She glanced sideways at me with a crooked smile. “I shall never tire of hearing it.” Her fingers tightened against my arm. “But…you value more than my appearance, yes?”
I drew us to an abrupt stop and grasped her chin gently, tilting it up to look at me. “Of course I do.” I let the words settle, then added, “You’re brave, clever, and kind. And you speak up, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when you’re scared. You say what needs saying.” I took a shaky inhale. “And when you laugh, it sounds like hope. Yes, I find you devastatingly beautiful, but more than that, I am in awe of you, Quinn.”
Her breath caught, soft but audible. Her eyes were glassy now, but she didn’t look away.
“You make me feel like I matter,” I said, brushing a straying curl behind her ear, relishing the way she leaned ever so slightly into my touch. “That I’m more than the worst parts of me. As if I’m someone that, one day, might be worth choosing.”
Instead of speaking, she leaned in and rested her head against my shoulder.
I breathed in the scent of her and let my eyes fall shut for one perfect moment. The crowd moved around us in waves of velvet and chatter, masks glittering, laughter echoing, but for that heartbeat, it was only us.
The road sloped upward toward the castle. The entrance loomed, tall enough to make even Branrir look short, carved from thick, dark wood. As the crowd surged forward, the doors parted. The entry hall was excess incarnate. Marble floors were polished to a mirror sheen. Gold-veined columns soared so high I lost sight of their capitals.
The walls were lined with statues, paintings, and other homages—seemingly all of one man. The king, I presumed. Each more heroic and smug than the last. In one portrait, hewrestled a lion with his bare hands—the lion notably bewildered. In another, he stood atop a battlefield, sword raised, not a speck of dirt on his pristine armor. The sculptures varied in size and posture, but every version was poised to deliver a dramatic speech. Every five paces, another monument or tribute. Another shining testament to a man with access to far too many artists and not nearly enough humility.
I leaned closer to Quinn, lowering my voice. “A man with that many statues is definitely compensating for something.”
She choked on a laugh and quickly covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Mav,” she giggled, half-horrified, half-delighted.
I smirked. “What? Just making an observation.”
Her eyes sparkled. She bumped her shoulder gently into mine as we passed a full-body sculpture of the king heroically saving a child from a fire, with, of course, not a trace of soot on his robes.
As we made our way further down the hall, worry creased Quinn’s forehead as her eyes rounded.
“Are you all right, princess?” I asked. The nickname snapped her partially out of her wary trance.
“All of these art pieces share his exact likeness,” she breathed.
My brows furrowed. “The prince who cast the spell?”
She gave a timid nod. It made my blood boil that, even after hundreds of years, the bastard still had the ability to make her feel afraid. I considered setting several of the paintings on fire to make a point.
“I’m not surprised all the images look alike,” Branrir chimed in, smoothing his jacket. “The dark hair, alabaster skin, and blue eyes have been traits of the royal line since the kingdom’s founding.”
Vesper sniffed at one of the many absurdly posed statues. “But all of these plaques say the same name.”
Branrir huffed a laugh. “Ah, yes. All kings of Avandria have been named Edric from the beginning.”
A shudder ran down Thistle’s spine. “It’s strange we’ve had generations of what seem like duplicates of our first ruler.”
“The royals have never been much for originality,” Vesper snarked.
I glanced down at Quinn. Despite Branrir’s explanation, her worry hadn’t lessened. I laid my hand over hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, full of a plea I was powerless to deny.
“I promise, Quinn.” I lifted her gloved hand to my mouth and pressed my lips to her palm.
If the entryway was this ridiculous…what fresh royal insanity waited beyond the doors?
The music grew louder. The hallway widened. And the carved archway of the grand ballroom came into view. Quinn gripped my arm a bit tighter. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her eyes had gone wide, reflecting the golden light spilling from the room. While she seemed to be taking in the absurd splendor of the castle, there was a shadow of fear crowding her gaze. I tightened my mask’s strap, then covered her hand with mine and squeezed once. She glanced up, and I smiled at her in a look I hoped would calm her nerves. We stepped forward together, into whatever waited beyond.
28
QUINN
The grand ballroom soared, an impossible cathedral of light and motion. Chandeliers spiraled from the vaulted ceiling, scattering stars over everything. Hedges coaxed blossoms from hidden planters, petals unfurling in time with the melody. Tempests guided the creation upward, weaving soft winds that lifted the blooms and drifted them above the crowd in a slow, spiraling dance. An orchestra played from a lofted alcove. The attendees transformed every corner into a spectacle. Feathers and silk and embroidery; masks elaborate enough to pass for sculpture. A woman’s hair was adorned with living butterflies. A man laughed behind a mask rendering him into a silver hawk, the sleeves of his coat flaring like wings.
