“You should go dance,” I tell her. “I’ve taken you away from Farron for far too long.”
The glitter dusting her cheekbones and eyelids sparkles. “Why don’t you come dance with us?”
“I should probably find my brother.”
She chews on her lip, then grabs hold of my elbow. “One more lap through the party, then I’ll let you go. Promise.”
I couldn’t say no to her if my life depended on it.
We drift under the darting lights—both enchanted and cast by fireflies—and walk along the edge of the clearing. I feel her eyes on me. “Something on my helmet?”
“I like this color on you.” She strokes a hand down the side of my helm. I’m wearing a suit of armor that has long sat dormant here in Spring, an elegant set of starlight silver that is more ceremonial than battleworthy. “You look like Sir Lancelot.”
“Another friend of yours?”
She barks a laugh. “No, no. He’s a character in a great legend. There have been thousands of stories written about him and Queen Guinevere.”
Rosalina and her books. Since her time at Castletree, I’ve heard about all her favorite characters. “Tell me of this Sir Lancelot and his Queen.”
Rosalina leans against the trunk of a tree. “Lancelot was renowned as one of the bravest and most gallant knights who ever served great King Arthur. Yet, he had a passionate streak, a fiery temper that he had to repress on behalf of his honor.”
“Hmm, sounds like an interesting fellow.” I brace a hand beside her head. “And who was this Queen Guinevere?”
“She was a beautiful maiden. So beautiful that Lancelot fell madly in love with her upon first sight. And she loved him back.” Rose blinks her huge brown eyes at me. “Their love was such that they forsook all honor, all commitments, to be with one another.”
“Why could they just not love each other?” I breathe.
“Because,” Rosalina whispers, “she belonged to his best friend. And he had a duty to his people, to the throne.”
“Oh.” Something shifts in my chest, like coals smoldering, fighting for life against the ash. “What happened to them?”
Rosalina’s eyes drift down, staring into nothing. “Lancelot is consumed by guilt and remorse and disappears from Guinevere’s life in a self-imposed exile.”
“What of the Queen?”
“She is nearly burned at the stake,” Rosalina whispers, “for choosing to love a man who could never belong to her.”
The music and chatter of the party fill the air, but it feels like there’s nothing but emptiness around me. “Such is the fate for foolish dreamers.”
“It’s just a story,” Rosalina says, and I hear the pitch in her voice, an attempt at merriness.
I force myself to emulate her tone. “Look, there’s Dayton. You should give him a dance.”
“Right.” She nods and starts to head out before turning back to me. “There are thousands of versions of that story, Ez. Maybe one day I’ll write my own. One where Lancelot and Guinevere end up together.”
“I will be the first to read it.”
She smiles, then drifts away from me, petals in a breeze.
I sigh and collapse my weight against the trunk. I need a moment to collect my thoughts—
“You’ve hardly left her side all night and here I was, thinking my big brother would seek me out.” Kairyn disengages from the shadows as if he is merely an extension of them.
“I hate parties,” I growl.
“I know.”
We look at each other in silence; the whole thing is so ridiculous, I nearly laugh.
“A sword at a party?” Kairyn muses, looking at Windscythe on my back.
“Trust me. I’ve been to enough parties now to know it’s always best to be prepared.”
Kairyn’s gaze leaves mine and searches the clearing before landing on Rosalina. “You care for that fae.”
“She is mate to the High Prince of Autumn,” I say quickly. “I swore to Farron I would protect her with my life.”
“No.” Kairyn seems wrong in this place, his armor absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. “It’s more than that. She is … precious to you.”
“It matters not.”
“Tell me,” Kairyn says, “do you think she will still smile so sweetly at you when she learns the truth?”
Ice floods my veins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”