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17

The stronger salve had worked wonders.

Mara lay stretched out on her bed in nothing but an underdress, dreading putting on her outfit for the masquerade.

Before coming to Kairth, the idea of a masquerade would have invigorated her. A fun night to dance and join in the revels with all the people of the court. But tonight, she wanted to lay in her bed and sulk. To ponder why this was all happening to her. Maybe it was karma for the boy she tripped when she was ten. Or maybe it was as penance for her father’s sins. Or perhaps, even for never partaking much in politics, pretending outside struggles didn’t pertain to her. As odd as it sounded, she knew she had to attend the masquerade, or she’d be just another spoiled noble who disregarded the intricate political workings that went into these affairs.

When Mara finally shifted through her wardrobe, she chose an outfit that represented how she felt inside. She had let her handmaidens fix her hair and dress her wounds, letting them assist slipping the dress on and tightening the bodice.

She settled on a black gown. It lacked underlayers so it sat more flush against her body, molding to her. It had long sleeves decorated in deep burgundy embroidery. The waist cinched with a red sun emblem. The skirt of the dress fell to a red gradient, the very tips of it glimmering like charring coals as she moved. She wore a golden circlet on her head with a red gem in the center and a circlet around her neck that resembled a winding vine, the gilded leaves giving off the faintest orange hue. She knew other guests would be wearing the brighter colors of summer, shorter and more breathable gowns and tunics.

She stared at herself in the mirror. She still felt she was paying homage to the sun goddess, her dress dark but intertwined with red, gold, and orange. She was the fire at the heart of the sun rather than the golden sun rays that cast light on these lands.

Her fingers stroked the mirror, and she subtly put more pressure on the reflective glass stupidly thinking about her fingers slipping through. The thought of her mother getting caught in a slice of mirrors had her lightheaded. Even if she figured out how to glassfaire, there was no guarantee her humors would be strong enough to let her travel safely. And how was she to do that without anyone experienced in the craft to help? Of course, she had books, but they could only teach so much. And why did Acastus want her gift?

She twirled the golden ring on her index finger in nerves as one of her handmaidens finished tightening her dress. While the pain had seriously subsided thanks to Hermes, she still wore the memories from the ceremony like a tattered veil.

She clutched her eyes shut in a moment of terror, remembering the sliminess of the hands that gripped her. The way their overgrown nails dug into her soft skin.

Her eyes sprung open when something brushed against her face. Her handmaiden was tying her mask on. It was a deep burgundy, appearing black, and flickered off in points like a cat's eye. “Still no letters?” Mara asked.

Ternia’s eyes fell, her hands dropping to her side and away from Mara’s face. “Afraid not, Princess.”

Mara sucked in a rapid breath.

“I’m sure your family means to write. Just preoccupied with some overextended political affairs.”

Mara nodded, telling herself Ternia was right. She quickly wiped the tears that dared to tread down her cheeks. The absence of her father—her brother, her friend—threatened to consume her. Her hands began to shake. Mara grabbed her hand, holding it tight against her dress to still it, smiling at Ternia. “You’re probably right.”

When Ternia stepped around her to open the door, Mara turned to face her mirror, her fingers clenching her dress.

“Are you ready, Princess?” the guard had asked from behind her.

Tonight was all about fun. It was a ceremony of new beginnings, lust, and fertility in honor of the sun goddess. The true essence and beginning of summer. All she had to do was attend and pretend to be enjoying herself. To eat a bit, have some wine. Dance. Then she could excuse herself saying she was tired, surely they would understand given the day she had.

She pushed the thoughts of Wrens Reach out of her mind and gave a meek nod, taking a deep breath and following behind the guard.

She half expected Evrardin to be the one to escort her, but it seemed the prince required his service tonight. He had more important business than supervising her.

When Mara entered the gardens, they were even more extravagantly decorated than she had seen earlier. The bushes seemed to glow with tiny suns, and as she grew closer, she could spot the tiny flickering flameflies that twinkled amongst the leaves. The streamers that billowed across the open air reflected the golden light from the setting sun. The stone path she tentatively walked down was lined with fences of gold flora, vines creeping up and covering the white wood almost entirely. Commotion stirred in the distance; a red tent propped for festivities. The courtiers around her all donned outrageous masks, their outfits reflecting some sense of a summer scene, the marvelous hues blinding her as she scanned the crowd.

She spotted the prince beyond the dancing center. He was easy to pick out, his outfit more opulent than anyone else's. He had on a white and gold dress shirt—a jarring sight when she had only ever seen him in black—his crown gilded and darting outward like the sharp points of the sun. Jewelry hung from one of his ears, glimmering in the lights from the hundreds of melted candles illuminating the gardens. The darkness of his hair was a sharp contrast to the yellow shimmer of his mask. He looked breathtaking.

She slowly entered the revel, watching as the prince threw his head back in laughter, making the women he was entertaining blush wildly under their masks.

She was surprised when she spotted Lord Alfson hovering off behind the prince not even bothering to dress for the occasion, adorned in his usual burlap robe. He seemed anxious as he watched the prince down a goblet of dark wine.

The prince leaned forward, whispering something in a redheaded girl’s ear, her face turning the color to match her unruly hair. Mara didn’t know why, but something akin to envy bubbled in her stomach.

She finally tore her eyes away from her future husband and rounded a delphinium bush, taking in the flower’s scent as she passed. She bumped into a stranger, her eyes coming up to take in the figure of a man in an all-orange outfit, a tulle of yellow cascading off his shoulders.

“Apologies, Princess,” the man spoke.

Mara squinted. It was difficult to make out who was who when everyone had these ridiculous masks on.

When the man noticed her staring, he answered her thoughts. “Lord Cofsi,” he reminded.

“My apologies, Lord Cofsi. It seems my mind struggles to recognize you. Nor did I know you were in Kairth.”

“I suppose it’s rather difficult to recognize anyone under these conditions.” He gave her a tight smile, ignoring her latter statement. “I have come for the solstice as well as a few personal matters that need straightening. How are you liking it—in Solstrale?”

Mara cleared her throat. “It’s lovely,” she forced out. She technically wasn’t lying. Everything about Solstrale had been beautiful—apart from the decrepit scars of the city. The only thing stopping her from attempting to enjoy herself was being alone, under constant watch.

As if Lord Cofsi could sense her hesitation, he gave a small chuckle. “Been rather tense in the Red Court these last few years. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be a foreigner swept into the king’s mess.”

The use of the epithet Red Court made her pick at her nails uncomfortably. When the War of Lyres happened so many centuries ago, it left Kairth’s beaches painted red, a stained symbol of their treachery. Only those opposed to Solstrale referred to the Sun Court in such an insulting manner. Mara prayed no one was eavesdropping as he spoke the treasonous words in the heart of the court.

The lord shifted from his two feet, adjusting his mask. “I’ve always wondered how women did it. Got swept off by some man they didn’t know to a land they’ve never seen, and somehow managed to keep the facade of happiness.”

Mara’s eyes widened. The breath was stolen straight from her throat. Lord Cofsi spoke the truth, but she had never heard it offered from a man so easily. A sudden wave of easiness coursed through her knowing he understood—at least, he logically did.

“The prince and king have been so kind to me, welcoming me into their home. And Solstrale is quite beautiful?—”

“You don’t have to be coy with me, Princess. I’m not asking you to take a political stance, just that if that is how you feel, know that the Dusk Court has always been a loyal friend to the king in Wrens Reach. And that extends to you, of course.”

Mara gave him a meek nod, the neckline of her dress suddenly becoming uncomfortably itchy. “You honor me.”

He got closer to her and spoke in a hushed tone. “If you do not wish to go forward with your betrothal to Prince Acastus, do let me know. I’d be more than willing to work something out for you.”

She was stunned by what to say next. How does one respond to something so brazen? And he didn’t seem to care if people around him heard, but she supposed the guests were already inebriated and the cacophony of voices made it difficult to hear your own conversation, let alone someone else’s.

“B-But, why?”

“Why would I help you?” he asked.

Mara nodded.

Lord Cofsi went to open his mouth when Lord Alfson appeared at his side like a shadow.

“Good evening, Princess.” He turned and scowled. “Lord Cofsi.”

“Yes, always a good evening when you make an appearance, Eldric.”

Mara tried to stifle her smile at the sarcasm that dripped off Lord Cofsi’s tongue.

Lord Cofsi looked back at Mara, scooping her hand into his, and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. “Princess. ‘Til next time,” he mumbled quietly. Mara gawked at him as he disappeared into the bustling crowd of sunflowers and roses.

“I hope he wasn’t causing a disturbance. Cofsi is known to be… difficult to converse with,” Lord Alfson spoke beside her.

She jumped, having already forgotten he was by her side. On the contrary, she found his company alluring, wishing to hear more of his bold words. “No. No, he was just welcoming me to Solstrale.”

Lord Alfson gave a hesitant nod.

Before he could say more, Mara excused herself and shuffled over to the large buffet table. Even though she wasn’t hungry, she grabbed a large puff of sweet bread and shoved it in her mouth, her mind wandering to the previous conversation. Why would Lord Cofsi offer to help her? He barely knew her.

She knew he was fond of her father, the entirety of The Shadowed Isles respected him after he gave his support when he was first crowned king, sending off half of Wrens Reach’s military to fight by their side as creatures from the Veil threatened to break the bridge between our worlds. The Shadowed Isles, of course, having stronger connections to the Veil due to their location in Junefell. They tended to act as the shepherds between realms as they reigned dark magick from the Veil.

Maybe he also knew about Mara’s possible ability to glassfaire. If the prince knew, it was certainly an idea to be entertained that other kingdoms knew as well.

Mara grimaced as she slowly chewed her bread, her eyes scanning the feverish crowd, their bodies loose as they spun and swayed to the music.

Her eyes landed on Prince Acastus once again, hard to look anywhere else, his outfit otherworldly as an aura in every sense of the word glowed off his person. He looked like true royalty. Like he belonged to the Sun Court. Like he ruled it.

Mara watched as a pretty woman—not the redhead from earlier—stood between his outstretched legs while he leaned back against a pillar. Her mask did nothing to hide her flirty glances, her eyelashes batting as she looked at him and giggled. Prince Acastus modeled a matching grin, his cheeks pinking from all the wine he had already consumed so early into the night.

Mara's hands gripped the bread tightly in her palms as the woman got on the tips of her toes and whispered in the prince’s ear. The prince caught her by the throat as she pulled away, stopping her, a wicked smile on his lips. He leaned forward and whispered something back.

Mara turned away with a fierce blush across her cheeks.

She knew this wasn’t a marriage of love. It wasn’t even a marriage of like . But she didn’t think the prince would embarrass her like this. He was unabashedly letting women flirt with him, the woman’s body pressed up against his own. And he seemed to like it.

Without thinking, her feet stormed out of the grand garden, down the corridor of bushes, and into an alcove hidden against the castle. The bread in her hand had crumbled between her fingers and scattered a trail on the ground. She could hear giggling up ahead as a couple tripped over one another leading out into the courtyard.

A teardrop blurred her vision before sliding from her face and into her lap as she sat on a stone bench and removed her mask. She had no idea when she had begun crying. She quickly wiped her tears, cursing herself for being so gentle-minded.

So many other women went through this—Lord Cofsi was right. It was a lady’s duty to marry. So many have done it before her and so many will do it after. She needed to get a handle on her emotions. She needed to stop every small thing from exacerbating the wound.

She felt a fool.

“All reveled out?” a familiar voice said from beside her.

Mara blinked away her tears as quickly as she could before she frowned at the overtly tall and brooding man. His eyes widened in momentary disbelief, likely trying to make sense of her weeping face.

“The festivities not entertaining enough for you, Princess? Rather be reading your dusty old books alone in your rooms?”

Evrardin’s hair had been pulled back, the underneath circling against his neck, a few strands cascading against the side of his face. He didn’t wear a mask nor an elegant summer outfit. Though she didn’t expect him to, being the captain of the guard didn’t seem to require him to partake in such rituals.

“The festivities suit me just fine.” She would have been glad for anybody else’s company, even the wretched lady smothered in Cas’ lap.

“Then why am I finding you sulking out here? Seems you have developed a pattern of wandering off during merriments.”

Mara felt her face turn red in frustration. “Honestly, Evrardin, it does not matter. Can’t you just let me wallow in peace?” The anger in her voice was palpable. “Don’t try and pretend like you’re enjoying yourself. You’d rather be somewhere else, too.”

“Always such a pleasure to be around,” he said mockingly. He turned to leave her.

“And you know that's what I so desperately crave!” She clapped her hands together in irritation. “I wish nothing more than to be pliant and easy company for you.”

He faced her again, taking a few steps into her space. “Always so bloody sorry for yourself.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, standing to get more level with him, though he still loomed a good head above her.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, the fury she felt lacking in his tone. “To call you a spoiled princess? Tell you how I’m surprised you’re not tired from being such a pain in the ass all the time? To call you miserable to be around?”

She scoffed. “Oh, because you’re much more engaging company. My mistake.”

He almost laughed, shaking his head. He opened his mouth after stealing a breath, like this was tiring for him. “I’m the Captain of the Royal Guard—I’m not supposed to be entertaining.” He raised his brows at her to continue.

Mara chuckled mirthlessly, the sound more of a scoff than anything. “And I’m assuming then you mean it’s my place to be the pretty princess who just sits in the corner and does what she's told? To be a fun doll for others to play with? Is that my duty, Evrardin? Just a silly form of entertainment for you men .”

Her eyes darkened in rage like she never felt before—the promises from her father, the kind words from Acastus, the face of her brother and closest friend as she left, all came rushing into her at such force. Her chest constricted in breathlessness. Her world had completely flipped in a matter of days. Everything she once knew had shifted.

And now, some godforsaken something-like-that of a knight lectured her on why she had to pretend like she wasn’t fuming beneath the surface. That she couldn’t weep when she felt sorrow. That she couldn’t let anyone know her struggles to accept her life because then that made her ungrateful. It made her oblivious to the suffering of others. It made her shallow. Vain. It made her cold-hearted to show her naive desire for a different life. Even if she failed to accept her future—one all women seemed destined to—she had to pretend she was strong; brave enough to push through this like all the Glass Princesses before her.

And she certainly was failing. Even the simplest thing she couldn’t do right, like hold her future husband's interest. Any other princess could have been enough entertainment for him, at least for more than a few measly days. He would rather have random men and women all over him than to even try and pretend to be faithful to her. Maybe she truly was that dreadful to be around.

Evrardin eyed her curiously, not mirroring the same anger she felt. “I fear that is not what is truly bothering you.”

Mara’s brows scrunched together, her teeth grinding. Against all efforts, tears began rolling down her cheeks. And once they began, they didn’t show signs of stopping. She quickly whirled away from Evrardin, trying her best to break the flow. “How many times must we exhaust this feud?” she said softly.

“As many times as it takes.”

Mara cleared her vision before glancing over her shoulder at him, confused.

Evrardin shifted his stance. “If this is how you get your anger out, fine. Let it be under the guise of naivety and privilege.”

A little pang of warmth began to fill her chest. She wiped away the remaining salt from her face, hesitating to make eye contact with him. “It’s so stupid. Gods, I’m so stupid.” She shook her head harder this time.

“Then what?” he asked.

“The prince, he…” She laughed, finally looking into his dark brown eyes. “I know this arrangement between us has nothing to do with love. And I don’t expect him to act as if it does. But at least… I mean, I thought he’d at least do me the kindness of pretending to honor our betrothal.”

And maybe it wasn’t all about Acastus’ readiness to accept the ogling women. Maybe it was about the loneliness creeping around her. Maybe she was envious the prince was so well-liked, always in the company of others. Never alone.

He always seemed to have people fawning all over him. Even now, engaged, he didn’t let that stop him from having the company of beautiful men and women. Evrardin’s fist clenched, his nails digging into the pommel of his sword.

The air felt sorely awkward around them.

She immediately regretted her confession, her vulnerability shown brighter than ever today. Perhaps she should have continued to argue about how spoiled she was, something neither of them seemed to have the energy to really care about any longer.

“Dance with me?” he asked abruptly.

Mara laughed loudly, her eyes turning upward. “What?”

“Acastus has never had anything he wanted taken away from him. Without fail, he’s made a servant of everyone around him. So fucking willingly too.” His last words were spoken with such disgust that Mara could almost taste the repugnance. He took a breath, his eyes shifting away from her briefly as if holding eye contact was too much. “So, I’ll dance with you. He’ll notice.”

“How do you know he’d care? He hasn’t even sought me out yet tonight.”

He attempted to straighten his spine. “He will,” he insisted again. She figured he might be right—he did know Acastus far better than her.

Mara gulped at his seriousness, wondering if he had ever smiled in his life. She knew he must have, realistically, and a weird burst of butterflies filled her chest when she imagined a small Evrardin, running around and laughing with the other children.

She nodded, looking at him through wet eyelashes. She pulled on her mask to disguise the tears that marked her face, but before they moved from the alcove, he reached out and took the mask. “Don’t hide behind it.”

“But isn’t that the whole point of a masquerade?” she challenged.

“Do you see me wearing one?”

“That’s only because you prefer being uptight.”

He hesitantly offered her his elbow, ignoring her comments. She hesitated, but accepted defeat and interlocked their arms, letting him drag her back out into the open gardens, slipping her mask into one of the hidden pockets amidst the ruffles of her dress. It felt odd, and yet, natural—like this wasn’t the first time he had taken a woman onto the dance floor.

“Tell me, did you make me forsake my mask so the guests could see the tears staining my face?”

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, leading her into the throng of moving bodies. “Such a cynical view you have of me.” A beat of silence. “I wanted to see your reaction when I swept you off your feet.”

Mara stifled a laugh. “Do you even know how to dance?”

He glared at her.

When he dropped her arm, he just as quickly gathered one of her hands in his and rested the other on her hip. Mara felt a jolt shoot through her from the warmth of his hand—especially the one radiating intensely on her side.

He immediately began to spin her around on the cobblestones surrounded by sparkling spireas, Mara’s mouth hanging open in incredulous surprise.

Her feet hurried to keep up as he swayed her, and she looked down to try and find her footing. When she resolved to glaring at him, she could’ve sworn she saw a hint of a smile cross Evrardin’s face.

“This is…rather unexpected,” she mustered. The shock had snuffed all the snarky remarks from her.

He looked blatantly happy with himself for making her state the obvious. “Contrary to your omniscient thoughts, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Princess.”

She rolled her eyes, giving him the sour face of a petulant child.

“There she is,” he muttered under his breath.

Mara’s face went feverish, her spit threatening to choke her. They twirled in silence for a few moments as they fell into a simple pattern until Mara spoke. “This is so idiotic. What a dimwitted plan. I don’t even want him to be jealous.”

“No?”

“No. I”—she shook her head, her curls softly bouncing across her shoulders and down her back—“I think I just felt…”

“Betrayed?” He spoke like he understood that feeling.

She glanced at him, her eyes soft as she scanned his face. It felt uncanny to cooperate so effortlessly with Evrardin. Almost like they were friends. “You know, you’re not so insufferable when you’re not talking to me like I’m the most dreadful companion in all the eight kingdoms.”

“Companions now, are we?”

“Well, what would you call two people forced to spend far too much time with one another if not that?”

“Adversarial correspondents, perhaps. Hostages. Prisoner and warden.”

“See, you’re even cracking jokes. Not so insufferable ,” she reiterated with a mischievous grin.

His hand shifted on her hip without thought as he adjusted his grip and Mara’s heart skipped. It was only then she truly began to take in how close in proximity they were to one another. Her front was pressed flush against his own, one of their hands interlocked and his other far too low on her waist. If she focused, surely she could count the beats to his heart. As she scanned his face, she noticed scars under his beard, one that disappeared into his hairline, and one that bisected his upper lip.

Moving couples danced around them, all shadowed by their masks, unidentifiable as they waltzed in a blur. It almost felt freeing for her and Evrardin to be the only two without something to cover their faces. Like no one else here was real, just a minor snippet in her fairy tale, Mara and Evrardin stealing the title of the story.

“S’much easier to be pleasant when you’re not getting pissed at every little trifle.”

“You take me for someone just being inconvenienced? I didn’t ask for this. Any of it,” she huffed. “I didn’t want to be taken away from my home. To come here and be left to sit languidly in my room. To be ridiculed by the Red Court,” she spat, “and an awfully irritating captain. To be used for some long-forgotten ability of my house.

Before he had room to ask, she began to ramble, subconsciously trying to distract from her previous comment. “It’s painful, you know? I suppose it’s never crossed your mind, and you likely think it trivial, but I'm now destined for a life without love. That isn’t exactly the most comforting prophecy. My scripture doesn’t include another person. Not really.”

His eyes danced between her own, his footsteps coming to a halt as he listened to her. His voice was soft as he spoke, and it sent a chill down her spine. “That doesn’t have to be your augury.”

“And I suppose that means you know what my future holds?”

“Maybe you were destined to be my downfall. My ruination.” She sucked in a breath at

his words. “You sure act like it.”

An alluring shiver coursed through her as they stood unmoving amid dancers swarming around them. His eyes were locked with hers, his cruel words sounding so holy as if they were words of comfort. He gazed at her like she was enthralling him, forcing his thoughts to tumble out of his mouth without any say of his own.

“You could still fall in love with the prince,” he added.

Mara’s mouth went dry. She swallowed with much difficulty before speaking. “And you think it likely he would fall back?” Evrardin gave her a blank stare. “You think that's better than never loving at all? To love someone who can never return those feelings?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Mara’s eyebrows narrowed as they stood stoic, their hands still clasped together, Evrardin’s hand resting idly on her waist.

“You don’t know what?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know which is better.”

She let a sigh escape her. Evrardin looked at her for a moment longer before dropping his hands. On their journey to settle at his side, something seemed to possess him, his fingers floating gently to the necklace that hung around Mara’s neck. His fingertips brushed it so gently that if Mara wasn’t so overtly focused on every sense she was experiencing, she wouldn’t have even known his skin made contact.

He touched the bleeding-heart jewel, and she thought back to the day Acastus proffered it to her in Wrens Reach.

She belonged to Acastus .

Mara watched him with steady eyes, appraising the roughness of his face and the way his rugged features only made him more handsome. Her breath caught in her throat when she accepted her attraction toward him. Evrardin’s eyes flickered up her chest and to her own in response. She could see the terror that pierced through him as he realized what he was doing and to whom.

“Might I steal my soon-to-be wife?” a slightly slurred voice said from behind them.

Mara and Evrardin startled, pulling away from one another simultaneously like a naughty child might do when caught red-handed. She struggled to tear her eyes away from Evrardin and look at the handsome prince, clearly drunk off wine.

“Your mask,” he muttered, his finger coming up to trace around her eyes.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to put it back on.” Mara’s voice came out a mere squeak, embarrassed to be given the prince’s full attention.

“Hm,” he tsked, looking over at the captain. He narrowed his eyes at him before looking back at Mara. “Let us revel in the Summer Solstice!” he said in mock joy, gaining cheers from those around him.

Mara nodded and took his outstretched leather-clad hand. As the prince went to lead her away, Evrardin leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone so only she could hear. “Told you it would work.”

She turned her head and stared at him as she was swept away. She wasn’t sure why, but neither of them seemed happy about his plan working.

For Mara, maybe she didn’t actually want to spend time with the forlorn prince. And for Evrardin, maybe he didn’t like the way Acastus’ hands were where his had just rested.

After letting the prince spin her in sloppy circles, she looked back to where Evrardin had stood and spotted nothing but the reminiscent feeling of his presence. In fact, she didn’t see him for the rest of the night.