Page 42 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Theron’s blank expression didn’t falter as he waved her up. “You must be desperate if you’re using my title. Not too desperate, though. You left out Supreme .”

As always, she couldn’t tell if he was making a joke or being serious. She settled for bowing her head politely.

“Ancestors, what are you wearing?” Theron sniffed and snapped his fingers. A Praetor scurried to his side. “Have a maid retrieve clothes for my sister. There’s no way you’re walking around the palace in that.”

Kalie’s cheeks heated as she looked down at Zane’s baggy sweatshirt. She’d had to roll the huge sweatpants up to the knee.

“My dress was a casualty of my escape.”

“And the only clothes on the market were your guard’s?” Theron glanced across the hall to Zane’s room. “What’s the nature of your relationship with him?”

Not even a minute in, and she already wanted to strangle him.

Kalie took a deep breath, thanking the gods for the regenerator that had healed her ribs. “I trust him with my life.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

I don’t need a meddling brother , was what she wanted to say, but unfortunately, she did need him. “We’re friends. Nothing more. How’s Sadini?”

Theron’s eyes narrowed at her obvious deflection. “She’s on bedrest. Our daughter’s due any day now.”

“Have you picked a name for my niece?”

Brushing lint off his sleeve, he lowered himself into one of the plush armchairs. “We chose one last week, but we’re reconsidering.”

“Oh? Do I get to hear it?”

“No.”

Delightful as ever. How her lively sister-in-law put up with him, she’d never know.

Kalie’s stomach rumbled loudly. Her cheeks flushed, but Theron didn’t comment. Nor did he motion for her to keep eating. If not for his razor-sharp gaze, she would’ve thought he was lost in his own world. Most of his vassals made that mistake.

A maid bustled into the room, red-faced and breathless, holding a tight scarlet dress. “For the Princess, Your Supreme Highness.”

Theron flicked a hand towards a hook on the wall. As the maid hung it up, the plunging v-neck bodice and the slits up the thighs were painfully visible. It was Etov’s style, fiery and provocative.

Kalie started to protest, but Theron stared at her, impassive as ever. His chin rested on his hand. It was a tell she’d picked up on long ago. He was studying her.

The dress was a test. Of what, she didn’t know.

Plastering on a smile, she seized the hangar. “This will do. Thank you.”

The maid bowed deeply and rushed off.

“We don’t have much use for Dalian things here.” Theron’s lips flattened. “I’ll wait outside. ”

Kalie glowered at the door as it shut behind him.

Shimmying into the form-fitting gown was a test of patience without a maid’s help.

Kalie wrinkled her nose. Wide slits in the flowy sleeves exposed her bruised arms, and the slits of the skirt revealed pink patches of newly-mended skin running up her legs.

By Etovian standards, the exposed skin was flattering.

It was flattering—the tight bodice hugged her curves, and the burgundy fabric paired well with her hair—but that was the problem.

Sighing, Kalie trudged to the door. After a day lounging in the warmth and comfort of Zane’s baggy clothes, she missed them.

Theron waited in the hallway. “I’ll take you to your room. We’ll talk there.”

“Talk about what?”

He marched away, flanked by Praetors clad in crimson. Kalie huffed. As he led her out of the hospital wing, into a hallway of red marble, she doubled her pace to keep up.

A chandelier of candles glowed above them, flickering across the walls, but the hall was dark.

Kalie rolled her eyes. That was the paradox of Etov—the Empire was obsessed with flaunting its wealth and advancement, but they’d worshiped fire for eons, so they clung to candles and chandeliers of flame.

“What’s the rest of our family doing that they couldn’t take the time to greet me?”

Theron scowled. “If the roles were reversed, would you bother to greet us?”

Kalie stumbled but caught herself. They walked in silence.

Redmont was clearly another one of Mother’s lavish expenditures.

Construction had finished four months ago, and Mother had spared no expense.

Light seeped in through stained glass windows, shining on walls of red marble and gleaming tile floors.

Portraits of Father’s Etovian ancestors hung in gold frames.

Kalie pursed her lips. Those were probably a concession to him; for all Mother’s faults, she refused to follow the blasphemous Etovian tradition of worshipping ancestors.

The palace was so dark. She missed the pale blue wallpaper in her room on Dali, the sunlight streaming in through massive windows, the birds chirping on balconies .

What if this was her new normal?

Kalie shivered. It couldn’t be. She would see Dali again. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her days in an obscure Etovian palace.

Theron led her around another corner, but as she moved to follow him, he jolted back and pushed her behind the wall.

“What’s wrong?”

He motioned for silence.

She tensed and shrank back. Chilling scenarios flitted through her mind—a mercenary hunting her, a team of black-clad legionnaires, men raising pulsers, lasers flying at her…

“Should we call for help?” she whispered.

Theron scoffed. “Don’t be daft. We’re not in danger.”

The pressure lifted off her chest, but when she tried to look around the corner, Theron blocked her path.

“Why are we hiding?”

He grunted. “This one wants to be friends with us.”

Kalie peered around the corner. Judging by the flock of courtiers surrounding her, the lithe woman standing in the hallway was a young noble, someone with power at this court. She swept aside her luscious brown hair, revealing a gold phoenix brooch pinned to her low-cut gown, and Kalie sighed.

“Father’s latest conquest?”

A muscle in Theron’s jaw twitched. “Does she look familiar?”

She wanted to hate her, and there was a part of her that felt instinctive disgust, but the woman was smiling, which was more than Mother ever did. Her features resembled Danae’s. Or, more accurately, Danae’s mother.

“Daphne.”

Theron nodded.

Kalie ducked behind the wall, blowing out a breath through her clenched teeth. “Please tell me this one’s older than me.”

“She’s an adult, at least. Seventeen.”

“At least he didn’t pick another one who’s sixteen,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. “What happened to the last one?”

“The same thing that’s happened to all of Father’s bedmates since Daphne. He got bored and sent her packing.” Theron cast furtive glances around them, then lowered his voice. “I suspect we might have a bastard sibling in a cradle somewhere.”

“Just one?”

He grimaced. “I’m trying to be optimistic.”

Kalie gazed at Father’s new mistress, trying to gauge how long he’d keep her around.

A few months. Maybe a cycle, depending on how much of herself she was willing to sacrifice to keep his attention.

Sooner or later, though, he’d use her up and kick her to the curb with nothing but washed-up beauty and a few trinkets of royal favor.

Maybe a royal child, too, but Father would never recognize another one of his illegitimate by-blows.

Nor would he ever love another mistress the way he’d loved Danae’s mother.

“You aren’t going to ask how Mother’s taking it?”

Kalie flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder. Father’s mistress and her courtiers had disappeared, so she marched down the hallway. “Why should I? It’s not like I care.”

“She’s our mother?—”

“She’s your mother. She hasn’t acted like my mother in a long time.”

“Because you chose a different one. A different home, different family, different parents.”

She staggered to a halt.

“And personally, if you don’t feel a shred of sympathy for a woman whose husband keeps screwing mistresses who look like his dead lover, then I don’t blame Mother for not caring about you.”

Pinpricks of guilt seeped in, but Kalie pushed them aside, focusing on the depths of her ire that she reserved for Mother and Selene alone.

“She poisoned his favorite one, didn’t she?”

Theron’s nostrils flared. “Mother did not poison Daphne.”

“What, I’m supposed to take your word for it? You were seven. Father thinks she did it, and she had motive. For gods’ sakes, she handed them the glass!”

“She didn’t need to do it. She’s an Empress, and Daphne was just Father’s whore. Mother still had the crown.” Theron’s jaw tightened, and his voice turned dark. “It’s not as if she’s ever enjoyed Father’s company.”

“Daphne was different, though,” Kalie fired back, as he led her around a corner.

“She was a noblewoman, not another harlot, and she was pregnant with his son. He wanted to divorce Mother for her. He would’ve ended their marriage, jeopardized our place in the line of succession—you don’t think Mother had motive? ”

“You should be careful what you say here, Kalista.”

She threw her hands up. “Here we go again. You always take Mother’s side.”

“Because I’m the one who has to live with the guilt of—” With a pained noise, Theron averted his gaze. “If it wasn’t for me, she could’ve found a way out of marrying him.”

Icy air brushed across Kalie’s skin, freezing her veins. His face was back to its usual indifference, but his mask had briefly slipped and her always cold, stoic brother had looked agonized. Drawing her lip between her teeth, Kalie reached for his arm. He pulled away.

“Theron…”

“I know you’ve done the math.”

She stared down at her shoes. She hadn’t needed to; Aunt Calida had done the math about the pregnancy and the wedding, and she’d made her hatred of Father clear.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not Mother’s fault, either. You think she wanted any of this?” Theron’s perfect posture sagged. “She’s a victim, not a murderer.”