Page 18

T he royal ball loomed ever nearer. Iona, in the haze of trauma from the loss of her art, passed the time mostly unaware. Aedan kept her company each day. He cajoled her to sketch him as she had first intended, in a garden setting rather than posed among symbols of his family’s pomp and history, but she had no inclination even to pick up a pencil.

She had lost too much. She needed time to grieve, not to dive back into a new project. Until Lisenn was gone from Wessett’s shores, anything Iona created might be as maliciously destroyed.

Bina took her to the royal tailor the morning of the ball, for one final fitting of a dress she had never seen. When the man brought out a gorgeous, scarlet frock, her wandering thoughts shifted into painful focus.

With a tightening throat she said, “That’s Lisenn’s.”

The tailor shook his head. “The crown princess is wearing pale rose.”

Her panic escalated. “I can’t wear that color.”

“The queen chose it specifically for you, Your Highness. It will compliment your complexion, I promise. ”

She looked to Bina, but the maid was no help. “If your mother chose it, you don’t have much choice in the matter, little dove.”

“But—! I can’t wear red to the announcement of my sister’s engagement. It will draw too much attention to me.”

The tailor cleared his throat. “Your sister’s dress is a masterpiece, if I may say so. It will garner the attention of the room. And while the color of this gown is exquisite, it should be no more attention-getting than any other dress at the event. Bright colors are the fashion in spring.”

With similar persuasions, the pair of servants coaxed her into the dress. It fit well, only a few minor adjustments needed and plenty of time to accomplish them before she would have to ready herself that afternoon.

“You’re going to get me killed,” she said to Bina in the hall on the way back to her room.

“Your mother chose that dress,” the maid replied. “I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know the color until he pulled it out of his workroom.”

“Then my mother is going to get me killed,” Iona muttered. The queen had rarely intervened with her decisions on clothing. What had prompted it this time?

Perhaps she disapproved of Iona’s drab color palette for such a festive event.

But red ?

“You love that color, and you look a dream in it,” Bina said. “If your sister complains, your mother can answer for the choice. I think you should take this opportunity and enjoy it to its fullest. Who knows when we’ll have another royal ball?”

Aedan said much the same thing when he came to visit. “It’s always been strange how muted your clothing is in comparison to the rest of your family, Io. If your sister thinks you’re not drawing attention in grays and browns, she’s wrong. And you would look definitely out of place if you tried to wear anything in that color range to a royal ball. ”

Between him and her maid, she almost convinced herself that the red dress would blend into the crowd they expected to see tonight. When she surveyed herself in her full-length mirror a quarter hour before the event, however, her anxieties rose anew.

The woman staring back at her, a beauty with upswept golden hair, seemed like another person entirely. Bina, after much argument, had woven a scarlet ribbon through her coiling locks, but the flowers she intended to include remained unused in their vase on the vanity.

“You’re breathtaking,” the maid said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

Iona could not disagree, but neither could she exult in the feeling.

With fluttering heart she followed a page to the antechamber where members of the royal family and their esteemed guests would gather before the evening began. Voices carried from the broader ballroom, the buzz of a crowd who had arrived in their finest to celebrate. Strains of music overlaid their excitement. Iona glimpsed colorful gowns in the brightly lit corridor, and the knot around her heart loosened a degree.

She would blend in among this crowd, surely.

A servant opened the antechamber door, cutting off her view. She trained her gaze forward and crossed the threshold into the smaller crowd.

Conversations died mid-sentence, a dozen stares fixing upon her. She saw Jaoven first, devastatingly handsome in his Caprian formal wear. Her lungs cinched as their eyes connected. His lips parted, his jaw going lax. She had actively avoided him since their separate returns to the castle. In an act of self-preservation she averted her gaze now.

Beside him stood Lisenn. Her dreamy gown, pale rose as the tailor had foretold, sparkled almost as much as the diamonds at her throat and in her crown. The blush that bloomed upon her face completed the picture she posed, fueled though it was by a deep and abiding wrath.

That moment by the river flashed before Iona’s eyes. If Lisenn were within distance of shoving her —

“Oh, my dear.” Queen Marget approached like a golden cloud drifting through the gathered nobility. She grasped her younger daughter’s shoulders and dropped a kiss upon her cheek. “I knew you would look stunning in that dress when I chose it. I’m so glad you wore it.”

She spoke just loud enough for the rest of the room to overhear, and another knot loosened in Iona’s heart.

“Thank you,” the princess murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

Her mother smiled, tucked Iona’s arm into the crook of her elbow, and guided her across the room to join the king.

Belatedly the younger daughter registered her parents’ clothing: the red sashes across her mother’s golden dress and her father’s black suit, the gold accents in his piping and buttons. They made a matched pair, and Iona’s dress complimented their palette to a shade.

She glanced across the room to Lisenn’s delicate pink gown and again met Jaoven’s eyes instead. Self-conscious, she jerked her attention back to her parents just in time to hear her father say, “So this was your doing, Marget?”

Was he angry, or merely curious? Regardless, her mother smiled a tranquil expression. “Yes. I thought the color and style would suit her.”

“As it does,” King Gawen said. He surveyed Iona from head to toe, his brows raised. “You look beautiful tonight, my daughter. I hope it may prove an enjoyable evening for you.”

She had not spoken to him since their encounter in her studio. His compliment now conflicted with the sting of resentment in her heart. Confused, she nevertheless lowered her gaze and spoke her thanks.

A chime signaled the hour. Her parents stood in front of the double doors that led into the ballroom, with Lisenn and Jaoven taking the position directly behind them. Iona—third in this column, and alone—played with her fingertips and pretended not to notice her sister’s frigid glances, nor the more aloof ones from the Caprian prince. The beautiful couple would garner everyone’s attention tonight. A younger princess in a lovely dress was hardly worth note with the crowns of two kingdoms set to combine in such a stunning pair .

When the doors swung wide, a fanfare announced the royal family’s arrival. Iona trained her gaze forward, unfocused, registering only blurs of color: the pale pink roses against Lisenn’s dark hair, the gold of Jaoven’s epaulets against the Caprian blue of his coat.

They processed into a room of dazzling lights and brilliant hues. The king and queen positioned themselves at the head of the room, with Jaoven and Lisenn to the right and Iona to the left. Although she had attended countless state functions over her lifetime, she felt conspicuous in a way she had never experienced before. She searched the crowd and found a familiar face in Aedan, who met her gaze with an encouraging smile.

Beside him, the lovely Besseta beamed, nodding her approval over the distance. The merchant’s daughter, dressed in a vibrant lavender-colored gown, looked perfectly at ease among the upper nobility.

Iona’s heart squeezed tight. She needed Aedan to marry his pretty love, to have a long and fruitful life, not to be cut down for treason in an ill-fated plot against the crown.

She needed Wessett’s alliance to Capria, Lisenn’s to Jaoven.

Her father’s voice rang out across the room. “People of Wessett, we welcome you tonight. We welcome, too, our distinguished guests from across the channel, and hereby declare to you a union between our two kingdoms. What centuries ago tore asunder shall knit together again. I present to you my daughter, Crown Princess Lisenn of Wessett, and Crown Prince Jaoven of Capria, whose marriage shall take place two days from now, and in whose coupling the thrones of Capria and Wessett shall once again unite.”

Two days . Iona’s stomach clenched. Two days could pass in a blink or drag for an eternity. Why could they not have married tonight, with everyone already assembled, and then set sail in the morning? Then it would all be over. The deed would be done, and she would no longer cling to this strange, buried shred of hope that something—anything—would intervene .

But she fixed a pleasant smile to her lips despite her inner turmoil. Applause rippled across the room. Word of the treaty provisions had long since circulated through the capital and beyond, so the news itself took no one by surprise. Even so, Iona recognized the universal approval as a facade. Aedan, whose plotted coup rested on Lisenn’s departure from the island, cheered as loud as anyone else. How many others here shared his convictions? How many would oppose him?

Her father continued to speak of the hopes that Capria and Wessett both brought to this alliance, of the strength and tradition each country could offer the other. He ended with, “The crown of Wessett looks forward to prosperity and peace in the coming years. And now, to start our celebration tonight, we invite Prince Jaoven and Princess Lisenn to open the dance.”

The crowd parted and the couple descended the dais to the center of the room. A strain of music played upon the air, and the evening officially began. Guests paired off and joined the royal couple on the broad floor. Iona’s own parents deigned to participate in that first dance. She, in contrast, backed up to the wall, fruitlessly hoping to blend in.

A figure sidled next to her, Clervie dressed in deep blue finery. The Caprian wore her hair only half up, the style unusual for such a formal occasion. Her black eyes rested upon the graceful display out on the floor, though her head angled toward Iona.

“Back home, a woman wearing red to someone else’s engagement announcement would start a scandal.”

“Was that before or after the war?” Iona asked.

Clervie glanced her way, a wry smile touching her lips. “Both. We do have some sense of propriety still. You do look lovely, though.”

“I’ll convey your compliments to my mother. The dress was entirely her doing.”

“An excellent excuse.”

Iona tamped down on her instinctive annoyance. “I suppose I could have not come, but here in Wessett that would have created a greater scandal than a red dress. ”

A chuckle escaped the younger woman. Iona shifted her attention from the dance floor, focusing on Clervie in full. “Is there a reason you always wear your hair down?”

The lady’s amusement turned rueful. “I suppose, since we’re discussing social blunders, that’s fair game. I’m missing a chunk of hair at the nape of my neck, a souvenir from the war.” She half-turned, lifting the curtain of dark tresses to reveal a deep scar that jutted upward, pink and knotted, into their midst. Whatever had caused such an injury, Clervie was lucky to have survived such trauma.

She let her hair fall back into place again. “It’s only apparent when I wear it up, so for vanity’s sake I always leave it down. But don’t look so concerned on my behalf. I have great hopes of loose hairstyles becoming quite the fashion in the next few years.”

“It suits you,” Iona said.

“Just as your red dress suits you.”

Elouan approached them, his advent cutting off any response she might make. He tipped his head toward his compatriot, but it was Iona to whom he extended his hand.

“Would you do me the honor, Your Highness?”

Instinctive distaste flashed across her face, to which he openly chortled.

“You needn’t worry, Yanna. I won’t hunt you down if you run. Your lack of dancing makes it look like you disapprove of our kingdoms uniting, so I thought to correct that misrepresentation. Unless you do object?”

Her expression flattened. She glance to Clervie, but the girl only waved her away, unconcerned at being left alone. In resignation, Iona placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

From that point onward she had no rest. She danced with Caprians and Wessettans alike, young and old, noble and common, determined that no one should accuse her of disdaining the assembly or its celebratory cause. Her feet ached and the music threaded a painful throbbing into her brain, but she danced on .

And if, from the corners of her eyes, she frequently glimpsed a figure in Caprian blue, she prided herself on never looking directly at him.

As the evening waxed on, she slipped away, out of the increasingly stuffy ballroom to the terrace and the garden that sprawled beyond it in the darkness. Points of light along the paths marked members of the royal guard stationed among the hedgerows, an assurance of security—and a deterrent—for any revelers who might venture into the shadowed walks. Iona turned and strolled along the castle wall instead, allowing the gravel path to lead her.

In two days it would be over. She breathed against an onslaught of emotions and trained her attention on putting one foot in front of the other.

Her wandering brought her to the back corner, where the windows of her studio opened outward into the night. She paused, observing them, allowing her grief to thrum in time with her pulse. She had not been back inside since that fateful morning, could not even stomach the destruction that lay within that once-inviting room. The monumental task of cleaning it all up—years upon years of art and supplies—kept her from starting.

Perhaps when Lisenn had gone she would find the resolve.

She walked on. In the shadows where the path angled ninety degrees, she nearly collided with another body. Strong hands steadied her, and she looked up into the face of Jaoven of Capria.

Of course. The one person she least wanted to meet.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Her heart flip-flopped. She shrugged out of his grasp. “Yes. I was only startled.” Rather than continue on the gravel, she took off through the grass, toward the lake that glittered beneath a sky full of stars.

When footsteps followed, her heartbeat and her hackles both rose. “You shouldn’t be out here. You should be inside with Lisenn.”

Jaoven caught up and matched her pace, his hands in his pockets and a negligent atmosphere about him. “She’s dancing with a string of nobility, one right after the other. I only stepped out for a breath of air. ”

“Then take your breath of air and step back in again.”

“I hoped you would abandon your grudge against me, Iona.”

Her name on his lips caused another flip-flop within her ribcage. She paused and surveyed him with the coolest expression she could manage. “Whether I hold a grudge is no bearing on your conduct tonight. You can’t just abandon the woman you’re about to marry, even if she is occupied with a string of nobility , and even if it’s only for a breath of air. Someone will mark your absence.”

“This late in the evening? Everyone’s slinking out of the ballroom for a minute or two, prime example right in front of me.”

She bristled. “No one cares whether I’m there or not.”

“Not even your cousin?”

“What’s Aedan got to do with it?”

The prince ticked off items on one hand. “He keeps you company most days, he rescues you from dastardly foreigners, and he takes an extremely high interest in your welfare.”

“And right now he’s wooing his lady love in one of the few events they can attend together,” Iona replied.

He cocked his head. “So it’s jealousy that’s driven you outside?”

She took an involuntary step back, stunned that he could pinpoint the very emotion she had fought all evening but completely misidentify its source. “I don’t recall how things are done in Capria, but here in Wessett, first cousins don’t have the type of relationship you’re implying. Aedan is like a brother to me.”

Jaoven shifted, defensive. “We don’t marry our first cousins either, as a general rule, but it’s not unheard of.”

“Gross,” Iona muttered. “I have no quarrel with Aedan and Besseta. She happens to be the daughter of a merchant, though, so they’re not always allowed to move in the same circles. Trust me when I say he’s not at all concerned with my whereabouts at the moment.”

She continued her trek across the grass, to where the land sloped downward.

To her consternation, so did Jaoven .

“Stop following me.”

Hands in his pockets again, he strolled along beside her at an easy gait. “Forgive me, but I get nervous when I see you heading toward a body of water.”

Iona halted and favored him with a dour glare.

He only flashed her a grin. Why were those dimples so attractive? And why couldn’t he save them for her sister instead of flaunting them here, to her inner turmoil?

With a huff, she walked on to the bottom of the hill. The lake spread before them, the trees on the far side a collection of silhouettes against the night sky. Iona dropped to a stone bench, grateful to be off her feet.

“Someone is going to miss you if you stay away too long,” she said when Jaoven paused beside her.

“This late in the night, they can attribute it to a thousand excuses. Or are you worried someone might see us together and draw incorrect conclusions?”

She looked up, studying his face in profile to her. If she had never gone to Capria, if she had never known the old Jaoven, would things have turned out this way between them?

No. In truth, he never would have spared the younger princess of Wessett a second glance in his pursuit of the elder, and she never would have been the wiser for missing it.

“I don’t hold a grudge against you,” she said.

He slid her a sidelong glance. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

She opened her mouth, shut it again, and looked to the lake. After a breath, she admitted, “I am worried someone might draw the wrong conclusions if they see us together.”

“Why? I’m practically your brother-in-law.”

“But you’re not,” Iona said, grateful for the deep shadows that hid her rising blush.

“But I will be in two days.”

He crossed around her to settle in the other open space on the bench. Elbows resting on his knees, he turned his head to meet her gaze .

Iona maintained that stare, resentment growing. Did he suspect her internal weakness? Perhaps he was trying to catch her unawares, get her to confess as one last stroke to his ego before he committed fully to another woman. “I thought this treaty was important to you—important enough that you dropped to your hands and knees as soon as you arrived, begging me not to interfere with it.”

“It is important,” he said.

“Then why would you jeopardize it at the eleventh hour?”

“Am I jeopardizing it?”

The lowness of his voice, the intimacy implied in that question, the heightened awareness of how near he sat: all combined against her. She fought against their effects, clinging to every last shred of self-control. “To an onlooker? Yes. Lisenn won’t appreciate reports of her betrothed lingering in the garden with another woman, and especially not with her younger sister.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Jaoven said, shifting his attention to the lake.

The flippancy bruised her fluttering emotions; she latched onto it like a lifeline. “You know that, and I know that. Everyone else can only speculate.”

He breathed a short sigh, interlacing his fingers and then pulling them apart again. “I was worried about you, all right?”

If he had spoken an outright declaration of love she could not be more surprised. In her stunned silence, he babbled on.

“You’ve been so distant since we parted ways in Straithmill. You were always distant before the river, and for good reason, but I thought we at least had found some common ground. Instead, the gap between us seems wider, somehow. It feels strange. In the past, shared calamities have brought me closer to people.”

“Like Neven?”

The prince spared her a rueful glance. “He saved my life, you know. Skinny, scrawny Neven of Combran, who had every reason to despise me. We were ambushed by a troop of Tuzhani mercenaries, and I was injured and couldn’t run. Just when I thought I’d met my final end, he stabbed my would-be executioner in the back and then dragged me underneath a supply wagon, out of sight. No one would’ve blamed him if he’d left me for dead.”

“He would’ve blamed himself,” Iona said, understanding that much about her former classmate, at least.

Jaoven chuckled. “I suppose so. You artists have a shocking degree of compassion, even toward those who don’t deserve it.”

Although she could feel his eyes upon her, she carefully maintained a neutral forward gaze. Perhaps that was her problem, a shocking degree of compassion, and he, without the burden of an artist’s soul, could form and dissolve attachments as he pleased.

The prince shifted on the stone bench, redirecting his focus to the water that spread before them. “Right now, Capria needs hope more than anything else. Their crown prince making a strong alliance, the hope of a future generation, the security against the wolves that prowl our borders: this treaty with your kingdom represents a promise to rebuild everything we lost and more. And certainly we have to give up some sovereignty in the bargain, but that’s a small price to pay.”

The knot that had occupied her gut for several days intensified. She reached instinctively for her left wrist, but caught herself in the act and settled her hands in her lap instead. The glimmering stars overhead drew her focus and she fixed her gaze upon them, as though she might ignore that gnawing guilt if only she distracted herself well enough. “Is it very altered, Capria, from what it was four years ago?”

He didn’t immediately answer, instead studying the ripples of the water. “On the surface, probably not. The buildings still stand, for the most part. It’s the people themselves that have changed. Houses divided: brother fighting against brother, father against son. Trust was lost among those with whom it should have burned the brightest. But I can change that now. My father was never supposed to inherit the crown, so there’s been uncertainty and unrest since his ascension. An alliance with Wessett supplies that missing piece of legitimacy. It enables us to work for our people instead of pouring effort into shoring up our right to rule.”

He tipped his head skyward then as well, sharing her view of the stars. “We have so many plans, Iona, plans to introduce greater equality among our people, to banish the class divide that drove our conflict against one another, to right the wrongs we ourselves once committed. And in two days’ time, we can finally begin in earnest.”

Every word he spoke struck like an axe against her resolve, until it toppled. Her eyes slid shut on a despairing realization: she couldn’t destroy this, not for her own comfort, nor for Wessett’s. She couldn’t sacrifice the hopes of an entire kingdom. If Aedan was telling the truth, her people at least understood that Lisenn was a villain. Jaoven and his people, far from entering into an alliance that would strengthen them, would instead fall victims to the elder princess’s whims, with a threat of retribution from Wessett if they dared oppose her.

Aedan planned a bloodless coup, but Wessett itself was on the verge of a bloodless invasion into a neighboring kingdom at its weakest point.

And even a month ago, she would have let it happen without an ounce of remorse.

A deep breath steeled her nerves against the betrayal she was about to commit. But how could she live with herself if she took any other path?

“You shouldn’t marry my sister.”

Jaoven stilled. In the moonlight he seemed almost like one of the garden statues, his gaze fixed on the glittering lake. “Why not?”

“Because she’s the last person on earth who would support you in your goals.”

He shifted an incredulous look upon her.

Iona swallowed, pressing ahead. “She’s a monster, Jaoven, worse than you could ever imagine.”

Before she could follow this accusation with proof, before she could utter another word, the prince of Capria said, “I can’t believe, at this late in the negotiations, you are seriously trying to sabotage things.”

Her mouth snapped shut and a blush flooded her cheeks.

He pointed back up the hill, to where faint strains of music still wafted upon the air. “Your sister is perhaps the most harmless creature I’ve ever encountered.”

“She’s not —”

“The two of you don’t get along, I’ve figured out that much, but if you’re going to make up excuses for me not to marry her, at least come up with something plausible. I deserve that much consideration, if nothing else.”

The scorn in his voice tossed her back four years in time. Her temper flared. “Fine. You know what? Marry her. Marry her, and get your precious alliance, and live your happy, hopeful, storybook life.” She flung herself from the bench, gathered her skirts, and started hiking up the hill.

“I will!” Jaoven called to her retreating back.

“Good,” she yelled over her shoulder. “And don’t come crying to me when the truth hits you square in the face.”

Of all the conceited—! Why would she make up something like that? And why would he assume that she was making it up? She had told him from the start that the treaty had nothing to do with her!

She paused at the top of the hill, briefly glancing toward the silhouette near the water’s edge. He stood, arms akimbo, staring out across the lake.

Despite her avowal, the treaty had everything to do with her. It was her chance for safety and her kingdom’s chance to escape a future tyrant.

And she had almost destroyed that with an ill-conceived warning to a man she cared too much about. Let him have Lisenn. If he wanted true penance for deeds performed in his earlier years, a marriage to her would surely balance the scale.