Was it magic at work?
Or worse, what if itwasn’tmagic?
If just the common soldiers were this beautiful and mesmerizing without even trying, then what would the prince himself look like? It was hard not to wonder about it.
It doesn’t matter how beautiful or mesmerizing he is, Sephia reminded herself.
All that mattered was that beautiful things could die just as easily as ugly things—as long as she herself stayedfocused.
Nana Rosa’s hand was on her shoulder, suddenly. Sephia was surprised by the gentle weight of it, the way it squeezed and seemed to be trying to offer stability. But this was hard on the old woman, wasn’t it? She had been close to Nora, and that was who shethoughtshe was saying goodbye to.
The king and queen, by comparison, appeared nothing but resigned—and this wasnota surprise. They had been preparing for this moment since before their twins had been born. In eighteen years, they had notoncelet their children forget about the duty and destiny that awaited them.
This is the way of things.
How many times had their mother repeated that phrase?
Sephia had often wondered if her mother actually wanted children at all, or if she had been forced into it because of a sense of that duty and the need to hold up Middlemage’s side of the bargain. She had not been cruel to Sephia or her sister during their eighteen years; just distant. Passive. And the king had been much the same.
The same villagers who made up lies about the princesses also liked to spout lies about how much those princesses hated their parents. The more dysfunctional the royal family seemed, the better the villagers felt about themselves, Sephia guessed. But the truth was that she did not hate the queenorthe king.
Shenothingedthem.
Although sometimes that empty feeling ached worse than outright hatred.
A strange part of her was happy to be leaving that emptiness behind, if only for the next month. The happiness was fleeting, however; it vanished the instant a gilded carriage—one drawn by more of those unreal horses—rolled into sight.
The soldiers that had proceeded it each dropped to one knee. Most of the humans on the Middlemage side of the river followed suit. The king and queen did not kneel, but they bowed their heads. After a sharp nudge from Nana Rosa, Sephia did the same.
Sephia heard someone emerging from that gilded carriage—the fae king, someone announced. She desperately wanted to see him for herself. She still did not lift her head; Nora would have been more obedient. She had to remember that she was Nora now.
But she couldn’t help but chance a glimpse from underneath her lashes.
The Sun King was radiant even in her peripheral vision. His clothes were glaringly white and embellished with shimmering gold thread. The many twisted prongs of his crown each caught a piece of the sun, occasionally blinding people when he tilted his head just so. He was talking in a low voice, the smooth words sounding more like a melody, like part of a song harmonizing with the river’s current, than a proper speech.
Moments passed. A second being emerged from behind the king.The prince, Sephia heard someone whisper.
She could no longer keep her head lowered.
It lifted as if Prince Tarron had cupped a hand beneath her chin and lifted it himself. And she found him staring at her as though no space existed between them. As if no one else was standing within that circle of trees. Theintensityof the gaze was undeniable, but she couldn’t clearly make out the finer parts of his expression from across the river.
Though if she’d had to guess, she would have said those finer parts likely signaled intensedisgust.
She felt compelled to stare back. She managed to hide her own disgust. Somehow. His appearance helped matters, she had to admit; it was…difficultto be entirely disgusted with the being she was staring at. Even from a distance, his otherworldly beauty was obvious enough.
He followed the king as that king stepped toward the bridge. Sephia followed her parents as they did the same. Both parties stopped on their respective sides, and said their respective, rehearsed pieces, and Sephia only partially listened to the ritualistic words. She had memorized them a long time ago, reciting the words to herself over and over when the nightmarish images of her future—the same images that were now playing out before her—kept her from sleeping.
She held her breath as she subtly studied more of the prince’s appearance.
This was her target.
After years of planning, and those countless sleepless nights spent anticipating this moment…here it was.
Herehewas.
And those golden horses looked like plain, common beasts, suddenly. Every creature—including the Sun King—looked plain and common compared to the prince.
Tarron’s hair was not the pale, washed-out gold of bright sunlight like the king’s and his soldiers; it was golden, but it made her think instead of a sunset with strands of red woven through it. The entirety of him suggested that dreamy, hazy space between day and night. Hooded eyes; a smile that held a memory of warmth but that chilled her the longer she stood there; a beauty that she found herself bracing against, because somehow it hinted at oncoming darkness.
