Page 10

Chapter Seven

M oonblossoms dripped from ancient terraces, releasing a sweet perfume that stuck to her skin.

It only took a few moments roaming the lush gardens to get the fire under control, though her panic was still roaring against her bones.

In the inner courtyard, she was blessedly alone, able to hear her own breath for the first time since she’d descended the stairs inside. She perched along the edge of a fountain, letting the water cool her fingertips as she sorted through the tangled mess in her mind.

In the privacy of the flora, she let the panic devolve into rage.

Not only at her mother’s strategic betrayal but at herself for playing right into it.

The pretty dresses, the dreamy music, all of it a con to get her in front of as many dignitaries as possible. Had she pushed her toward the Martian prince as a way to make up for her forsaken engagement all those years ago? Was her plan to marry her off to correct a diplomatic misstep?

She buried the thought, desperate to get on top of the all-consuming buzz inside her chest before it melted her bones and boiled her blood. The boning in her bodice tightened with each shallow breath.

Between her gasps, shocks of fluorescent green ire speckled her vision, and it struck her.

She could outmaneuver the queen.

The rush of King Mirquios’s hands along her waist washed over her again. The queen had asked her to all but ignore him and focus on Mars to smooth things over with their wounded king, but why shouldn’t she have a say in her Fate?

Who could blame her for falling in love with a handsome king?

She shook her head. It was a ridiculous thought. And a cruel one. She didn’t need to tangle up an innocent monarch in her mess. And besides, no one who knew her well would buy it… unless?—

The air in her lungs disappeared in a sudden heave. A whirlwind of torment swept through the garden, inky black and moving at a rapid clip along the hedges beside her.

She flinched as she held her chest, the midnight-black pain overwhelming her entire body. Her eyes searched the hedgerow for the intrusion, but just as quickly as it crashed over the cobblestones, it was gone.

“Hello?” she called out, rising and pushing her skirt behind her, ready to make a run for it.

She could feel something— someone —running at an unholy heat on the other side of the hedges, though the initial downpour of feelings dissipated into silence.

She edged toward the wall of foliage, letting the flames in her blood bubble toward her fingers.

She’d be damned if she let a Solarian get the jump on her this close after that nonsense on her way into the city.

Astra stilled her body and closed her eyes, trying to hold the space across the leaves in her mind, searching for any hint of them. It was impossible to sift through so many blurry emotions and spirits, the crowd just a few yards away interfering with her vision.

She called again, “Is someone there?”

The only thing beyond the gardens was the Midwood. Any courtier looking to visit either had plans she didn’t want involved in or was just plain stupid.

There . The heat concentrated into a tight ball, a faint smoke rising from the other side of the hedges.

“I can feel you,” she whispered. The last dregs of darkness she’d felt before drained away, leaving only that intolerable warmth.

It wasn’t uncommon for folks to block her from their feelings, but it was eerie to feel absolutely nothing but that terrifying heat—whoever it was had an intrusive understanding of how her power worked.

The notion sent a shiver up her spine. She backed away from the wall, just in case.

“Fine,” she relented. “Stay hidden, but it’s my obligation to warn you that the Midwood will not take kindly to trespassers. It wouldn’t be surprising if the Lunar elves decided they could use a meal. Especially one so warm,” she said, sinking into her stance.

“Oh, please,” the warmth rumbled back. The leaves rustled as they shifted. “Everyone knows the price of a Lunar elf is but a handful of gold coins.”

Astra rolled her eyes. “For the average citizen, perhaps. But you…”

The voice barked a laugh. “What of me, Princess?”

She couldn’t bring herself to lob the accusation. It felt too serious, if she wasn’t certain, though the sweat rolling down her back seemed to confirm her suspicion.

“Take your chances then. Between the elves and my army, you’ll find yourself in quite a predicament.” Astra crossed her arms. “Or, you could surrender yourself now. I’d be happy to deliver you into the queen’s hands myself.”

“As much fun as that sounds, I have somewhere to be.”

“Who are you?” She demanded.

“No one you need to worry about,” he replied.

“Surely, that’s not true. Who are you here with?”

A dark chuckle wove through the leaves. “I have somewhere I have to be.”

“Suit yourself!” She called as the flames retreated, moving toward the Midwood. Everything ravaged her nerves. The noise, the shoulders brushing past her as she stepped back into the ballroom, the heat of him that seemed to cling to her skin like the seawater below. It was all too much.

She shook her head, searching for Ameera in the crowd. She should have fired first and asked questions second—no one that warm could have anything but ill intentions for her.

“Princess!” A set of hands, warmer than hers but nothing like the ghost in the garden, gripped her shoulders. “Everything all right?”

“Your Highness,” she sputtered, glancing frantically around the ballroom.

“You know, I think I’d prefer you to call me Mirquios,” he said with a grin that she was sure should calm her nerves, but only tore a larger hole in her chest.

She needed to find Ameera and Archera.

“Very well,” she muttered, searching through blues and reds and greens and pinks, looking for the glittering honey of Ameera’s soul.

“I hope it wouldn’t be inappropriate to ask you for a second dance?”

“I’m sorry,” Astra sighed. “I would love to, but I need to find my Head Maiden.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

Astra nodded, pushing through the dense crowd to the other side of the ballroom. Ameera was nowhere to be seen, though Astra swore she felt a flicker of her near the door.

Where are you? Astra beamed, hoping it would land in Ameera’s ears.

Mirquios trailed behind her dutifully as she exited the ballroom and slipped out into the hallway, intending to head for her wing of the palace.

Ameera was even less enthused about these things than Astra, perhaps she’d retired for the night.

“Is this okay?” The king asked as she led them down an empty hall.

“What?” She couldn’t be bothered to turn toward him, determined to follow the faint wisp of Ameera’s signature she’d caught.

“The two of us alone?”

Astra stopped and turned, a slight laugh escaping her. “Oh. I’m afraid I’m no expert in Mercurian societal boundaries, but Lunarians are far less… concerned with things of that nature.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding as she slipped into her private study.

Mirquios pulled the door shut behind him, the colors in his chest shifting from guarded oranges and reds to a gentle ocean of blues and greens. “That’s one of the many mysteries of the Lunar Court solved, then.”

“Are we that mysterious?” Astra asked over her shoulder, plopping into the plush chair behind her desk. From this distance, all the energy of the Celestial Hall couldn’t touch her. The heat of the Solarian dissipated. She could concentrate.

“The rumors range from terrifying to… tempting,” Mirquios said, sitting across from her, crossing a foot over his knee.

“I’m happy to confirm or deny any rumors you’ve heard, Your—Mirquios.”

He leaned back in the chair, examining her carefully. “Can you really read minds?”

She snorted. “Is that what they say about me?”

“Oh, they say a great deal about you, Fire Queen.”

“I can’t read yours,” she offered. “But I can communicate telepathically with a select few women, yes. It depends on the relationship.”

“Your sister?”

Astra smiled at the mention of Lunelle. “Yes. And my Head Maiden, Ameera. But it requires a two-way push and pull. It’s not a free-for-all.”

“Can I admit I’m disappointed, but also thoroughly relieved?”

“That makes two of us,” Astra mumbled. The constant onslaught of everyone’s emotional state was bad enough, but attaching their exact words to it?

A nightmare. As Mirquios watched her face, a slow heat burned over her chest, so different from the one in the garden.

There was no alarm in this warmth, no warning.

The only threatening thing about it was the sickening thought that she just might enjoy the way he looked at her. The spiraling line of thinking from the garden drummed up again.

What if… what if?

“So you can’t read my mind, but do you see my aura or…?”

“I don’t see auras,” she answered him, shaking her head. “I see colors I’ve learned to tie to specific emotions. Well, I don’t physically see them. It’s more like I just know them, in here,” she said, tapping her forehead.

“Can I test you?” His eyes held onto hers, a wicked grin breaking across his deep skin, sending a shiver over hers.

“Of course.”

“So just… think of a feeling?”

“A memory. Something that made you feel strongly.” She leaned over her desk as he conjured the memory, the cool tones in his chest swirling to a hazy gray with tendrils of lavender woven between midnight blues and icy teals.

The colors gave way to the emotions in her mind.

Trepidation, worry, clouded by something stronger, more resolute.

Duty.

“I know this one well,” she said softly. “The complexity of obligation and honor. Resentment for choices made on your behalf. The strange blend of pride and moral decay beneath your skin. Hope that you aren’t letting your court down.”

“Incredible,” he murmured. “Another one.”