“Just like that?” His lips pull into a devious smirk, making my stomach flip. “The woman who all but kicked me out of my own bedroom the night we became mates is forfeiting her right to the royal chamber?”
I put my hands on my hips, lips quirking up at the corners. “Were you hoping for a fight?”
“Why would I expect anything less? Especially when our last one ended so favorably.”
Heat stirs in my core, and I tilt my head to the side. “Maybe I will fight you for the royal chamber after all.”
His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me to him, then he presses his lips to mine. Not even the grit covering our faces or our nearby spectators can keep me from deepening the kiss, and I once again debate if I shouldn’t just throw Amelie in the dungeon so I can take Aspen to bed here and now.
Too soon he pulls away, leaving my lips tingling for more. “You win,” he says with a mock sigh. “Take the royal chambers tonight.” With a wink, he turns away and joins the others at the staircase.
Unable to suppress the grin on my face, I go to retrieve my sister.
“So, it’s true,” she says as I reach her side. Her awestruck tone shakes me from my giddy daze. “You’ve truly come to find love with the Stag King.”
Her words wipe the smile from my face. I try not to read too much into the tears that glaze her eyes. If I did, I might think she’s genuinely happy for me.
* * *
The royal chamberis a sight to behold; not even Aspen’s bedroom at Bircharbor is this breathtaking. Its ample spaciousness contains all the accommodations I’ve come to expect from a palace bedroom—bed, bathing chamber, wardrobe, desk, dressing screen, sitting area—but the style is unlike anything I’ve seen. The walls are white stucco painted with intricate designs in gold, blue, and red, with orbs of pale yellow light hovering above red clay sconces. Arched windows line the expanse of the far wall, each with intricate gold shutters left open to invite the night air. The bed is draped in layers of cool linen sheets and topped with a heavy brocade blanket. Overhead, a canopy of gauzy chiffon hangs from the ceiling, tied off to the side on all four corners of the bed. Everything from the sheets to the canopy is a deep orange color.
The only thing that spoils my awe is the icy tension hanging between me and my sister. We’ve gone through the motions of washing and changing into robes without saying more than a word here and there to each other. Now we stand on opposite sides of the bed, sorting through piles upon piles of bland, brown dresses Fehr has brought us.
“You could have locked me in the dungeon,” Amelie says, breaking the silence.
I purse my lips, tossing a dress that looks more like a shapeless sack to the floor. I must admit Fehr was right about Ustrin not having anything appropriate for a female royal to wear. The staff here must have been dressed quite plainly indeed.
Amelie seems to have given up on the dresses altogether and instead fiddles with the swaths of bright cloth the djinn brought from the former seamstress’ room. Unsatisfied with my refusal to respond to her statement, she adds, “Why didn’t you lock me in there? I expected you would, but—”
“I wanted to keep my eye on you,” I say, tone firm as I toss yet another dress into theabsolutely notpile.
“I can’t disobey your orders,” she whispers. “You can leave me by myself.”
I lift my eyes from the dresses to study her with narrowed eyes. “Is that what you want?”
She shrugs. “I can tell you don’t want to be near me. You’d rather be spending the night with your mate, would you not?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“If you gave me commands to stay in my room all night, I would be bound to follow.”
“You sure are keen on convincing me to leave you alone.”
She meets my eyes for a moment, then lowers them back to the saffron spider silk in her hands. “I just don’t want you to feel like you must watch my every move. I know I’m a burden to you, but I don’t want to keep you from enjoying what should be a wonderful experience. You have an entire palace, a mate you love—”
“We’re at war,” I snap. “There’s no such thing as awonderful experienceright now.”
She gives another shrug, one that makes my blood boil. I burn her with a glare, studying her every move to see if I can decipher any hidden agenda written on her face. But she gives nothing away, her attention fixated on the length of russet chiffon she holds up to her chin, as if she’s imagining it as a dress. Her brow furrows as she shifts it this way and that, the tip of her tongue visible at the corner of her mouth. In this moment, she bears a chilling resemblance to Mother hard at work on a new tincture or tisane.
My chest tightens at the sight, my throat constricting. I whirl away from my sister, eyes unfocused as I try to burn the dueling images that plague my mind. Amelie. Mother. Amelie. Mother.
How can I love one and hate the other?
Remember what she’s done. Remember what her betrayal cost Mother.
I reach for my inner fire, let it burn the conflict from my mind until it clears, dissolves into nothing. The heat warms my insides, but I’m left realizing the skin on my arms has begun to prickle. I cross my arms over my chest and rub my shoulders, frowning at the open windows and the cool air they welcome into the room. At first, it was a relief to feel a drop in temperature, but now I almost wish we had a fire going in the hearth.
That’s when I recall the red clay fireplace that lines one of the walls. I approach it, finding it empty of any source to burn. For a moment, I consider calling in Breeda from the hall to have her fetch something. I’d ordered her to stand guard to give me a break from her chatter, and she’s likely still out there doing her due diligence as if it were the most important job of her life. However, this might be something I can solve myself.
