Another cloud of murky rage. “Because she is my promised bride. Your sister wouldn’t deny me.”
I have about a hundred arguments against that, but I think it might be best if I take them up with my sister first. It seems to me she’s given him far too much freedom and power. Too many promises.
And yet, the truth remains that Nyxia is queen. The best damn queen in Faerwyvae. While I…I am nothing like her. I am just a boy playing dress-up as a proper heir. She isn’t training me to start a revolution. She’s training me to ensure everything she’s strived to build doesn’t go up in flames the moment I take her place.
My defiance slowly begins to wane until it extinguishes completely.
“Very well,” I say, my whispered voice edged with iron. “I promise that if your Miss Montgomery returns to Selene Palace, and I am made aware of her presence, I’ll return her to you so that you mayspeakwith her.”
A corner of his jaw ticks, and I can tell he wants to say more, demand more. Thankfully, he keeps his arguments to himself and takes a step back. With a low bow, he says, “Thank you, my prince.”
I brush past him and out the box before he can utter another word.
* * *
EMBER
I make my way to the bottom floor and the hall that leads to the lobby. That’s when I realize I have no destination. Contrary to what I said to Franco, I have no need of the washroom, but if I can find it—or anywhere private—I’ll take the opportunity to be alone. To escape Brother Marus.
I’ve known it was possible that I’d encounter him sooner or later, but I certainly hadn’t been prepared to see him waltzing into the prince’s private theater box. Nor had I anticipated he’d talk about me. About how he assumes I’ll return and claim my inheritance. He’s wrong, of course. While it pains me to consider my inheritance being forfeit to the crown instead of gifted to an orphanage, I can’t risk being confronted by Marus or Mrs. Coleman.
His confidence has one benefit. It means he’ll maintain his agreement with Mrs. Coleman—in turn, ensuring they remain at the palace—at least until then. Still, I hate the way he spoke of me like I was property, like I already belonged to him. Thankfully, he gave no indication that he suspected I was anyone but whom my glamour suggests, but the prince…I can’t hide my emotions from him. Ifhefinds out I’m only using my bargain with Maisie to evade a primary bargain…
A sharp pain strikes my gut, and I bite the inside of my cheek.I’m obeying, I say to myself.I didn’t mean it. I’mnotevading a bargain. I still live under Mrs. Coleman’s roof. I made no attempt to sever my engagement with Marus.
The pain subsides to its dull ache, but anxiety takes its place. My chest heaves with panicked breaths, hands trembling, fingers flinching at my sides. I glance around the hall, trying to decide where to go from here. I consider fleeing outdoors but don’t want to draw notice by the ushers or anyone passing in the street. The coach could pose as a momentary sanctuary, but I dread the thought of getting close to the moon mares unaccompanied by the prince.
Without a second thought, I head to the left, down a corridor lined with closed doors that must lead to the theater. Strains of the vocalist’s beautiful melody snag my attention, and I focus on them, let them calm my racing heart. I’m tempted to reenter the theater through one of the doors and steal a seat in the back, but there’s no guarantee I’ll go unnoticed. The last thing I need is for anyone in the audience to catch Princess Maisie sneaking around without her date.
But the music! How it calls me.
Before Marus came in and shattered my attention, I’d been fully entranced by the song. Its effect on me had been equal parts pleasure and pain. Pleasure from my thorough enjoyment in the orchestra and the singer’s talented voice. Pain because I couldn’t join her. Couldn’t hum along. Couldn’t produce a tune, play a note, or release the emotion it stirred inside me. My throat still burns with my aching need to sing, stronger after my unpleasant encounter with Marus.
I follow the melody’s call, not through the doors to the theater, but farther down the hall. I know not where it leads, only that the music is growing louder. Stronger. My nerves grow less frazzled with every step I take. I quicken my pace, feet flying across the plush crimson carpet. Finally, I come to a plain unmarked door. I hesitate only the briefest moment before I open it.
On the other side, I find not papered walls, elegant sconces, and carpeted floors, but the rustic beauty that is a theater’s backstage. It’s far more majestic than the quaint space at the back of the music halls I used to frequent, but it’s similar enough to know where I am and what to expect. On silent feet, I slowly make my way forward, deeper into the vast underbelly of the opera. My breath hitches as I catch a glimpse of the stage from the side. The gorgeous singer stands in profile as she croons to the audience, while the musicians play in the orchestra pit. The music sounds somewhat muted from my vantage point, no longer amplified by the structure of the main room, but there’s a rough authenticity to it that holds a different kind of magic. I tap my fingers against my thighs, feeling some of the tension in my muscles unwind. I stand like that for countless moments, getting lost in the unfamiliar song. With every beat, my pulse calms. My nerves unwind. But there’s still an ache that blooms in my chest, one that creeps into my throat and begs to be released. It’s my wild fae side, and I know what it wants.
Sing. I know you want to.
The taunt comes from deep inside me.
I don’t sing, I say back to it.You know that. Not anymore.
Just a hum. It won’t hurt anyone. No one’s around. No one’s listening. And it will make you feel better.
My breaths grow uneven yet again. The temptation is too great. Too needed.
I glance around, finding the narrow hall empty. The only movement comes from closer to the stage where stagehands work rope and pulleys to shift the sets, their labor turning painted wooden waves into a storm-tossed sea. My throat bobs, and I purse my lips, trying to stifle my urges. Marus’ face comes to mind. Sneering. Claiming. Rage sparks within me, undoing all the work the music had completed in calming me. Fire burns my chest, my throat. My fingers drum faster against the sides of my thighs, nearly raging at the absence of piano keys. It’s too much. It’s too great.
So I close my eyes and hum.
27
FRANCO
Ifollow Em’s energetic signature down the halls, uncertain why I’m trailing after her, only that I feel I should. She was upset about something, and I know she lied about needing the washroom. So where did she go? And why did Brother Marus upset her so?
These questions urge me onward as I track the emotions she left in her wake, as potent as if she were at my side. They taste sharp and bitter, tinged with anxiety. I halt at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the lobby, sensing where she went from here. Breathing deep, I catch her signature meandering to the left. I follow it, tasting a shift in her energetic trail. Here, anxiety cools and transforms into longing. I continue down the hall as it curves along the row of doors.
