Not by my hand. But by the road. She’d fall from the saddle before we cleared the foothills, twist her ankle on a rock, and offer honey to a bandit. She seemed the type of girl that smiled at a wolf and expected it to wag its tail.
And I was bound to her. Responsible for that smile. For those fragile and foolish questions.
I wanted to resent her. I told myself I did.
But deep beneath the irritation, something else stirred. Not pity. Not admiration. Just the uncomfortable sense that softness like hers wasn’t meant to last, and if it died out here, I’d have to carry the ashes.
How was I going to manage this task?
Chapter Four
Wynessa
Lilac and gold were bleeding together in the sky like watercolors left out in the rain. The travel cloak clung to my shoulders, a familiar burden. Yet, a colder, heavier dread, born of the coming storm, settled deep within me as I surveyed the imposing palace courtyard.
Stone steps gleamed beneath the dawn. The air was cool, edged in the quiet hush of servants watching from balconies, guards posted like statues. This was no longer my home. It was a gilded stage for goodbyes.
My mother stood at the top of the marble steps, dressed in a pale silver gown. As ever, she swept her hair into a high, immaculate twist. She looked down at me, her eyes cold, like those of a gardener critiquing a hedge, assessing my every detail: trimmed, sculpted, and merelyuseful.
“You will make a good impression,” she said, her face remaining carefully blank. “You will speak with grace.” She stepped forward and fastened my brooch—a sunburst wrought in gold and garnet, glinting too brightly for the gray morning, to my collar. Her fingers werelike slivers of frozen glassagainst my neck.
“You are not only a daughter.” Her words emerged in a calm, precise monotone. “You are a promise.”
“I understand,” I said, though my voice was barely a whisper.
She lingered a moment longer, studying me like a statue she wasn’t quite proud of. “Keep your shoulders back. Chin high. Do not babble when spoken to. And for mercy’s sake, keep your hands still. You fidget like a child.” She shook her head disapprovingly.
I clenched my hands at my sides, every muscle straining against the urge to fidget.
My father, King Theron, stepped forward next, reaching out to me with his hands. His beard was white as winter ash, eyes shadowed with weariness. His grasp, unexpectedly gentle, seemed to transmit a quiet warmth, a silent offering of comfort as his fingers closed over mine.
“Trust your instincts, little star,” he mumbled. “They’ve always been kinder than mine.”
His touch lingered. Then, as always, duty called him away before his comfort settled enough to take hold.
Footsteps rang on the stone, louder, more dramatic, and then: “What, no goodbye for your favorite brother?”
Alaric walked toward me with a swagger; his copper-blond hair was windswept, and his fitted riding leathers looked more suited for a parade than a journey. Bran padded beside him, his tail flicking lazily.
My heart leaped with joy. “You’re coming?”
He threw his arms wide. “Of course, I’m coming! What kind of big brother lets his little sister waltz off to enemy territory with nothing but her plants for company?”
I laughed, throwing my arms around him. He pulled me close and rested his chin on my head with exaggerated tenderness.
“You’re not allowed to cry,” he warned. “That’s my job. I’m the dramatic one.”
“You’re the reckless one.”
“Reckless, charming, and essential. I’ll be serving as your ‘advisor,’ which is a formal way of saying I’ll argue with every noble who so much as frowns at you. Also, I’ve decided the most important diplomatic tool I’m bringing is my lute.”
“You didn’t?” My grin felt like it might split my face.
“I absolutely did. Can’t represent Elyrien properly without a serenade or two. Might even charm a duke,” he joked while wiggling his eyebrows.
“You’ll charm someone, alright.”
Jasira appeared beside us, adjusting the satchel on her hip. Despite pulling her dark curls back behind her ear, a few strands had already escaped to frame her face. She wore a soft green tunic embroidered at the cuffs, which was both practical and pretty. She smiled when she saw me and reached out to squeeze my hand.
