Page 58 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

With the queen’s approval and help—as well as with the assistance promised by Iyal Afshin—Silas established a warlockry department at Loegria’s university.

It started small, just one other teacher representing Casters while Silas represented Affiliates.

He kept his residual Artifact abilities under wraps.

He was still struggling to trust his home country with the knowledge of his animal link, and he wasn’t about to invite more danger by coming out as some never-before-seen magical hybrid.

But he chose to trust Eliza with the truth.

“Don’t turn me into a cup of tea,” she said when witnessing his Fluid Casting, followed by a grin, and, “Show me again!”

With her help, he set up experiments to test how his Affiliate magic might have changed.

The result was an office filled with small animals and a collection of avians knocking sharp beaks against his window.

While Silas tried and failed to banish them all, Eliza sagged against his desk from laughter.

He could only transform into a snake, but now he could establish a communication link with basically any other animal. The resulting obedience, however, was . . . variable.

“This is not how Affiliate magic works,” he grumbled, scratching frantic notes in his journal while someone’s lost hunting dog chased a gopher out the door.

“You’re discovering how your magic works,” Eliza said, rescuing a rabbit from the chaos. “Good thing you have a research assistant to help.”

Silas smiled down at the page. “Research partner. It’s more accurate.”

Even though they were no longer bound by magic, he preferred having her by his side. She made good things more enjoyable and difficult things easier to bear.

When he was finally ready to visit his family, he told her she didn’t have to come, but she insisted. Truthfully, he was grateful. What he was about to do was hard enough—at least he could know there was one person on his side.

The Bennett estate remained as he remembered. Grim black gates and square hedges surrounded a manor house with dark trim. His father wanted to appear sophisticated, but the end result was simply oppressive.

Eliza pursed her lips. “We could splash some orange on the front, Izili style.”

“I’m here to speak to my father, not stop his heart.”

The family butler greeted Silas stiffly, like he was a stranger in his own home. Rather than introducing herself as the crown princess, Eliza had worn her Pravish clothing and called herself Yvette, a friend from university.

“So I can be dramatic, if needed,” she whispered as they followed the butler to the sitting room. She touched the scarf over her hair. “I’m prepared to throw back my scarf and make royal decrees if he so much as touches you.”

Silas slipped his fingers around hers and squeezed.

He’d gone over what he wanted to say repeatedly, but once he was actually in the same room as his family, his carefully chosen words fled.

His mother took his hands and kissed his cheek, speaking as though he hadn’t been gone more than a day.

Maggie complained about the lack of any letters, and though she presented it as teasing, he saw the genuine pain in her eyes. He was about to cause worse.

Could he really go through with it?

His father remained on the other side of the study, regally composed, hands clasped behind his back.

It was only when his mother sent for a tray of refreshments that his father finally spoke.

“He won’t be staying long,” Lord Bennett said.

Eliza didn’t bother to conceal her scowl at the man. Court manners would have required an impassive expression, like the one Silas’s mother now wore, but Eliza preferred honesty.

As did Silas.

“No,” he agreed. “Just long enough to say what’s necessary.”

His father’s nod approved of the direction he thought this was going.

“It’s about time. Your attitude in recent years has grown increasingly dismal, and I’m pleased the banishment seems to have been sufficiently humbling.

If you have aspirations about regaining your title and inheritance, you’ll accept strict requirements, beginning with a prestigious marriage arrangement.

Marquess Haskett’s daughter is a fine target, or perhaps the spare princess, if you can be trusted not to squander a second opportunity at a royal connection. ”

Eliza nearly threw back her hood, but she restrained, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

Clearly trying to be delicate, his mother said, “Silas, dear, your friend is lovely. Is she here . . . visiting family?”

Silas ignored the question, addressing his father. “Keep the title, Lord Bennett. I know what it means to you. I came for only one reason. Since it’s no longer a death sentence, I can be honest about who I am.”

He transformed in a puff of mist.

In control as he was, he did it quickly, just long enough to make the point. The silence in the room was thick as ice, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Maggie’s eyes.

Silas could have left it there.

He considered it.

But he thought about Kerem and the easy path to bitterness.

To his father, he said, “I forgive you for believing what you were always told about shapeshifters. Now you know it was all wrong. Moving forward, I hope you can see me as a son, but I’m not going to follow requirements or leap hurdles to earn your love.

I’m either enough or I’m not, just as I am. You decide. I’ll be myself either way.”

Glancing at his mother and sister, he added, “If you have any interest in finding me, I’m a professor at the university here. I’d love to show you what I’m working to create.”

He bowed, and then he turned away, taking Eliza’s hand as he walked.

The new queen’s wedding was the biggest celebration Silas had ever attended, and though he desperately wanted to slink off to some corner of the castle with a book, he stayed in a dressing room with his best friend, dodging servants and tailors.

It should never require so many people to get dressed.

“I thought you’d have a quiet wedding, Gill. Something in your lemon orchard.”

Gill held perfectly still for the tailors, but he smiled through the mirror. “Can I ask you something? Why do you insist on using ‘Gill’?”

“You don’t have more pressing questions on your wedding day?” Silas smirked, then looked away. “When we met, you told me everyone had called you ‘Baron’ since you were six. I asked what they called you before that.”

“And then you took up ‘Gill’ without any further explanation.”

“Because I wanted to pretend I’d known you all my life, and if I had, I would’ve been too stubborn to change your nickname when everyone else did.”

The tailors finished their work, leaving Guillaume Reeves dressed in a white suit trimmed with red—the royal colors of Loegria. The dress sword at his hip had been handed down through the royal family for centuries and looked too delicate to actually swing.

“Since I’ve known you all my life,” said Gill, “I can say with confidence that it will be you under the tailor’s pins soon.”

Silas felt ill at that. Marrying Eliza was one thing, but looking at Gill in that red-and-white costume, all he could think of was joining the royal family, a family that had persecuted magic users for centuries.

“They branded you,” he said quietly. “Now you’re joining them.”

He meant it less as an accusation and more as a question for his best friend of what path he could possibly take.

“I would choose different in-laws if I could,” Gill said frankly, “but not at the expense of Aria.”

The sounds of a faint argument echoed in the hallway, and then Gill’s thirteen-year-old brothers spilled into the room, Leon complaining about the frills on his shirt and Corvin telling him to stop whining on their brother’s wedding day.

Since the ceremony was imminent, Silas decided to give them a few minutes of family time, but before he left, he gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Gilly,” he said quietly. At Gill’s confused frown, he added, “Don’t make me list why. There’s too much. Just marry your queen.”

The castle chapel had been strung with yellow and green banners in defiance of the snow outside. Yellow flowers lined the aisle, and Silas smiled, remembering Eliza’s complaints about flower availability in winter. Clearly, she’d prevailed against the challenge in her usual determined way.

Despite being overcrowded and formal, the ceremony was nice—or, at least, it was nice to see how happy it made his best friend.

Eliza cried more than the two people actually getting married, and even when the celebration moved to the castle’s expansive ballroom, she was still weepy.

Before Silas could offer comfort, she folded herself into him first, clinging like she would never let go.

“It’s a happy occasion,” he drawled.

“I am happy,” she griped back, rubbing at her freckles. “I’m also jealous and sad and confused and desperately in want of a lemon tart.”

“One of those things I can remedy, but you’d have to let go.”

“Then forget the tart. I’m more desperately in want of you.”

The words sent a little thrill up his spine, and he rubbed his hand gently over her back, enjoying the way she relaxed in his arms. Any of the gossips at court who didn’t already know the crown princess was courting a disinherited scholar would know by the end of the day, because Eliza was never shy about affection in public, and she made no effort to hide Silas or to present him in a more socially respectable light.

All at once, the answers to the questions he thought were terrifying became simple.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Eliza squinted up at him.

She wore a green silk gown tailored to her figure, her brown hair half-gathered in curls beneath a tiara. She looked like a princess.

Silas tapped her crown. “Dangerous weapon you’re wearing.”

Authority could be wielded in the same way as a sword. The same way as magic. And trusting her to wield her power well was no different than trusting her with a blade. His father and hers had both proven to be dangerous with a weapon, but Eliza and Silas could be different.

Just as he’d once handed her an Artifact in the dark, trusting her to help him, he trusted her now.

Maybe it would be him under the tailor’s pins soon, and maybe he didn’t mind the idea.

Maybe the best day of his life would be the day he chose to share it forever with Eliza.

Eliza’s hand flew to her tiara, and she pulled back, eyes wide. “Weapon? Did it poke you?”

Silas snorted. As the orchestra transitioned from atmospheric music to sultry waltzes, he kissed her hand and led her onto the dance floor—not because he cared for dances, but because he knew she did. The sparkle of joy in her eyes was well worth it.

Between songs, a familiar, timid voice spoke from behind him.

“Silas?”

He turned to find Maggie, rumpling the front of her dress in nervous fingers.

“Excuse me, Y-Your Highness. I was hoping I could . . . dance with my brother.”

Eliza beamed. “I’d planned on keeping him all evening, but I suppose I could make one exception.” She leaned in to whisper loudly. “If he tries to make a run for the library, let me know.”

Silas would have glared at her teasing, but he was busy watching his sister, his every muscle tensed.

“You aren’t afraid of me?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

Tears shimmered in Maggie’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Now I know why you never wanted to come home.”

He couldn’t manage a response to that, so he hesitantly offered his arm, but Maggie slipped beneath it and gave him a hug, sniffling against his vest.

Eliza started crying again, too, and the princess excused herself for lemon tarts.

“I love you,” Maggie whispered. “Please don’t leave again.”

Swallowing hard, Silas wrapped his arms around his sister.

Not so long ago, he’d thought his only chance for happiness was in a different world. Now he’d have to write Yvette a letter and tell her she was right about risks and discoveries.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

He danced with Maggie before leading her back to Eliza, where the two girls quickly fell into an enthusiastic conversation about their shared love of snow.

At one point, he noticed Maggie’s eyes straying to a boy across the ballroom—none other than the familiar knight, Henry Wycliff.

Silas wasn’t certain how to feel about that, so he excused himself from the entire situation.

Roughly an hour later, Eliza found him in the window seat of the library, and when she scrunched her nose at him, he gave a helpless shrug.

“It’s dark already,” she said, nodding toward the windows.

Silas glanced over his shoulder, where a chill seeped through the glass. “Winter nights.”

“Do you miss the warmth?”

“A little,” he admitted, “but weather never made it into my top reasons for loving Pravusat.”

He scooted over on the cushion, making room for her, but she shook her head with a smile.

“The observatory tower is empty,” she said, “and it’s the best view in the castle. Come watch the stars beside me.”

When she extended her hand, Silas set aside his book and entwined his fingers with hers, letting her lead him up to the stars.