The next few hours continued in the same vein of monotony and frustration. My shoulders sagged in relief when the guard at the door finally announced that the morning was closed to petitions.
At least I was spared afternoon luncheons, since I still couldn’t be seen in the palace without Draven. Batty had not yet managed to stop my mana before it trickled out, and shadow powers were not a thing amongst the Winter fae.
Days passed in that same manner, holding court and dining with courtiers. Visiting Nevara in the afternoon, tracking the progress of the inky black stains as they receded from her nails and her pale, ethereal locks.
She still hadn’t woken. The Archmage was more optimistic than Amias on that front, the latter of whom administered strengthening tonics with a devotion that bordered on mania in the guilt of his antidote misstep.
She grew stronger, the venom grew weaker, but she never once stirred.
And unlike Isren, I became less and less sure that she ever would.
I was freezing.
The fire had died in the hearth, and of course, Draven was out.
Like most afternoons, he was in the war room while I listened in on his thoughts intermittently. As fun as it was to force my presence on Eryx, we needed the Lord General more than I needed to irritate him with my very existence. Especially now, when we had no choice but to match my uncle’s preparations for war.
Together, they moved troops along the borders, recalled some to the palace, discussed every defense strategy and contingency plan known to the realm, and waited for Soren to make contact with his flames. One of the outlying estates had already fallen to monsters after refusing to bolster their borders.
Wynnie and I had drunk an extra bottle of wine that night, and Mirelda hadn’t even argued.
I padded into my former rooms to find the maid tidying up the herbs on the nightstand. Once again, it struck me how quickly my sister had made these rooms her own, how comfortable she was with the amount of space she took up in a room, in a way that I never had been.
She had lost her home and nearly everyone in it, and she had built a new one here within a matter of days.
While I… couldn’t.
Even now, Draven’s rooms were bare of my existence. If the worst happened in this war, there would be no sign that I had been here at all. The books in the study were sent by the palace. The clothes were chosen by Closet. The walls and curtains and chandeliers were as Winter-themed as ever, without a single trace of color.
There was something unspeakably… empty about the idea that Draven and I could both die and history would never know we had even shared a room.
“Is there something I can do for you, Your Majesty?” Mirelda asked, eyebrows furrowing.
I opened my mouth to ask her to turn up the fire, then closed it just as quickly.
Instead, I reached out to Draven.
Do you mind… if I make changes to the room?
Something like satisfaction trickled back to me.
The only thing I care about withourroom is that you’re in it when I return, Morta Mea. Preferably without clothes on.
Desire coursed through me at the low growl I could feel in my soul, but I sent him back a laugh instead.
Then I’m starting with ramping up the fireplace.
He paused at that, no doubt picturing all the furs he would be heaping back on my side of the bed tonight just as he did every night they crept into his space.
If that’s the price I have to pay,he finally allowed.
He returned to his meeting, and I fixed my attention on Mirelda, dredging up the bravery I shouldn’t have needed for such a mild request. It felt too permanent for our lives, too obvious for anabominationwho had lived the past decade in hiding. But I knew if I left this palace without a trace ofmy existence, it would haunt me in every apprehension-filled moment until we inevitably found ourselves at war.
“Yes,” I told Mirelda in response to her question. “I know the timing is… not ideal, but I have a few things I’d like to procure for Draven’s—for our rooms. Like…” I thought for a moment, “an armchair, and pillows that aren’t white or navy.”
A slow smile spread across her cheeks. “I’ll see to it at once.”
It was the smallest of victories, an attempt at permanence in an existence that was feeling increasingly fleeting. And somewhere past my satisfaction, I couldn’t help the spider-like fingers of dread along my spine, reminding me that fate never let a challenge go unanswered.
