“Stop being afraid that we’re only worried for our kingdom. It’s not going anywhere, and that is the least of our concerns.”
“Is that what she’s fretting over?” Raum chuckled in the back of the room. “Ack, as if anyone could actually steal this land from us. Rather arrogant thinking, if you ask me.”
Malin stood next to her husband. “I will send word to the other kingdoms and inform them of the intentions of the elven clans.”
“I already sent word to Bloodsinger,” Jonas said.
“Foolish, Jo.” Sander scrubbed his hands down his face. “Erik is just waiting for a reason to lose his damn mind and slaughter Arion. He could piss crooked and the Ever King would use it as a call to war.”
Jonas waved the thought away. “He has Livia to keep him grounded now.”
Sander’s brows raised, gaze pinned on the floor. “I don’t know, I think some of the king’s wickedness has twisted up our sweet Livie. She might join him.”
A few chuckles rippled through the hall.
Malin approached us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. “Keep a wary eye, we’ll play their games for now. But they will lose in the end.”
A week after letters were sent across the kingdoms, days grew calmer with each sunrise. Some mornings, when I woke curled tightly in Jonas’s arms, I would forget the truth for a moment.
I’d forget my grandfather loved me more for what I could be for Natthaven—a threat to enemies—and not for the heart in my chest.
I’d forget Arion emerged from his exile, set to take back what he lost.
I’d forget the secrets I still kept from a husband I never planned on loving so fiercely.
It was good to forget. To pretend all was well, it left me time to laugh with the Kryv when we sparred on the field. It left me time to work with Von on ideas for young ones across the realms. I even received a missive from the wife of the Night Folk First Knight in the North. She wanted to meet when Jonas next visited Rave camps to hear ideas about apprenticeships for older children, and books or writing lessons for the littles.
Von and I spoke enough it landed me next to his shoulder, pretending all was well, watching the staff in the cooking rooms.
“This is your chance.” I nudged his ribs. “She’s alone.”
He blew out a long breath, raking his fingers through his short hair. “She’s busy. I don’t want to distract her.”
Brunhild was a gentle beauty. Long hair the color of autumn that reached her waist. Features that were soft but radiant, and a voice that was calm as a summer morning. I wasn’t certain the woman knew how to speak louder than a heightened whisper.
“You are being an utter coward.” I pinched his arm.
He swatted at my hand. “Watch yourself, Princess. I live with the Falkyns, you might find your bath salts replaced with boil powders.”
“Coward.”
“I am not.”
I fiddled with one of the silver rings on my center finger. “Does it smell a little cowardly in here?”
“Gods. I’m damn glad you’re Jonas’s pest.” In a huff of frustration, Von stalked toward the stone oven where Brunhild crouched, inspecting a platter of oat cakes.
I covered my mouth to muffle my laugh when Von ungracefully announced himself, startling poor Brunhild, and nearly toppling her into the soot-soaked hearth.
Unintentionally, she was entangled in his arms when he caught her. I considered it a success.
To pretend, meant I spent days folding silks and satins with Frigg for her mother’s shop, snickering about the princes or trading gowns.
Pretending left plenty of time to lose myself in my library, though I was rarely alone. Most days, Sander would read in a chair, trading questions about my elven lore while I would ask about the fae tales.
I pretended there was no need for unease until I found Jonas sitting on the edge of our bed after the sun faded on the ninth evening, a missive clutched in his hands.
“What is it?”
