She spins, her eyes full of fire.
“No,” I say.
This time she crosses her arms and pouts. Her cheeks are all flushed, and some of her hair is beginning to come loose from the braid.
“Jory,” I say. “You arekillingme. And your fiancé mightreallykill me. Move. I need my boots.”
“Why?” she demands.
Because the king is alone—and he shouldn’t be.
The thought hits me harder than I’m ready for. I shouldn’t care. Ishouldn’t. That flicker of not-quite-jealousy in my gut should be rejoicing that Jory has found something about him unappealing.
But I remember the way he woke from that nightmare. I saw the look on his face after he realized what almost happened—and he heard Jory’s censure.
It reminds me of all the reasons I wouldn’t tell her aboutmyself.
I tug a boot on and work the laces. “We should go find him. I don’t think you should leave things between you as you did.”
“He’s probably with his captain,” she says. “Or the other soldiers.”
I frown and pull on my other boot. “That man needs a few minutesawayfrom soldiers.”
“We’re not allowed. He told us not to explore.”
At that, I look up and meet her eyes. “Jory. When has that ever stopped us?”
Chapter Thirty
The Warrior
The palace is so quiet, even in the center of Lastalorre. It’s well known that I spend little time here, and I’ve never seen the sense in keeping a full staff of servants and guards for an empty castle. Especially now, when I wasn’t supposed to return forweeks.
But it’s a double-edged sword, because the relentless silence is part of the reason I hate being here. At nights, I’ll lie in bed, stare at my ceiling, and think of what’s happening to my soldiers on the border. During the day, I’ll endure endless meetings with advisers. It’s interminable.
Even my afternoon was full of nothing but melancholy and dread. My chambers are lavish and well-appointed, so soaking away days of travel grit should have been calming. Soothing. But lying in the warm water was the exact opposite. Every time I ducked my head under, I came up expecting to find attackers waiting.
I can never sleep here. At the same time, I don’t want to be awake.
If Sev were here, I’d be in his quarters. He’d be pouring me whiskey, and I’d be dealing cards. We’d wait out the day until sleep overtook us both, and then we’d start over again tomorrow. We wouldn’t talk about angry citizens or wildfires or potentially fractured alliances, but we’dknow, and that would be enough.
But Sev is already gone. I need reports from my other captains, and if Draeg soldiers are sneaking across the border from Astranza, I need to be prepared. Sev took Nikko and rode out almost immediately. I haven’t seen Callum and Garrett, but I have no doubt they headed into the city—and Roman would have followed, if for no other reason than to make sure they didn’t get into trouble.
I wish I could join them.
Instead, I’m here, and there’s one part of the palace that I don’t hate.
Victoria’s room is down a long hallway on the second floor. I used tohave extra guards stationed at the opening to the hallway, but I quickly learned that it led people to believe something especially valuable was down this way, so I had them reassigned. Now it’s simply my sister’s suite, and it’s known among the court that Princess Victoria prefers to keep to herself, valuing her solitude, using her time to read and reflect on the state of Incendar.
It’s known among my closest circle that Victoria rarely leaves her quarters at all.
When I stride down the hallway, I look for any new signs of damage. The walls are bare stone and steel, so there’s nothing that can burn, not for a good fifty feet. But when her magic flares, sometimes it will spark into the palace. Today, nothing seems new.
It’s not a relief. If there’s no mark in this hallway, it means her magic flared somewhereelse—like the crops we passed when we rode up the hill.
When I reach the end, the door is open, and there’s an elderly woman in a rocking chair just inside. She looks up in surprise when I step into the threshold. White hair is tightly bound back from her face. One bright blue eye blinks at me in the sunlight. The other is lost in a mass of burn scarring.
“Ky,” she says fondly. She was my nanny when I was a boy. That was well before Victoria gave her the scars on her face.
