Ingrid’s jaw drops, the pitying look in her eyes even more intense. “But you’re not abeast of burden,” she says the words like they leave a foul taste in her mouth. “You were achild, and you deserved kindness and understanding. Safety and love.”
“Do you know why you’re able to see those scars? Because spikes never grew over them. My body became so grotesque, so quickly, and there was no other remedy. Protecting me from my own wildness was the greatest kindness—”
“Shattered realms,” she uses a curse from our world, startling me more than the interruption itself. “That wasnotkindness, Xandril. And if no one’s ever told you, you don’t have to be grateful to those who only showed you cruelty. Taking you in and treating you as livestock is not a selfless act of virtue, and you deserved better.”
Yet again, I’m struck speechless by my bride, unsure how to respond.
She rests a hand on my forearm, cool to the touch after her kind words, and looks up at me, holding my gaze with hers, not letting me look away even when those bronze eyes make me feel naked and exposed.
“I’m sorry you went through that, and I thank you for sharing it with me. I hope we continue to be able to learn more about each other,” she says the last with a hint of a smile before leaning up and leaving me stunned one last time with a soft kiss on the cheek.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ingrid
“Surely you can stay with me?” I plead with Morwen, holding her hands in mind while she tries to tug them away.
“Your Highness, I have my own duties, and I don’t think your tutors would appreciate my presence,” she argues, the monotone in her voice belying how many times we’ve had this discussion between my chambers and the high tower where my demon realm lessons are set to take place.
“And what should their appreciation matter?” I scoff, only half-teasing. “I’m to be the queen, shouldn’t my wishes be honored first?”
“They would,” comes a haughty male voice from behind. Morwen’s face pales, and she yanks her hands out of my grip and disappears down the spiral stairs before I know what’s happening. “Ifyou’d actually been accepted by the throne. That remains to be seen.”
With the feeling that there’s a predator at my back ready to pounce, I slowly turn on my heel. The voice is familiar, but it takes me a moment to recognize the duke without his severe-looking counterpart.
“Duke Calessevan,” I say in greeting, dipping my head slightly.
“His Enduring Grace, Steward of the Western Canopy, Duke Calessevan, ” is the barbed correction from the demoness who emerges after him. “Your first lesson will be using proper forms of address when speaking to your betters.”
I bite my tongue. I can’t truly argue with what she’s saying, especially after the duke so generously pointed out that I have no real power until I’m seated on the throne.
“I see, thank you,” I say with great effort.
“A ruler does not thank their subjects, Your Majesty,” Duke Calessevan says, directly contradicting his counterpart’s point. “Allow me to introduce Her Excellency, Marchioness Drevane. Together, we will see if there is any hope for a human to learn our ways.”
Great. These two are my tutors, and they already look at me like an ifrak would be better suited for the throne.
Following them into the classroom, I can’t help but wish I was down in the stable with Brightstar. While my tutors start unraveling a maps and scrolls, showing me the borders of the reach throughout the ages, how they’ve been redrawn, where the land is contested, and the terms of various treaties, I’m developing a headache and imagining the soft, downy calf emerging from Starcaller’s tummy fluff. How that little pink nose peeks out first when I show up with my familiar clicks and basket of treats. Brightstar’s just as relentless about treats as their mother, and at the rate they’re growing, I make sure to bring triple what I used to.
“And that is the basis for the Second Verdurous Accord,” Duke Calessevan says, and I’m still not sure if the accord started a war or ended one. It’s hard to follow along, and this is already more reading than I’ve done probably in my whole life. The late Lady Amond made sure I knew enough to write down hershopping lists and follow written directions, but I’ve not had much more experience than that. School was never even a dream of mine, and now I’m glad it wasn’t.
It’s awful.
The tower is kept unbearably warm, and the duke’s voice is as uninteresting as the subjects he drones on about. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, idly wondering if the grooms are keeping the stables warm enough for Brightstar. Xandril assured me the ifrak are hearty creatures made to endure the climate, but it seems that both Brightstar and Starcaller are more at ease when my presence makes the stablehands add more and more hot coals to the stove. At least if I’m there, bundled up and turning blue at the lips, the stables will be kept as warm as possible.
The marchioness slaps her palm onto the table in front of me, her taloned fingertips digging into the wood. “This mountain range is all that separates Emerald from the barbaric deserts, so why do you think we don’t claim ownership of it all?”
“I…”
The gouges under her claws deepen. I don’t want to let her intimidate me, but looking at the map doesn’t help me at all. The mountain range she’s pointing to is labeled ‘Lumen’, but then it’s also marked with the symbols for contested territory between Emerald and Iron.
“If it’s contested,” I say, thinking out loud, “doesn’t that mean we’retryingto claim ownership of it?”
The marchioness’s hand relaxes, both tutors giving me a stunned look that has me feeling pretty proud of myself. Of course they’d try to hit me with a trick question. Maybe now they won’t think I’m so easily fooled.
“Your Highness, if this material is too taxing for you, perhaps we should reconsider the pace,” Duke Calessevan says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Any child of the reach can understand this, even our Wilds-touched—” The marchioness stops herself short, black eyes gleaming as her nostrils flare.
