“To make an heir,” I groan.
“Who knew my man juice was so valuable?”
I scrunch my nose. “Ew. Please don’t call it that.”
Leif tilts his head back and laughs. It’s a contagious and hearty sound, that I’m sure the stable hands can hear on the other side of the property. “Don’t worry about me. My new station came with perks. Micah allowed me to choose my personal guard.”
“He did?”
The king has always been particular about who he grants access tothe palace. The history of our people is housed in the palace library, and all matters concerning our kingdom are discussed within its walls. And as important as those things are, it’s the people who reside inside that Micah cares for most. Every staffer and guard are hand chosen by him or Borin, with the hopes of adding them to their circle of trusted palace staff.
We reach the front of the palace, and a wide boyish smile takes residence on Leif’s handsome face. “Yes, he did.”
I follow his gaze to the arched entrance constructed of river rock. A group of staff and guards stand at the ready, waiting for us. Among them is a smaller but muscular guard with shaved black hair and dark tan skin.
Wel rushes forward to take the reins of Leif’s horse. “I’m so happy you’re home, my lord.”
Leif’s lip quirks, and I can see the wheels turning inside his head. He dismounts and walks around Wel. The tips of his fingers brush over his forearm as he passes, and Wel blushes. Leif is going to take advantage of his new title, and I’m sure his lover is more than happy to oblige.
“Your Grace,” Wel says, clearing his throat and taking a deep bow.
I jump down from Nortus on to unsteady legs. My burning thighs feel like I’m still mounted on a phantom horse after days of riding. “Wel, it’s good to see you,” I say with a smile.
I’m ecstatic about seeing him and Leif together. They radiate so much love and joy for each other in the smallest of tasks. It’s hard not to be a little jealous, but my love for them as a couple vastly outweighs my envy.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” says the palace steward, a balding man wearing a black jacket with his arms clasped behind his back.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Your bath is being drawn as we speak. Once you are presentable, His Majesty will see you in his study.”
I nod and enter the foyer. Everything is as it was before I left—crisp white walls with glossy black accents. A tall vase with exotic flowers adds a splash of color and fills the space with a sweet floral scent. The familiarity should feel comfortable, yet I’m out of place. It’s like everything suspended in time as I continued to live. It’s an odd feeling.
I pass countless guards and staffers as I weave through the hallways to my quarters. Each of them properly addresses and welcomes me home before carrying on with their duties. By the time I reach my door, I’m not sure I can stomach one moreYour Grace,and I’m not looking forward to theconstant chatter and pampering from the staff who wait for me inside. The normalcy I found among the Sibyls is creeping away.
As a neutral sovereign nation, the Sibyls give little thought to monarchies and titles. They don’t care if governments consider some of their citizens free or captive. Kingdom politics is not something they dabble in. Their purpose is to act on the behalf of the Statera in matters of the gifts and being in the presence of a future queen doesn’t excite them the way it does others. That way of life suited me just fine.
I stop short of my quarter’s door. Zek has returned to wearing his palace uniform of crimson and iron and stands ramrod straight with his eyes focused ahead. “I see we’re back to formalities,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me, but one side of his mouth quirks up. “Are we? I’ll be happy to invite you for a stroll in the palace gardens if you like.”
The laugh escaping me feels foreign, but good. It has been a moment since something so lighthearted has inched past my meticulously reconstructed walls. But it doesn’t surprise me that it’s Zek who found a way around them. Maybe I’ll find some of my old self sooner than I thought.
I grip the doorknob to my quarters and turn it. The smell of lavender wafts from the room and standing in the center is a beautiful girl. She has styled her red hair in a thick braid crowning her head, and the light green dress she wears complements her pale freckled face. She smiles and says in a singsong voice, “Welcome home, Your Grace.”
I rush into the sitting room, leaving Zek to close the door behind me, and throw my arms around her. “Salone, I missed you,” I whisper against her hair.
“I missed you too, big sister.” She places her hands on my shoulders and holds me away from her. Her nose wrinkles and her lip curls. “You smell terrible, like horse, dirt, and the Statera knows what else. I’ll be relinquished of my service if I let you go to the king like this. And what is in your hair?” She plucks a leaf from it and holds it out for me to see. “Have you not kept up with the beauty routine I made for you?”
“No,” I sheepishly say. “Don’t you want to ask me about my time away?”
She spins me around toward the washroom and pushes me forward. “You can tell me all about it as I pray to the Statera for the power to clean you up quickly. Micah is expecting you within the hour.”
“You could have worn one of the new dresses I had commissioned for you,” Salone says, struggling to keep up with my quick stride.
I spare her a sidelong glance as we moved through the palace hallways. She wanted me to look like the queens of the past, like the ones found in the gilded images lining the corridor’s walls. Jeweled crowns, lace, and silk, it isn’t me. I’ve never felt as graceful and demure as them.
“I compromised, didn’t I?” I say, lifting the flowing train of my jacket. “Many of the queens of the past wore pants.”
