“You should rest as well, my elfling,” King Lorial says beside Cerian. “It’s been a long and overwhelming day for you. I can read it in those emerald eyes of yours.”
Cerian has grown quiet again. His brows hang heavy, and his eyes are wide and unfocused—that’s the look he gets when he feels overwhelmed. Their interlude in the storage alcove helped, but the more time they spend around other people, the more that look returns.
Thoughts of drawing him away the way Viala did with Tharios fill Arisanna’s head, but she pushes them aside as her face warms. That won’t be happening any time soon. If ever.
Cerian merely nods without speaking, and after he checks on Elowyn again, Arisanna says a polite goodnight to his family. “Thank you for your kindness to my mother,” she says softly. “She can be grating, but she means well.”
“Your mother has endured pain in this life, Arisanna,” Grandmera says in quiet Elvish. “It affects us all in different ways.”
Arisanna nods. Mother rarely talks about the years of heartache waiting for a child. And even more rarely does she mention the three babies she lost before she got to hold them. She gets a wistful look sometimes when gazing at Arisanna, though. As if she’s seeing past Arisanna to someone else.
“Thank you. She wanted you to know how grateful she is for everything you’ve done. I’m not sure she will ever be able to express the words herself, but—”
“We know, my youngling,” King Lorial says. “And you and Rominy both have been a gift to us all. Now take Cerian and relieve the overwhelm behind his eyes.”
Her cheeks flame again, and when she glances at Cerian, the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to breathe.
He says his own goodnights, and together they step into the hallway past Jonas, who has resumed his post. As they turn toward their room, Arisanna stops short.
Father’s guards are there.
Did Mother commandeer their room?
“Your Highness,” Father’s head guard says to her, “your father asked me to tell you your mother was struggling with her composure and needed privacy, and he knew you’d understand.”
Arisanna nods. “Of course.”
Now what, though? Surely the proprietor prepared a room somewhere for the King and Queen of Nunia?
“Do you know if there’s another room available?” she asks.
“Forgive me, yes. A suite was prepared for your parents. It’s on the top floor. Your father was concerned about being so far from the prince, especially if His Majesty’s rheumatism flares with all those stairs.”
Relief fills Arisanna, and she nods. “We’ll manage. Thank you, Martin.”
He leans toward her. “I think you’ll like it. It’s nicer than this one.” Then he turns to the man beside him. “Erich, show the prince and princess to their new room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, wait, Your Highness. Your father left these for you.” Martin holds out Cerian’s apple pail and knapsack, and Cerian quickly takes them. That was thoughtful of Father. Not that they couldn’t have survived without the apples and hoards of candy, but Cerian’s knapsack has everything they brought in it. Granted, they packed little, but it’s still appreciated.
They’re about to follow Erich to the other suite when images of that bottle Tharios gave her fill her head.
Stars above. Did Father put it in Cerian’s knapsack? Or is it still on the nightstand?
Tharios’s words return to her.
Every night.
“Is something wrong, Princess?” Martin asks.
A nervous laugh escapes her before she can stop it.
She reaches for Cerian’s knapsack, and Cerian frowns as she digs inside it.
“What are you looking for?” he asks quietly.
Well. She isn’t planning to announce it in the hallway.
