“Careful, my dear,” Evangeline says, sounding anything but loving. “A king without supporters is no king at all.”
He turns on her, moving quickly enough to catch her off guard. They’re close to the same height, and they stand almost eye to eye. Fire and iron. I don’t expect her to flinch, not for Maven, the boy, the prince she used to run laps around in our Training lessons. Maven is not Cal. But her eyelids flicker, black lashes against silver-white skin, betraying a sliver of fear she wants to hide.
“Don’t assume you know what kind of king I am, Evangeline.”
I hear his mother in him, and it frightens us both.
Then he turns his eyes back on me. The confused boy of a moment ago is gone again, replaced by living stone and a frozen glare. The same goes for you, his expression says.
Even though I want nothing more than to run from the room, I stand rooted. He has taken everything from me, but I won’t give him my fear or my dignity. I won’t run away now. Especially not in front of Evangeline.
She looks at me again, eyes flitting over every inch of my appearance. Memorizing what I look like. She must see me beneath the healer’s touch, the bruises earned in my escape attempt, the permanent shadows beneath my eyes. When she focuses on my collarbone, it takes me a moment to understand why. Her lips part, just a little, in what can only be surprise.
Angry, ashamed, I pull the collar of my dress back up over my brand. But I never look away from her as I do. She will not take my pride either.
“Guards,” Maven finally says, pitching his voice at the door. As the Arvens answer, gloves outstretched to hurry me away, Maven points his chin at Evangeline. “You too.”
She doesn’t take well to that, of course.
“I am not some prisoner to be ordered around—”
I smile as the Arvens pull me away and out the door. It eases shut, but Evangeline’s voice echoes behind us. Good luck, I think. Maven cares even less about you than he does about me.
My guards set a quick pace, forcing me to keep up. More easily said than done, in the restricting dress, but I manage. The scrap of Gisa’s silk feels soft against my skin, clenched tightly in a fist. I fight the urge to smell the fabric, to chase any remnant of my sister. I steal a glance back, hoping to glimpse exactly who might be waiting for an audience with our wicked king. Instead, I see only Sentinels, black-masked and flame-robed, standing guard at the study door.
It wrenches open violently, quivering on jumping hinges before slamming closed with a smack. For a girl raised a noble, Evangeline has a difficult time controlling her temper. I wonder if my old etiquette instructor, Lady Blonos, ever tried to teach her otherwise. The image almost makes me laugh, bringing a rare smile to my lips. It stings, but I don’t care.
“Save your smirks, lightning girl,” Evangeline snarls, doubling her speed.
Her reaction only goads me on, despite the danger. I laugh outright as I turn back around. Neither of my guards says a word, but they quicken their pace a little. Even they don’t want to test an irritable magnetron itching for a scuffle.
She catches us anyway, smoothly sidestepping Egg to plant herself in front of me. The guards stop short, holding me with them.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit busy,” I tell her, gesturing to the guards holding both my arms. “There isn’t really room for bickering in my schedule. Go bother someone who can fight back.”
Her smile flashes, sharp and bright as the scales of her armor. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got plenty of fight left in you.” Then she leans forward, stepping into my space as she did with Maven. An easy way to show she is unafraid. I stand firm, willing myself not to wince, even when she plucks a razored scale from her armor like a petal from a flower.
“At least I hope so,” she says under her breath.
With a careful flick of her hand, she cuts the collar of my dress, stripping back a piece of embroidered scarlet. I fight the urge to cover the M brand on my skin, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment creep up my throat.
Her eyes linger, tracing the rough lines of Maven’s mark. Again she seems surprised.
“That doesn’t look like an accident.”
“Any other wonderful observations you’d like to share?” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Grinning, she replaces the scale on her bodice. “Not with you.” It is a reprieve when she pulls back, putting a few precious inches between us. “Elane?”
“Yes, Eve,” a voice says. From nowhere.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Elane Haven materializes behind her, seemingly from thin air. A shadow, able to manipulate light, powerful enough to make herself invisible. I wonder how long she’s been standing with us. Or if she was in the study, either with Evangeline or before she even walked in. She could’ve been watching the entire time. For all I know, Elane could’ve been my ghost since the moment I got here.
“Has anyone ever tried to put a bell on you?” I snap, if only to hide my own discomfort.
Elane offers a pretty, tight-lipped smile that does not reach her eyes. “Once or twice.”
Like Sonya, Elane is familiar to me. We spent many days in Training together, always at odds. She is another of Evangeline’s friends, girls smart enough to ally themselves to a future queen. As a lady of House Haven, her gown and jewelry are deepest black. Not in mourning, but in deference to her house colors. Her hair is as red as I remember, bright copper in contrast to dark, angled eyes and skin that seems blurred, perfected, and flawless. The light around her is carefully manipulated, giving her a heavenly glow.