I reached up and traced the small crescent of shiny skin at my collarbone. “It is. I got it when I was young, climbing some rocks with my br… with a friend,” I corrected quickly, unsure how many of them had heard about Teller.
“Climbing rocks?” Ethaline snorted. “How quaint.”
“It’s quite useful for building finger strength,” I purred, raising my hands into a neck-strangling motion that had Ethaline’s face going pale.
“You can get that removed, you know,” Velis said. “Normally, once our healing powers manifest, we make a trip to the healers in Fortos to remove any—” Their eyes cut to my scar, nose wrinkling. “—imperfections we gained in childhood.”
I shrugged. “I like my scars. Perfection is boring.”
“They’re unseemly for a Queen,” Iléana said loudly. “It’s a sign of weakness.”
A handful of cousins nodded at her words.
“You have a problem with scars?” I asked, glancing between her and Luther with eyebrows raised.
“I have a problem with the Crown of Lumnos having scars,” she said. “How can we expect the mortals or the other realms to fear us if our Crown is walking around covered in flaws?”
Another round of nodding heads and hushed agreement, this time more widespread.
I frowned at Luther, but he was staring straight ahead, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Iléana took a sip of wine and smirked like she’d won something. “Don’t look so shocked, Diem. Luther feels the same way.” She ran a hand possessively along his forearm and gave him an adoring smile. “He swore to me he’ll have his scars removed before he becomes King.”
Luther was carved in stone. Neither his face nor his body shifted even a hair. His eyes were glaciers, cold and slow-moving, empty of life. To the room, he looked entirely unbothered, perhaps too indifferent to even be listening.
It was his aura that gave him away—the one sign only I had strong enough magic to detect. Its presence grew dark, unbearably heavy, seeming to drag me with it as it shrank toward him and coiled within.
How often had he been forced to endure conversations like these? How frequently had he been made to feel defective or inferior? My heart broke for the little boy who had made the brave decision not to have his scar healed away, and for the teenager and the young man who had surely been forced to justify that choice again and again.
I glanced at Taran, who was scowling at Iléana and looked just as furious as I felt, and at Alixe, whose eyes were raised to the ceiling as if she’d been through this discussion too many times before.
Whiskey and wine swirled hot in my chest, and my pulse picked up speed as my temper rose.
“I can’t speak for the other realms, but I can attest that mortals do not see a scar as a sign of weakness,” I spat out. “Quite the opposite. And on that, I couldn’t agree with them more.”
Luther’s attention shifted to me, though he remained deadly still. Iléana seethed.
“A scar is a sign of survival,” I continued. “Of endurance. It’s a sign that its bearer triumphed over what might have killed a lesser person. To show off your scars is to tell the world you’re not ashamed of what you’ve overcome. Frankly, I can’t imagine any better symbol of strength. And if Luther were my King, then I would make him swear to me he would never remove it. I would hope he wore it with pride for the rest of his life.”
A thunderous silence settled over the room. Even the servants froze with bated breath.
Iléana looked at me with such murderous poison in her eyes that if I had her arrested for actively plotting to kill the Queen, not a soul in the room would have disagreed.
I held her glare, jaw locked, refusing to back down from her open challenge.
Aemonn carved through the tension with a flippant wave of his hand. “What a shame it is, then, that Luther could never be your King.” He gave a light chuckle. “Or perhaps a blessing.”
Nervous laughter rippled around the room.
“But he could be her King Consort,” Velis argued, looking me over thoughtfully. “It would be a smart match. Likely the most powerful couple the realm has ever seen.”
“And we already know she’s seen the inside of his bedroom,” Tyris added, snickering.
My cheeks flushed, and I swore internally at my body for giving me away. The cousins tittered and smiled, though Aemonn’s expression had lost its mirth.
“Think of the powerful children they would produce,” Velis added. “It could keep the Crown in House Corbois for centuries. If Diem is coronated, I imagine Remis will start planning the wedding in a matter of weeks.”
“When,” Luther snapped. “Not if she is coronated. When.”
“That remains to be seen,” Iléana huffed.
“Do you agree with Velis then, Prince?” Tyris asked. “That a match between you and Diem would be in the best interest of House Corbois?”
I couldn’t bear to look at Luther to see his reaction. I didn’t want to know his answer.
For so, so many reasons.
“It’s not for me to decide, nor my father. Her Majesty is entitled to choose whatever Consort she sees fit.”
I sagged with relief. It was a smart answer. A safe answer. And a kind one—a private show of support, given the secrets he knew.
If only he had stopped there.
“As for me, my interest lies in serving my Queen, not in marrying her.”
I had no right to feel hurt.
No right to flinch, especially as Iléana’s victorious giggle rang in my ears. No right to feel my heart clutch and my throat burn. I had no right at all to want any other answer from him.
But gods, I had.
“Unlike my short-sighted cousin, I am quite interested in serving Diem in every possible way,” Aemonn crooned to a bevy of laughter. He turned his chair toward me and took my hands. They were shaky, and I knew from the firm squeeze he gave me that he felt it, but his only reaction was to flash me his dazzling smile.
His eyes flicked briefly to Luther, disdain gnarling his perfect face. “Iléana may be more to Luther’s tastes, but I have never in my life seen a creature more stunning than our fair Queen.” He raised my hand to his mouth, holding my eyes as he kissed the back of my palm, then the other, followed by a slow smirk that hinted at our shared game.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him. “You’ve been a good friend to me tonight.”
He brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen in my eyes. “I am your most humble servant.”
I shot him a look. “Most humble?”
He grinned and leaned in close. “Fair point. Most sexy? Most devastatingly handsome?” His eyes turned wicked. “Most talented in bed?”
I laughed despite myself, and Aemonn lit up at the response. He crooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Iléana is a bore. We’ve all had to put up with her for far too long because of Luther’s affection for her. It’s a relief to have someone willing to challenge him and put her in her place.”
I tried to smile, but the thought of her, and of him, had my spirits tumbling. “You never seem to shy away from challenging him.”