might be interesting to see what a fae ball is like.”

“Or a ball at all,” Tira points out. “I mean, it’s not like you and I have spent our wild youth out every night in fancy dresses.” She picks at the edge of her pillow.

“It’s okay, Tira, if you want to go,” I say gently. “It’s not like it changes your grief.”

She looks up at me, guilt and sadness filling her eyes. “I just can’t keep lying here thinking about them,” she says, her voice wavering. “I’ll go crazy. But how can I even consider going to a dance when…”

She trails off, not wanting to say the words aloud.

“A few weeks after my parents were murdered, I started sleeping with the Prince of Nightmares,” I arch a wry brow. “We all have our ways of dealing with things.”

She squints at me. “Yeah, weird, fucked-up ways.”

“So let’s do something fucked-up and go to that ball,” I say. “I will if you do.”

“Alright,” she says, sitting up straighter.

“But we’ll need help—because neither of us knows the first thing about this stuff.

Can we ask one of the soldiers? The women, I mean.

I can’t see any of the men being helpful—except maybe Stratton, but he’d just flirt with us rather than give proper advice. ”

“Something tells me Damia isn’t the type to help a girl out with this either. But maybe Phaia?” I say hopefully. I know she’s an aristocrat, so she must have some insight about what we’re getting into.

I ask a servant to get a message to her. It’s not long before there’s a knock at Tira’s door from the woman in question, along with two other fae women who look similar, with dark brown skin and black hair braided to their waists.

“Morgana, Tira, this is my partner Helia and her sister Desme.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, eyeing up Helia with a little surprise.

Phaia smiles.

“You didn’t think any of us soldiers were in a relationship, did you?”

I give her an apologetic look. “You just all seem so…”

“Brutish? Maladjusted? Chronically absent?” Helia says with a laugh like a tinkling bell.

“She does have a tendency to be gone half the year.” I look for resentment in her face but find none.

Instead, she exchanges a look with Phaia so intimate I feel wrong witnessing it.

“We find a way to work around all that,” Helia continues, reaching out and taking Phaia’s hand.

“I know,” Desme says catching my eye, “they’re sickeningly sweet together. I’ve been married forty years, and there’s no way I still look at my husband like that.”

“Liar,” Phaia says to her before turning to Tira and me. “So, I hear you have questions about the ball.”

“And this,” I say, picking up Lady Naia’s invitation and showing it to them. “Is it somehow related to the ball? It seems like it’s meant to happen right before.”

The fae shoot loaded looks at each other I can’t read.

“Yes, it is related. Lady Naia is the one throwing the ball,” Phaia says.

My mouth drops open. “It’s her ball?”

But isn’t that just like Leon, going and inviting me to a party thrown by the very woman we argued about? I don’t think that man knows the first thing about smoothing things over.

“Lady Naia and some of her friends proposed it. Honestly, those women will use any excuse to throw a social event,” Desme explains.

“It’s still being held here at the palace though, right?” Tira asks.

“Yes, though Lady Naia and the others are the hosts, rather than the royal family themselves. Traditionally, that gives her certain privileges. She’s in charge of the wreathing, for example, and decides who’s invited. Which includes you, apparently,” Helia says.

“And what, exactly, is a wreathing?” I ask.

They look surprised I don’t know, but have the tact not to rub it in.

“It’s when the women guests gather together to prepare for the ball—choose each other’s dresses, share hairdressers, that type of thing,” Phaia says.

“It can be pretty fun,” Helia says.

“Emphasis on ‘can?’” I say, picking up on her tone.

“It’s possible she’s already heard the rumors that you and the captain became…close while you were traveling in Trova. I suspect she’s invited you there with ulterior motives,” Phaia says.

Desme snorts. “ Suspect ? That’s absolutely what she’s doing.”

“She wants to get the measure of me, is that what you mean?” I ask.

“Or she wants to mark her territory,” Tira says.

“Both are possibilities,” Phaia says.

“Can I just decline the invitation? Go to the ball but avoid this wreathing thing?”

I can tell the answer just from reading their expressions.

“You can’t really refuse without insulting the host,” Desme says. “Which would give her grounds to exclude you from the ball entirely.”

“Says who?” Tira demands.

“Says tradition,” Phaia replies. “Like it or not, if you’re going to be a guest of this court, you’re going to have to play by its rules.”

“There’s another possibility,” Helia says. “This could have nothing to do with Prince Leonidas. Lady Naia may simply be looking to gain favor with a future queen.”

“I think we should go to the wreathing then. Tira can come too, right?”

“Yes, invited guests often bring their friends,” Phaia confirms.

“Good. Then it’s settled. I don’t want to insult someone if it really is just an innocent invitation.”

“And if it isn’t?” Tira asks skeptically.

I straighten, pulling my shoulders back. “If it isn’t, if this woman wants to go toe-to-toe with me over some rumors she’s heard, I’m not afraid of a fight.”

I tell myself I shouldn’t be intimidated. After all, this Naia woman might be a noblewoman, but I’m a bloody princess. If there was a time to lean on my rank, it’s now. I’m just as worthwhile as any beautiful, blonde fae woman.

“Phaia is automatically invited to the wreathing as one of the ball’s guests of honor,” Helia says. “So we’ll be there too. Don’t worry, Your Highness, we’ll keep an eye on you.”

I smile and thank them, though I hope I won’t need any protecting. It’s just some silly pre-ball party, after all. How bad can it be?