Page 4 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

“Well, perhaps you ought to return,” said Callum, dipping his chin.

We parted ways shortly after that, though he remained my favorite partner of the night. He was by far the most amicable and hadn’t panted in my ear or asked incessantly after Valeria.

I felt the weight of my father’s gaze from his place upon the throne. Beside him, Queen Elberia glared into the night.

“Alger,” Valeria began, her voice barely above a hiss .

We were alone in her room. Everyone had retired for the evening, and we’d changed into our nightclothes. Ria sat at the vanity brushing her long, dark hair; I sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing the toe that the Baron of Neville trod upon during my second-to-last dance. “What did he say to you?”

“He asked after you,” I said. I flopped backward onto the duvet, splaying out like a starfish. If Timin had seen me, she would’ve had something to say about my being unladylike. “And then he asked if the bastard princess received special treatment.”

“What a terrible thing to say!” Ria cried, eyes narrowing, mouth shaping into a circle of disgust. “Honestly, I thought Father put those rumors to bed over a decade ago! And special treatment? What of it? He treats you no different than me.” She let out an angry huff.

It wasn’t an uncommon question. Plenty of men asked after my treatment. They wanted to ensure it would extend to them, should they marry me. “I believe he intends to become a suitor.”

“Not from so far away,” said Ria, scowling. “It’s nearly a week’s travel.”

“I’m sure he feels it would be worthwhile for the fanfare. But I don’t like him.”

“You shouldn’t,” said Valeria scathingly. “He’s incredibly creepy. Stay away from him.”

“Luckily, the Duke of Alberbrook was kind enough to rescue me.”

“Is that who that was?” Valeria began separating the hair at the back of her head into three parts. “I couldn’t be certain. He didn’t dance with me.”

“He didn’t?” I asked, surprised. “I thought everyone was here for you.”

“Not officially,” said Valeria, tucking one section of strands under another in the beginning of a braid. “Perhaps he has other motives.” She caught my eye in the mirror, and I looked away .

“I assure you, Alger may see me as a backup plan, but the duke has no such intentions.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Valeria. “Father was watching you.”

“He merely suggested I visit Alberbrook. He didn’t offer to arrange anything.

I’d think he might be a bit more insistent if he were truly interested.

He didn’t even ask me to bring you .” I sat up, and pulled my hair free of its ribbons.

I really ought to braid it for the night, but I would probably forget by the time I reached my own vanity.

How could I possibly focus on things like hair when I had weapons to designs, books to pore over, a sister to comfort?

“Some men are more polite than others,” said Valeria. She made a face. “And he’s not even old.”

“Neither is Alger,” I said, shuddering. Alger was only one year older than I was, brash and overconfident in that way that so many noblemen were. Though I found him perfectly pleasant to look at, his presence filled my belly with snakes.

“Half of my potential suitors had a wife prior,” moaned Valeria. “They’re old .”

“I thought Father meant to form an alliance with another kingdom,” I said. “Surely he’s not considering those ancient dukes.”

“He isn’t,” said Valeria. “But he is considering Prince Grimon from Winton.”

“Prince Grimon?” I said, aghast. As of last summer, Prince Grimon was in the market for his third wife.

The last time I’d seen him, he was too frail to walk properly.

What was left of his hair glinted silver as moonlight, and his hands shook fiercely as he reached for his goblet.

And that was nearly seven years ago. The prince had been too poorly to travel of late.

Father never sent us to neighboring kingdoms, so I hadn’t seen him, nor had I heard any updates.

I couldn’t imagine his condition had improved.

A perpetual bachelor, he was thrust into succession for the throne when both of his older brothers died in a duel, and his sister fell from a bridge.

Only King Halda and Prince Grimon remained, both frail and in poor health.

Almost one hundred years old now, the king was surely near to death.

“Yes,” groaned Valeria, tying off her braid with a ribbon red as blood. “May I be perfectly frank with you?”

I sat up, suddenly intrigued. “Of course, sister dearest.”

Valeria turned her chair to face me. The rage on her face destroyed my curiosity. A lance of worry replaced it. “I’m angry at Father for dissolving my betrothal.”

Oh. I’d guessed that she was disappointed. But when the news came six months ago, she’d held her head high, listened to Father’s long, rambling speech over the breakfast table, and retired to her rooms afterward. When I asked how she felt, she refused to answer.

I didn’t ask again.

“I… wondered about that,” I said slowly, knowing I must tread carefully if I wanted her to tell me more. “Whether you were upset.”

Valeria slumped back in her chair. Her eyes closed. Long, dark lashes dusted her cheeks. “I was. I am.”

“I think I understand,” I said, folding my hands in my lap. “Even if you barely knew Prince Marius, you had some idea what to expect.”

“I’ve spent my life preparing to become Prince Marius’s wife.

I’ve studied Tocchia’s laws, trade routes, economy, environment.

I read books about mountain survival and traversing the ocean, and why?

For all of it to mean nothing!” she spat, blue eyes wide and furious.

“Now I’ve got to learn about Winton. It’s all pigs and plows and mud! ”

I winced in sympathy, but couldn’t help saying, “It could be worse. It could be war, or hurricanes, or deserts. And you won’t have to rule beside Grimon long. I’m sure he… won’t last.”

“I’ll still have to bear his child,” grumbled Ria. “And you know what that means. ”

“Maybe you could get very, very drunk—” I began, regretting the words even as they spilled from my mouth.

Ria waved a hand dismissively. “If I get drunk, I’ll kill him. And you know how that would go.”

Right. Not well. “Perhaps Father will see sense.”

“Father sees alliances ,” said Valeria, shoulders slumping. “My happiness is far from tantamount.”

I frowned. Father doted upon Valeria more than me, and certainly more than my brothers, who spent most of their spare time training for battle, and not of their own volition.

As a child I’d been unbearably jealous of Ria’s pretty shoes and dresses, her books and toys.

My own rooms were cold and drafty. My clothes were well-made but hardly marked me as a princess.

I had a smaller selection of dolls and carved horses.

And while Valeria initially resented having a little sister, she became my closest sibling, eager for someone her own age to sneak about the castle with.

But as we grew, I remained acutely aware of our differences.

Even as a child, Valeria was a queen in the making, always perfectly dressed, wearing matching jewelry.

Some of her necklaces were enchanted to magnify her beauty, or to prevent an arrow from piercing her skin, or to make her repulsive to anyone who might look upon her with poor intentions.

Her lessons were more specific than mine, her tutors more insistent upon propriety and dignity.

While I wasn’t afraid of a little dirt, Valeria somehow managed to keep ivory dresses and matching boots clean.

(A part of me still wasn’t convinced that a maid hadn’t slipped a charm into her pocket, but I’ve never been able to prove it.)

“Well,” I said after a long pause. “He adores you. I’m sure he’ll consider your happiness, if nothing else.”

“I’m not so sure,” mumbled Valeria. She stifled a yawn with her hand, flashing ringed fingers. “I suppose I ought to sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow will be entirely too busy for my liking.”

I bade her goodnight, and retired to my own chambers, where I did not braid my hair, and instead laid in bed a long time, wondering if Father would really condemn her to a life of misery in exchange for better trade routes and a militia comprised of wayward pig farmers.

And if he’d do it to Valeria, would he also do it to me?