His fingers capture mine. “I have a secret weapon.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“You.”
Good Gods! He has no idea how true that is. I kill one person, take my rightful place, declare the Origin’s kingdom restored, crush Tarvan resistance, and… My stomach lurches, and I beat down nausea. “What happens when our children start fighting each other? Or our children’s children? That’s how we ended up like we are now.”
Griffin shakes his head. “It won’t happen like that. We’ll bring peace to the realms. Healing.”
Healing. That’s exactly what Poseidon said, his voice thundering in my ears like a thousand storms rolling over the seas. What if we are supposed to unify the realms? But what about the prophecy? Why is my destiny written in destruction?
Griffin frowns. I must look as ill as I feel because his voice deepens with concern. “Cat?”
I shudder. “Plans like this… You have to talk to Egeria. She’s Alpha.”
A tiny muscle ticks under Griffin’s eye. For the first time, I think he’s annoyed he didn’t put himself in charge. Then again, I guess he was saving himself for bigger things—like everything.
“We decide,” he finally says. “You and me.”
“We decide?” I snort softly. “I don’t want to get married, and I really don’t want to invade Fisa, but you appear to have decided on both without ever consulting me.”
His expression flattens. “Give it time, and you’ll see I’m right. On both counts.” Griffin plants his hand on my lower back and propels me out of the alcove without another word.
Discussion over. Argh!
Seeing us available and circulating again, a boy, one of my first north wall workers, approaches with a tray of food. He grins, looking clean and boyishly handsome in his new uniform. Despite my pounding headache and the growing tension with Griffin, I can’t help smiling back. I take a fruit kabob and ask him how he likes his new job.
“Actually, Your Highness, I prefer hauling rocks. It’ll make me strong. I want to be a warrior like Beta Sinta.” He glances shyly at Griffin.
I nearly choke on a kalaberry. “You don’t need to call me ‘Your Highness.’”
“He will soon,” Griffin mutters.
The boy beams.
Fantastic. That news will be all over the castle by sunrise, and it’s not even true. “We just talked about this!” I hiss after the boy leaves.
“You talked. I disagreed.”
My jaw goes slack. “Unless you’re planning on knocking me unconscious, dragging me to the temple, and practicing ventriloquy, I still have to say yes!”
Griffin’s face shuts down entirely. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Discuss? Is that what you’re calling ‘I decree, you obey’？”
Another tray of food passes in front of me, and I grab a phyllo triangle without really looking. Griffin plucks it from my fingers and tosses it back onto the tray. “Goat cheese.”
Damn it! It’s impossible to stay mad now.
Egeria signals that dinner is about to begin, and everyone moves into the formal dining room to find their predetermined places. Course upon course comes out of the kitchens, mostly northern fare with a few southern specialties thrown in. The dinner seems interminable, not only because I feel hot, achy, and sick, but because everyone keeps looking at me and noting my frankly conspicuous position among the royal family at Beta Sinta’s right hand. On top of that, seated where I am, I can’t learn anything of interest except that Piers, who is on my other side, is capable of disagreeing with absolutely everything I say, even when it’s strictly a matter of personal opinion. By the end of dinner, I’m ready to stab Griffin’s brother with a fork.
Before I can succumb to my baser urges, Egeria rises and claps her hands. “Please proceed to the gardens for our post-dinner entertainment.”
Fresh air, thank the Gods…
Along with a healthy supply of wine at every corner, musicians are peppered around the sprawling grounds. Usually, I like that kind of thing, especially in a torch-lined setting of terraced marble and vibrant green. Tonight, though, I think one pluck of a kithara string will make my head explode.
Gritting my teeth, I follow Griffin toward the gardens anyway, but I’m slow to move, and we end up trailing behind. The last of the nobles disappear from view as we cross the brightly lit reception room, the glare from the oil lamps like a fist in the eye. I glance longingly toward the stairs, wishing I could climb them straight up to bed.