My attention lingered on Garath’s wife. She caught my staring and sharply narrowed her eyes. I quickly looked away.
“You look so beautiful!” Lily squealed as she bounced to my side. She ran her hand along the fabric of my dress and sighed. “I wish Teller could be here. He would be so proud of you.”
My heart clenched. “Thank you for your help this morning.” I looked nervously toward the dance floor. “Let’s hope it pays off.”
“You’ll be perfect, I’m sure of it. And Aemonn is a wonderful dancer. He’ll help you, won’t you cousin?” She targeted Aemonn with a look that was surely meant to be stern but came off adorably unthreatening, like a butterfly trying to pick a fight with a lion.
“Of course,” Aemonn crooned. “I plan to take very good care of our Queen.”
Lily leaned in to kiss my cheek. Just as she was about to pull away, she hovered close and whispered, “Perhaps you can save one dance for my brother? It would mean the world to him.”
My face flushed, and the sneaky smile that played on her lips told me she’d noticed.
I was saved from responding by Eleanor and Taran, who threw his arms around Lily’s waist and swung her in a circle, grinning as she squeaked in surprise. Their mothers jumped forward to scold him for making a scene, and he groaned loudly before setting Lily back on her feet with a rumbling laugh.
Eleanor beamed at me proudly. “You were right about that dress.”
“All the credit belongs to you,” I shouted, raising my voice obnoxiously loud so it carried deep into the crowd. “Your advice is so very invaluable to me. I would be lost without you, Eleanor Corbois.”
She dropped into a curtsy to hide her grin at my lack of subtlety. “It’s my pleasure to serve such a wise and selfless Queen, Your Majesty,” she answered, equally as loud.
Taran raked his eyes over my body and gave a long whistle. “Looking good, Queenie. Too bad about that ugly growth on your arm.”
Aemonn scowled at his brother. “Don’t you have a barrel of wine to drown in? Or perhaps a certain cousin’s ass to bow down and kiss?”
Taran craned his neck around to peer at my backside. “Now that you mention it, cousin Diem does have quite a nice, round little a—”
“Taran!” Eleanor cried out, looking horrified despite her laughter.
“Not her, you tactless buffoon,” Aemonn snapped. “Go find Luther and be a good little sheep. Leave the hard work to those of us who actually care about this family.”
Taran rolled his eyes and maintained his carefree smile, though the hint of a wound flashed across his expression. “I’ll steal you for a dance later, Queenie. I have to make sure you have some fun tonight.”
He strolled away, and I shot Aemonn a look. “A little harsh, don’t you think? He’s your brother.”
“In name only,” Aemonn muttered. “He doesn’t care. He never worries about anyone but himself.”
Before I could launch into a lecture on the value of sibling love, we were inundated with a stream of fawning Corbois. As the royal family, House Corbois had the honor of greeting the Crown first. Since I’d already met most of them, the introductions served primarily as a show of power to the rest of the room.
I caught Eleanor’s hand and insisted she stay near my side, and we all settled in for a long hour of cheek kisses, forced smiles, and fake laughter while I played my part as the hapless ingenue.
As the time droned on, it was impossible not to think of the battle that might be occurring outside the palace gates. My gaze kept wandering to the ballroom doors, expecting a mob of Guardians to burst through at any moment. Every loud drumbeat or dropped dish had my back snapping straight, my body a tightly wound spring ready to launch.
Perthe hovered nearby as my personal sentry, and though I watched him exchange words with other guards, he offered no concrete news—at least none he would share. Only the same message again and again: “Prince Luther says not to worry. Everything’s under control.”
When the train of Corbois finally ended, the representatives from Emarion’s eight other realms stepped up to greet me, each with a gift on behalf of their Crown.
On the surface, acknowledging them so early in the evening appeared to be a gesture of diplomacy. In reality, it was a not-so-subtle encouragement for them to leave the realm immediately rather than spend another night on Lumnos soil.
The muscled pair of army warriors from neighboring Fortos came first. I’d grown so accustomed to the brash mannerisms of my father’s old army colleagues that the hawkish way in which the Fortos representatives assessed me, then dismissed me, felt like being greeted by a grumpy old friend. For a brief moment, my smile turned genuine. Unsurprisingly, their gift was a weapon—a finely made blade that looked suspiciously like Brecke’s handiwork.
Next came a druidic couple from our northern neighbor, Montios. Their skin was leathery from exposure to the harsh mountain climates, with bright violet eyes that studied me from beneath heavy woolen hoods. Montios was known for its cryptic ways, and their representatives were true to form, refusing to speak even a single word.
Their gift was a thick, fur-lined cloak, presented with a note explaining it was spelled to always keep its wearer warm. Before I could ask how its magic worked outside their borders, they silently turned and walked straight for the exit.
The green-eyed pair from Arboros presented me with an emerald-hued potion said to cure any ill, save for curses sent directly from the gods. It took great restraint to keep from asking why they hadn’t offered such a gift to my predecessor amid his slow, months-long death.
Mortal rumors claimed the Faunos Descended could take on animal characteristics, or even shift into animal form, but the yellow-eyed representatives who arrived next looked disappointingly human. They presented me with two cute, furry animals that they claimed were a delicacy for gryverns, which I promptly handed off to Lily after making her swear not to take them anywhere near Sorae.
The linen-robed, red-skinned women from the deserts of Ignios came next, offering a white spydersilk scarf so strong it could not be penetrated by any metal weapon, no matter how sharp. Then came the aqua-eyed sailors from Meros, whose filthy language and irreverent demeanor won me over instantly. They gifted me with a compass they claimed would point toward whatever my heart desired most.
When I gave it an initial glance, it pointed vaguely at the back of the palace—perhaps toward Mortal City, or my family’s home on the marsh, or the island where I might be coronated, or adventure on the Sacred Sea. My heart yearned for so many things I couldn’t have, even I wasn’t sure which of them I most desired.
As the Meros pair set a direct course for the casks of ale, my pulse suddenly quickened, an odd sensation coating my skull. Slithering tentacles writhed at the edge of my consciousness, circling like a snake assessing its prey. My thoughts turned hazy and my focus grew dull.
A slender man sauntered up to me unaccompanied, studying me with eyes like two onyx pits of eternal night. His features were similarly dark, his hair neatly cut and his goatee carefully groomed. Hands in his pockets, he smirked with all the smug triumph of someone who had won a game without even bothering to play.