* * *
Wolf Hall, famed royal castle of the Magnificent North, looked part fairytale, part fortress, as if the first king and queen of the North had not agreed on what it should be.
There was a great deal of heavy protective stone, but there were also decorative paints that brightened the doorways, and some of the stones on the ground had intricate carvings of plants and flowers along with reminders of what they were for:
Pegasus Clover—for forgetting
Angelweed—for a good night’s sleep
Gray Silkweed—for sorrow
Spirit Hibiscus—for mourning
Unicorn Holly—for celebrating
Winterberries—for welcoming
When Evangeline had left the castle that morning, boughs of gray silkweed and bouquets of spirit hibiscus had been everywhere, but now they’d been replaced with bright red wreaths of unicorn holly.
Evangeline’s stomach dropped at the sight of it. In the Magnificent North, mourning ended as soon as a new heir was officially named, which was supposed to happen the following day. Although from the altered state of Wolf Hall, it almost felt as if the new heir had already taken Apollo’s place.
Evangeline heard minstrels singing of Lucien the Great, and the servants had done away with their black mourning outfits, replacing them with crisp white aprons. A few maids around Evangeline’s age had festive winterberry sprigs in their braids and color on their cheeks and lips. And all of them seemed to be whispering:
“I’ve heard he’s young.…”
“I’ve heard he’s tall.…”
“I’ve heard he’s handsomer than Prince Apollo!”
Evangeline’s stomach cramped into tighter knots with every word. She knew she couldn’t fault these young men and women—people needed reasons to celebrate. Mourning was important, but it couldn’t go on forever.
She just wished she had more time. At least there was still one day left before Lucien actually arrived, even if that didn’t feel like nearly enough.
Evangeline took a shuddering breath as the hallway she and Havelock traveled grew dimmer and cooler. Moments later, they reached the splintered trapdoor that would lead them to Apollo.
It always unnerved Evangeline that the door wasn’t directly watched by a guard, but leaving a lone soldier in the middle of an empty hall seemed too suspicious. Instead, a trusted member of the royal guard waited in the room at the bottom of the stairs.
The small, hidden chamber was nicer than the first time she’d visited. Evangeline didn’t know if Apollo was aware of his surroundings. But just in case he was, she’d asked his guards to bring some life into the little room. The cold floors were covered with thick burgundy carpets, paintings of vibrant forest scenes hung from the stone walls, and a raised four-poster bed with velvet drapes had been brought in.
She would have liked for Apollo to be in his own bedchamber, where a fire could chase away the cold and windows could be cracked when the air grew stale. But as Havelock had reminded her, it was too risky.
At the bottom of the stairs, the waiting guard greeted Evangeline with a bow and then spoke quietly to Havelock, giving her privacy as she approached her prince.
Butterflies moved in her chest. She hoped things would be different today, but thus far her prince appeared exactly the same.
Apollo lay motionless, looking like the ending of a tragic Northern ballad. His heart beat so slowly, and his olive skin was cool to the touch. His brown eyes were open, but his once smoldering gaze was entirely lifeless, flat and vacant as pieces of sea glass.
She leaned closer and smoothed the waves of dark hair from his brow, wishing with her whole heart that he would stir or blink or breathe. She just wanted a small sign that he would return to life. “In your letter, you promised you would always try. Please try to come back to me,” she whispered, tilting her face toward his.
She didn’t enjoy touching him when he was so lifeless. But Evangeline remembered that when she’d been stone, she’d desperately longed for another person’s touch. Which was one thing she could give Apollo.
She cupped his waxy cheek and pressed a kiss to his unmoving lips. His mouth was soft, but it tasted wrong, like unhappy endings and hexes, and, as always, he didn’t stir.
“I don’t understand why you do this every day.” Jacks’s indolent voice carried through the chamber.
Evangeline felt it rush over her skin, a slow fire that made the broken heart scar on her wrist burn like a brand. She tried to ignore both the scar and Jacks. She tried not to turn, not to look or acknowledge his appearance, but it probably would seem more suspect if she continued to kiss Apollo’s unmoving lips.