He reaches out and curls his hand around mine. Before I can stop myself, I glimpse up to find him looking down at me, his dark waves of hair curtaining his eyes. Even though I’ve loathed him since before I set eyes on him. Even though his kind are cruel tyrants obsessed with power. Even though I hate the way I feel when he touches me. Prince Daedalus has a beauty that I will never see rivaled by another. Even if I live a thousand years.
With my hand in his, he guides me to where the king and queen wait for us. He pulls out a chair and I sit down nervouslyas he takes the seat beside me, and still I can feel the warmth of his skin.
“How was your day, Amara?” King Kaelus asks, gripping the arms of his chair. I notice the soft curls in his dark hair, the same as Daedalus, and the pointed tips of their ears seem to peek through in the same part.
“I took a tour of the castle,” I reply.
“Did you?” Kaelus asks. He glances at Arax by the door, who bows his head. “Baev’kalath is old and treacherous, even to those who have lived within its walls for centuries. You should be careful where you venture.”
I'm beginning to think their warnings aren't just empty threats meant to frighten me. I've witnessed and heard things within these walls that would drive many to leap screaming from the balcony and plunge into the wild ocean below. Yet, none of it can be real.Can it?
I dare not share any of these details with them. I can't let them believe I've lost my sanity or my strength. I refuse to give them the power to control me, or worse, have them cancel our bargain because I am broken.
“I was well looked after,” I say, the strain on my face easing when I glimpse Arax.
Daedalus notices the exchange. His mouth sets into a scowl as he snatches a goblet from the table, swirling the wine within. “After what my Blades say you did on the ship, perhaps you should be Arax’s bodyguard instead of the other way around.”
The king and queen chuckle, but I find nothing amusing.
“You may go, Arax,” Daedalus says flippantly.
Arax bows and takes his leave, but I see how his face hardens and his jaw clenches as he closes the doors behind him.
“Speaking of the ship,” Lanneth starts, steepling her hands. “I did not know you possessed so much ofourmagic.” Her pearlescent eyes are unnerving, but not in the same way theprince’s eyes are. I study the sharp angles of her face, the points of her ears, her long slender throat, but nothing sparks of Daedalus in her features. “Who taught you?”
“The Souls of the Forest chose me when I was a child,” I reply calmly, meeting her daunting gaze. “And the Sisters of the Vine began schooling me on runes and channeling soon after.”
Queen Lanneth tips her chin towards my rune necklace. “And that is your conduit?”
I glance down. “Yes. I need it to channel.”
She gives a tight-lipped smile. “How quaint. And what do your parents think of this vocation?”
Quaint?I reply curtly. “They are dead, so do not think much at all.”
My candor takes them aback.
The king pinches his squared chin between his fingers. “I assumed Keeper Tovar was your father. He called you his Jewel.”
“Keeper Tovar is the lord and protector of The Grove and he guides the Tender Council, but no, he is not my father. He calls me Jewel because that is what the people call me. Jewel of the Tenders,” I correct.
Daedalus looks at me over the rim of his goblet. “And why are you so special that you deserve such a title, Jewel?”
My face hardens, and I stare my husband down. “I have never claimed to be more than I am, and even if I was, no one should be raised above others. There is noworthin a title unless there isworthin the wearer…PrinceDaedalus.”
His eyes flicker with as much ire as intrigue. “You really are a cunning little thing, aren’t you?”
“Already bickering,” Lanneth sighs, wrapping her bony fingers around her goblet. “You know, passion is the ember that keeps the fire of marriage burning when everything else turns to ash.”
“I was always told trust is the strongest foundation of a marriage,” I blurt blankly, recalling what the crone sisters would tell the maidens after a match was made.
A deathly silence suffocates the room and the Mordorin royals narrow their eyes on me. Since everyone else is partaking of the wine, I reach for my cup, and that’s when I notice my fingers are trembling.
“How… sweet,” Queen Lanneth says with a curled lip.
King Kaelus nods with disinterest, his tongue rolling in his cheek, while Daedalus remains silent, staring into the bottom of his cup.
A flurry of activity cuts through the awkward silence when the doors fly open and a line of servants carrying silver trays enter single file. One by one they place their offerings on the long table, and when they lift the domed lids, the air floods with the aroma of roasted meats, succulent fruits and vegetables, and hearty loaves of bread.
