Her color returns, as does her grin. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She spins in a circle, then lifts her chin, eyeing the window box. “Is that a Chariot—”
“Please, Breeda, do not speak of it. You must tell no one. In fact, make it your duty to guard it.” I curse myself inwardly, knowing I’ll have to move it once I get the chance.
She nods. “I won’t let you down.”
“Where are the others?” I ask, mostly to change the subject. But also, I should relieve Lorelei from her charge. It can’t have been fun to babysit someone she so thoroughly dislikes. I’ll have to thank her with a bottle of Midnight Blush, if I can get my hands on some.
“I know just where they are,” Breeda says. “Shall I take you to them?”
“Please.” I follow the sprite out of my room and into the hall. She leads me away from where I know the sleeping quarters to be and into a part of the palace I don’t think I’ve seen before. The doors are sparser, the hall wider. She pauses before an ornate pair of golden doors beneath an arched doorway.
I open one of the doors to reveal an enormous room, almost as vast as the atrium. The ceiling towers high overhead beneath a marble dome, moonlight streaming in through the long, wide windows. Orbs of light illuminate the room, their reflections dancing over the shimmering sunstone floor.
“Evie!” My sister’s voice calls my attention to the perimeter of the circular room, where she, Foxglove, and Lorelei lounge in a sitting area near the wall. As I approach, I see evidence of half-filled glasses and decanters of wine. My sister rises to her feet, cheeks blushed pink, eyes alight like I haven’t seen in such a long time. “It’s a ballroom,” she says, smile stretching from ear to ear. “Yourballroom. Isn’t it incredible?”
“It is.” My words come out stiff, despite the awe the room instills.
Foxglove lifts an empty glass. “Shall I pour you some? It’s a Fire Court specialty. Agave Ignitus wine.”
“It’s so good.” Lorelei’s words are slow and slurred as she swirls the amber liquid in her glass. “You’ve got to try it.”
Breeda flits in front of me. “It really is, Your Majesty.”
I stare at my fae friends, the sprite, my sister, stripped of all words. A weight has settled into my stomach, and it takes me a moment to understand why. Then my gaze settles back on Amelie, and I understand.
Amelie is smiling, happy, as are her companions. Gone is the disdain Foxglove and Lorelei had first shown her when I brought her from the dungeon, as if it was never there at all. It’s just like it was when we first arrived at Bircharbor. My sister, in her sweet and ever-likable way, has won their hearts all over again.
When I left my sister under Lorelei’s care this evening, the wood nymph had grumbled. I hadn’t expected to return and find them drinking amiably in a ballroom.
For reasons I can hardly comprehend, a lump rises in my throat, a feeling of betrayal sending fire through my veins. Before I can think, those flames are leaping from my lungs, weaving into my words. “I don’t recall giving any of you permission to wander my palace or get drunk off my wine stores.”
The smile slips from Amelie’s lips. Foxglove and Lorelei stiffen, placing their glasses on the table. Lorelei rises to her feet, eyes wide and full of a trepidation I’ve never seen her wear for me. For Aspen, maybe, but never for me.
It’s enough to cool my rage. Blazing iron, maybe Aspen had a point about the difficulties of appointing friends to positions of service when you’re a royal. I hate the opposing forces that swarm inside me—anger at seeing them so at leisure, shame at the look in Lorelei’s eyes.
With a deep breath, I do my best to compose myself. “Lorelei, can I speak with you for a moment?”
She nods and approaches me. Amelie follows, seemingly against her will.
Then I recall the order I gave her to remain at Lorelei’s side. “Amelie, you may wait with Foxglove while I speak with Lorelei.”
My sister nods and returns to her seat, while Lorelei closes the rest of the distance between us. She meets my eyes with hesitation. “Your Majesty?”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a rush. “I didn’t mean to react like that. I was just…worried.”
Her shoulders relax, the frown smoothing from her face. “About what?”
My eyes flash from her to Amelie. “About…”
She turns to follow my gaze, then lowers her voice. “I owe you an apology too,” she says. “I was wrong to be so firmly against you bringing your sister here. I think you were right about her. She…she seems sincere.”
My throat feels dry at those words. I wasrightabout her? No, this is all wrong. That’s not what I’d intended to happen. I wanted to watch her, investigate her. Not open her to friends and dresses and ballrooms.
A life devoid of comfort and friendship.
My conversation with Fehr echoes in my head, creating a swarm of conflict in my heart. Again, I’m plagued by the same questions that fought inside my mind last night.What is it I want from Amelie? To love her or hate her? To trust her or suspect her? Am I waiting for her to prove me right or prove me wrong?
I still don’t know the answer.
