“Spent time at the resorts and hot springs. Things at home are…” she sighs, brushing out her long, onyx hair. Mine is the opposite: white as fresh snow, shimmering like the stars in the sky. I’m the only one I have ever met with such hair, a curious anomaly. My parents claim a dormant gene, but a whispered family tale speaks of a different truth: a gift from the gods, a touch of pure starlight, bestowed upon my mother when she was barren.As a child, I cried that I couldn’t have my mother’s chestnut waves or my father’s darker color, but now, this bright white is a part of who I am. I could dye it, but I never will.
We’ve been friends for years, and every time we’re pictured together, someone comments about our hair. It’s annoying.
“Difficult?” I supply. “I heard…” I stop braiding, glancing over at her. Her glassy blue eyes narrow a moment, waiting on me. “I’ve just heard that Boyce is still not accepting the Bond?” More like refusing the Bond.
The media has consistently portrayed her brother as problematic and rebellious. His refusal to Bond with the poor duchess says as much. While most people wish for and pray for a strong Bond, including commoners who yearn for one, I find myself questioning why it is necessary at all.
Aolyn rolls her eyes and turns back toward the mirror, picking up the coal she lines her eyes with. I watch as she lines both top and bottom, never wavering, her hand so steady. The black reminds me so much of my dream, I have to look away.
Aolyn shifts her weight uncomfortably. “My brother just isn’t ready to settle down. Despite my parents’ protests, he still wants to party and explore his freedom. It’s only temporary.” She drops the coal and turns to me. “Look, I know the rumors. I’ve heard them, but Boyce is just being Boyce, and my father is alive and well. He’s been locked away in his study, working.” Her words attempt to reassure, but a cold tendril of intuition snakes down my spine.
After a long moment of silence and nodding, I offer her a tight smile as an apology and then tug her into my closet. I have a whole row of dinner gowns, and we’re basically the same size. “Pick one,” I tell her, gesturing to the wall of opulent silks, chiffons, and fine materials hanging delicately on fabric hangers. She rolls her eyes, but a big smile crosses her face as she reaches for my only black gown.
“If this is your version of a peace offering, I accept.” We both chuckle and, minutes later, head down to the dining hall, arm in arm. As we walk, she tells me about an initiative she’s working on to provide villagers with better heating systems, rather than relying solely on fireplaces. Her kingdom has ten planets, all of which are in a perpetual state of winter.
We split when we arrive at the intimately lit hall. The hall is filledwith hushed voices and the clinking of silverware as she heads to the front of the room, where the other leadership members sit. I move to sit with Sky Division.
Around the room, the candlelight casts everyone in warm hues, the lighting bouncing off silk gowns and bronze buttons of the men’s jackets.
I’m hit with the rich scent of spices and savory food, making my mouth water as I drop into my chair, already eager to see what is on the menu for this evening. At home, our cook rotates through foods harvested from our gardens, local forests, and waterfalls. While I enjoy the fresh, clean foods, these rich scents remind me of the deserts of Mori.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s too risky,” Britta argues as I pull out a seat between Aada and Tate. Having classes and eating together forces us to get to know each other like I haven’t done in other Orders. Kellan and I would often hang out with Ciara or by ourselves, and occasionally talk to Tate.
“That’s just because you have no faith in your mental shield,” he retorts before shoveling a bite of stew into his mouth, followed by a piece of flatbread that looks and smells fantastic. I drop my stuff and find the window for the flatbread and stew, bypassing the seafare window and the dessert window, which is stacked with miniature cakes and custards.
The cook slides a tray through for me, her eyes twinkling as she smiles at me.
“Is it possible to have some of the flatbread too?” Someone behind me barks out a laugh, making me smile even though I have no idea why they are laughing.
“I’m so sorry, we’re out.” She looks around like she can conjure a piece. “Let me go see if they’re making more.” I tell her to take her time as she leaves the window, pushing through another door where the food is prepared.
I lean against the cool tile, waiting for her return, when the air around me seems to change, charging with the same kind of energy you feel justbefore lightning strikes. I roll my shoulders uncomfortably as the energy works its way through every nerve ending. Before I have time to look around, Anders says, “You can have mine,” his voice deep and warm.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
I look over and up, and warmth spreads through my body as I meet his eyes.Dammit.His gaze cascades down my body, taking in the gown I chose to wear tonight. It has an illusion neckline, sheer gossamer over my chest and arms, and a thicker, darker material bodice, allowing me to wear my corset beneath.
The navy-colored gown features a flowing skirt that sparkles when I move. It’s one of my favorites, and I wear it to dinner parties frequently.
When his gaze meets mine again, his nostrils flare, and his jaw ticks like he’s angry, but what in Astor’s name could he be pissed about? I haven’t done anything that could possibly upset him. It’s not like I saw him this afternoon after classes, since he had AerBall and I had my running club meeting, but I’ve done nothing wrong.
“I’m good,” I state, pasting on my “fuck-you-very-much” smile and turning away from the counter, annoyed. The flatbread doesn’t seem so appetizing if it means I have to spend another minute in his presence.
I find my seat, still feeling flustered, when he walks by. His eyes dart to my table before focusing on the woman walking toward him. She’s gorgeous. The woman is tall, with long blonde hair, tanned skin similar to his, big bright blue eyes, and a red, fitted gown that shows a lot of skin.
Her arms wrap around his neck, and he tugs her close with his free hand. She’s precisely the kind of woman I picture he will Bond with. Something uncomfortable unfurls in my chest, making me rub the spot.
She giggles, leaning in and batting her long lashes. It shouldn’t bother me, but I instantly dislike her.
I’m still glowering at the woman, rubbing my chest, when Jakob asks, “You okay?” His question cuts through the hum in my head,bringing me back to the conversation. Jakob raises his brows as I look around, attempting to catch up with the discussion.
“Yep,” I say too quickly. “Just a little sore.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. When I glance back up to where Anders is, he’s gone, already seated at the leadership table, talking to Trysten.
Professor Brendn’s voice booms through the Transport Hall, instantly silencing the usual chatter. “Listen up,” he commands, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Executive Sky Divisions from all three dorms. Outside, twenty different transports gleam on the launch pad, waiting to be assigned to us juniors. “Today, we’re learning about weather patterns and emergency situations,” he continues. “You’ve all mastered piloting, communication, and navigation. Flying the system is exciting, but you need to know what happens if there’s an emergency and you need to land on a planet.”
He surveys the room. We have class with the seniors once a week, allowing us juniors to learn from their experience. For the past few weeks, we’ve been reacquainting ourselves with school transports. Just yesterday, we were tested for our unit positions. I’m assigned pilot, with Tate for navigation and Ciara for communications. When we got our assignments, Ciara and I jumped around like giddy teenagers while Tate playfully groaned.
Ciara, who arrived a week after my lakeside incident with Anders, still hasn’t let up on the teasing.
