Authors: Rachel Aaron
“Henry!” Beechum cried, eyes wide. “Mind your tongue!”
Henry shrugged and poured himself another drink. Adela sat back, swirling her own half-full cup thoughtfully. She was about to take a sip when a soft knock sounded at the door. A servant in royal livery poked his head in when she called, looking sheepishly at the princess. Adela took the hint with a sigh, setting her cup on the table.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, standing. “It seems it’s time for me to do my wifely duty.”
“Good luck, Captain,” Sergeant Beechum said, saluting her as she followed the servant out into the hall. Henry said nothing, just stared into his wine as Adela closed the door behind her.
She was scarcely down the stairs when she heard it open again. Adela stopped with a deep breath, catching the servant’s sleeve.
“I know the way,” she said. “Go on.”
The servant looked at her, and she could see the conflicting orders warring in his mind, the queen’s command that the royal couple be escorted to the chamber versus the princess’s trusted word. But the princess was here and the queen was not, so the man excused himself, hurrying down the hall as Henry caught up with Adela.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, catching her hand.
“I don’t have much choice, Henry,” she said, deftly dodging as his face closed in for a wine-soaked kiss. “I’m married, remember?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Henry whispered. “The only reason anyone still cares about that runaway is because Theresa’s still alive. When
she’s dead and my father’s king, I’ll be the prince, not him. But that doesn’t mean you have to stop being a princess.” His hands circled her waist, emphasizing his point. “Or don’t you love me anymore, Dela?”
“Henry,” Adela whispered, stopping him with a finger pressed against his lips. “Josef coming home changes nothing. You know that. But so long as he’s here, we can’t be seen like this. If the queen finds out, things could get very sticky.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Henry whispered, kissing her fingertip. “Theresa could never be mad at her perfect princess. Even if she was, your mother would smooth things over. Everyone knows the queen would never do anything to hurt her beloved Lenette.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident,” Adela said, gently extricating herself from his arms. “But for the moment there are appearances to keep up.”
Henry’s face screwed into a pout, and Adela leaned in, lowering her voice to a purr. “Don’t worry, love,” she whispered. “This will all be over soon.”
“I hope so,” Henry said, crossing his arms with a scowl. “The thought of you with that highwayman they have the nerve to call a prince makes me ill. If I could, I’d call him out tonight and finish him. Then you’d be mine for good.”
“That’s sweet, Henry,” Adela said, smiling. “But don’t go challenging Josef. You’re a decent swordsman, but I wasn’t entirely faking today, and I prefer you whole.”
Henry beamed at that, and Adela kissed him quickly on the cheek before turning away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Henry.”
Henry stood in the hall, gazing after her. “Tomorrow, Dela,” he whispered.
She waved one last time and vanished around the corner, leaving the young Finley alone with his longing.
Once she was away, she picked up the pace, walking briskly.
Servants bowed as she passed, smiling knowingly. Adela smiled back, but her mind was only half on the princess act. She’d taken the long way to the royal quarters without thinking, walking along the castle’s eastern face, the face that looked out over the Unseen Sea. The sun was behind her now, and the ocean lay glittering beneath the light of the last sliver of the waning moon. She watched it as she walked, gazing at the long, flat line of the horizon. Somewhere out there, the Empress’s fleet was preparing. Ever since the queen had declared that the Empress was on the move, Adela had been watching the sea day and night, waiting for the first glimpse of the ships that would change her life forever. Her hand sank unbidden to the heavy, ornate short sword at her hip. When the Empress came, she would be ready.
The servant led Josef to a suite in the oldest part of the palace. There were five rooms in total: a sitting room with a single, narrow window overlooking the castle’s front courtyard, a dressing chamber, a washroom with a tiny fireplace and an iron tub, a small library, and, of course, the bedchamber with its massive bed cut from the wood of the last of Osera’s oaks before the entire island had been deforested to make way for the growing city. The servant insisted on giving Josef the full tour, and Josef let him, despite the fact that he knew the suite with his eyes closed. After all, for the first half of his life, these had been his rooms.
Very little had changed. The rooms had been cleaned and divested of the clothes and toys he’d left behind the night he ran away to become a swordsman, but the suffocating feel of the place hadn’t changed at all. If anything, the dark rooms seemed even smaller than before, though Josef supposed that was because he’d grown several inches since he was fifteen.
Josef let the servant finish his tour before ordering him to get out. When the man finally left, Josef sat down on the silk couch in the
sitting room. The sky was dark outside the tiny slit window. Torches flickered down in the courtyard below, making it feel far later than it was. Sitting on the creaking couch, the same couch he’d sat on with his mother while she lectured him on being a prince, he felt strangely outside of time. He could still see his mother as she had been, tall and golden and unapproachable. A queen in every sense, not that bent, old woman sleeping in the room above him. Josef looked up, glaring at the wood-beam ceiling. Hot, childish anger welled up in his chest, surprising him with its vigor. The anger had been building since he’d set foot in Osera, since he’d first seen his increased bounty and realized what it meant. Being back here, in this palace, and now in these rooms, he felt like he was fifteen again—still trapped by duty he hadn’t asked for and expectations he could never meet, still desperate to get out, to get away.
Josef frowned and took a breath, a swordsman’s breath, as his old sword master had taught him, and let the anger drift away. The Heart’s weight pressed on his back, reminding him of how far he’d come. He reached up with a reverent motion, drawing the black blade from its wrapping and laying it across his knees. He was not trapped, he told himself as his fingers traced the Heart’s scarred surface. He was here by choice, a son doing a good turn for his mother, to whom he owed his life. When he was done, he would leave by choice. He would turn and walk away from the court and the crown and everything else that had no claim over him anymore.
Feeling slightly better, Josef leaned over and set the Heart against the stone fireplace. Realizing it could be a while before Adela arrived, Josef flicked a dagger out of his sleeve. He fetched his whetstone from his pocket and, sitting up on the pillows, began to sharpen his knives, killing the time with long, slow strokes as he waited for his wife.
He didn’t have long to wait. He’d scarcely finished his daggers when the door creaked and Adela stepped into the room. Her armor was gone, replaced by a close-tailored jacket that showed off her figure and long leather trousers tucked into short boots. Her sword, however, was still at her side, and that comforted Josef. Princesses baffled him, but an opponent he could understand, and Adela had always been up for a fight when they were kids.
She stopped when she saw him, and he got the feeling she didn’t expect him to just be sitting there, waiting. But, as always with Adela, she adapted, stepping into the room like this was how she ended every evening.
“Have you eaten?” she said, her voice bright and cheery.
Josef shook his head.
“I’ll ring the bell, then,” she said, stepping over the blades he’d laid out on the carpet.
Josef just nodded and began putting his knives back into their sheaths.
Dinner arrived a few moments later, a series of trays carried in by servants who gave Josef knowing smiles until he reached for his sword. After that, dinner was laid on the table with great efficiency and the servants vanished out the door as silently as they had come in.
Adela walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of dark wine, carefully pouring two glasses and setting them on the table.
“Sit,” she said, sitting down.
Josef walked to the table. “Is that an order, captain?”
“No,” she said. “You can starve if you like.”
Josef arched an eyebrow, but he pulled out the chair and sat down. She pushed a plate of roast meat across the table at him. “Eat.”
“Why the sudden concern for my well-being?” Josef said, taking the fork and helping himself.
“I want this over as much as you do,” Adela said, spooning a pile of roasted vegetables onto her own plate. “And it’s kind of hard to get a baby from a dead man.”
Josef stabbed his fork down so hard the tines bent. “I can’t believe you agreed to this,” he muttered. “Marriage to an absent husband is one thing, but a baby?”
“You think too much of yourself, Josef,” Adela said between neat bites of her food. “All you are at this point is an impediment to the progression of the bloodline, same as I’m little more than a useful vessel. The only thing anyone in this kingdom wants or expects from us is a child to carry on the line of Iron Lions. My life has always depended on being what was expected of me, and when you look at it that way, being a mother isn’t so different from being guard captain.”
Josef winced. “When you put it like that it kind of removes the nobility from the whole affair.”
“There wasn’t much to begin with,” Adela said, drinking her wine. “We’ll be done pretending one day. Until then, it doesn’t have to be all bad, does it? I mean, we used to be friends.”
“We did,” Josef said quietly. “A lot can change in fifteen years, Dela.”
“Nothing that matters, Josef,” Adela said, putting down her cup and tossing her napkin on the table. “I’m going to bed,” she announced, standing up and starting toward the bedroom. “Finish your damn wine and let’s get this done.”
Josef looked after her. “But I don’t dri—”
The slam of the bedroom door cut him off. Josef sat at the table fuming for several minutes, and then he let the battle calm fall over him. He grabbed the small glass of wine and drained it in one gulp. When it was gone, he stood up, threw the empty glass on the table, and turned toward the bedroom. He marched across the room and
opened the door with an angry tug, slamming it behind him as he vanished into the candle-lit bedchamber.
Nico crouched on the edge of the kitchen chimney, staring through the tiny strip of Josef’s window at the closed bedroom door. She stared for a long time, digging her fingers into the sleeves of her coat until the fabric growled.
She was such an idiot. What had she been thinking, vanishing right in front of the queen? Hiding from Josef when he’d come looking for her? It was stupid, dangerous, and, worse, childish.
Nico put her head down, burying her burning face into the folds of her coat. Josef would be so disappointed in her. He’d always said she was a survivor, a fighter. He didn’t know she was a coward, hiding away on the rooftop because she couldn’t stand to see him with… with…
Nico sighed and jumped down, sprawling herself out on the steep slope of the palace roof to stare up at the long, snakelike creatures that were just barely visible against the flat black of the night sky. The worst part was she didn’t even have a right to be this angry. After all, what was Josef to her? A partner in crime. A friend. A trusted companion. But all those things could be said about Eli, and she wouldn’t be up here if Eli was the one who was married, would she?
Nico rolled over and punched the palace roof, breaking the tiles with a hard crunch. If she were honest with herself, she could trace her love for Josef back to the moment he picked her up off the shattered slope of that mountain. Maybe even earlier. She might have loved him from the moment she first saw his shadow, but whenever it had started, her love was her problem, not his. He hadn’t asked her to love him, didn’t return her love. And even if he miraculously did, she wouldn’t let him. Though she was her own master now and
the demon was sealed away, the seed was still inside her. She was still a demonseed, still a monster. If it wasn’t for the coat, the world would turn on her the instant it recognized what she was.
And who could love a monster?
Nico closed her eyes. At once, the world faded away. She was standing in a dry, sun-drenched field, staring at the boulder that was sitting on the pit that held the demon. It was still secure, and Nico breathed a sigh of relief followed by a rush of profound self-pity. She might be her own master, but her control was still unstable. Even now she could feel the demon patiently pressing on the weight of the will that kept him trapped. He was always there, waiting for her guard to go down, for her determination to falter. Nothing she did could ever banish him for good. If she was ever weak, he would win, and she would become the monster the world thought she was. How could she ask Josef to love something so dangerous? She had no right.
She was still in her sunny field staring at the boulder when something cool, smooth, and hard touched her cheek. Nico jumped backward, returning to the dark rooftop with a jolt as she landed with her fists up to see Eli leaning against the chimney. It actually took her a few seconds to recognize him, on account of the light. Where everything else on the roof was dark and still, Eli was strangely bright, his skin almost luminous, like he was lit up from the inside. She’d never seen anything like it, and yet, almost as soon as she noticed it, the light vanished and Eli stood before her, same as always. He had a bottle in his hand, the cool thing she’d felt against her cheek. When he caught her eyes, he sat down and held out the bottle in obvious invitation.
Nico stayed back, suddenly embarrassed. She had almost certainly put him on the spot last night, vanishing like she had, but he didn’t look angry. He just sat there, bottle out, his black hair standing up in all directions in celebration at being freed from the ridiculous blond wig.