I smirked at the way Thorne’s lips pursed. “I can only imagine. Chase many women through dark gardens, Lord Reaux?” I asked, my eyebrow quirking in a silent challenge.
Thorne gave a lazy, innocent grin. “Only when they don’t ask me to leave.”
Galen looked between us and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, have you and Marigold had a good time at your first Harvest Tournament?”
“Thebest, Uncle Galen!” Marigold squealed from the ground to my left. When she met her father’s stern look, she leaped to her feet and brushed the blades of grass from her dress. “I mean…Your Majesty,” she corrected as she scampered up the dais and curtsied to Galen.
“Oh, don’t listen to your father. I’m always Uncle Galen to you,” the king said, crouching low and gently flicking the tip of her nose. I noticed he was still careful to keep his distance—small touches with others here and there, but nothing too close to his skin. Nothing too dangerous.
While Marigold jabbered on to him about her day, I snuck a glance at Thorne. “She’s beautiful,” I said.
A soft smile spread over his face as he crossed his arms. “She’s everything.”
We stood in silence for a moment before I finally asked, “How’s your injury?” I gestured toward his chest, and my fingers accidentally grazed the fabric. A hint of hard muscle met my fingertips. Ijerked my hand away.
“It’s healing. It’ll leave a nasty scar, but I hear women like that sort of thing.”
A laugh escaped me. “You can tell them it was a great big bear you fought off. Something more exciting,” I suggested.
“I don’t know. The true story is rather remarkable.” His eyes flicked over me, and I bit down on my bottom lip.
“I really am sorry, you know,” I said quietly. “And I…I never got to thank you the other night. For defending me at dinner.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No scolding for trying to help you this time?”
“I’m sorry about that too,” I admitted. “I guess that’s something I’m not very good at.” I ran my thumb along my index finger and felt the bite of my nail against the pad, imagining sharp claws unfurling like they did in moments of vulnerability. “Letting others help.”
“An apologyanda confession,” he said, eyes sparkling with humor. “From a monarch, no less. Hell must be freezing over.”
I held his gaze. “I’m not like any monarch you’ve met before, Lord Reaux.”
“Oh, I know, Empress,” he murmured, reaching for his daughter. When he crossed me, his fingers grazed the side of my hand.
It was quick. Probably unintentional. Barely a breath of skin against mine. But it sent a jolt of lightning up my arm, through my shoulder and into my chest.
“Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said to Marigold. “We shouldn’t take up more of their time.”
“Goodbye, Empress Aris!” Marigold sang, holding out her hand to me. “I really like your puppy!”
I chuckled and bent low. “You’re welcome to play with her anytime. And call me Rissa, yes? Emperor Aris was my father.” I winked up at Thorne, remembering him saying similar words to me the day I met him.
Had that really only been a week ago? I could’ve sworn I’d been in this kingdom longer than that. I missed Veridia City and my people—the magic, the energy, the dry air that didn’t make it feellike I was wearing a second skin of sweat. I missed Lark and Chaz. I missed my fox half with a desperation that never faded.
But a soft spot had grown in my heart for Mysthelm, even though I’d barely seen any of it yet. I loved the exploration and challenges that came with learning new people. I loved the vibrant colors and unusual clothes and thefood. Fates, the food was good. I loved the smells, how the breeze carried with it notes of salt and sun from the shores not too far away on all sides. And the scent of sweet grass and leather…
I cleared my throat and stood, watching as Thorne and Marigold walked off and the next citizen in line approached cautiously.
“Your Majesty,” the middle-aged man said, bowing low and exposing a balding spot at the top of his head surrounded by wiry light blond hair. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a stained handkerchief. The poor man looked like he was melting in his heavy brown cloak—an interesting choice in this heat.
“Hello, good sir,” Galen said, sitting back down in his tall chair. “And what is your name?”
The man’s tongue flitted against his lips as his cheeks twitched into an awkward smile. “Tovar, Your Majesty.” He bowed again, his feet shuffling forward another step with the movement.
The hair on the back of my neck stood.
“Have you met Empress Clarissa Aris yet?” Galen swept a hand toward me, and I dipped my head in greeting.
“Haven’t had the pleasure, Your Majesty,” Tovar responded, eyes flitting briefly to me and then over my shoulder to the guard standing at attention. The glance was so brief, I almost missed it.
