“Mareleau Harvallis.” Queen Helena’s tone rang heavy with reproach as she stormed down the corridor toward them, followed by four young women who he assumed were Mareleau’s lady’s maids. Three were around the princess’ age, while the fourth he knew was a few years younger. It was Lurel, Mareleau’s cousin. He’d met her several times when he was their uncle’s ward. She gave him a surprised half smile, which he wasn’t able to return under Queen Helena’s furious scrutiny. “Where have you been? You’re supposed to be at the feast.”
Mareleau lifted her chin. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Tonight is the last night your guests are here. Youwillattend.” The queen faced the four girls. “Sera, Ann, Lurel. Return to Mareleau’s room so you can prepare to make the princess…presentable again.”
The three girls ducked into curtsies and quickly scurried away. Larylis quietly edged down the hall, hoping he wouldn’t draw the queen’s notice.
“Breah,” Queen Helena said to the remaining woman. “Escort Lord Seralla back to his room so he doesn’t getlostagain.”
He bristled at the queen’s unspoken demand—that he was not to attend tonight’s feast. It wasn’t as if he’d planned on going anyway. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the queen and offered her a bow. As he let Breah lead the way, he couldn’t help but wish he’d gotten to hear what Mareleau had started to say.
* * *
Mareleau staredafter the man she’d once fancied herself in love with, torn between relief over being rid of his aggravating presence and regret that they hadn’t been able to speak longer. Their interaction hadn’t been even remotely enjoyable. Or—more accurately—it shouldn’t have been. And yet, for reasons Mareleau couldn’t comprehend, she found herself invigorated by the interaction. Perhaps because, beneath his casual composure and coarse words, she’d sensed something. Maybe it was all in her mind, but she could have sworn Larylis Seralla still had feelings for her.
It shouldn’t matter to her. He’d ignored her when she’d needed him the most. Refused her letters. Sent back silence for every tear she’d cried after being forced to part with him. Left her standing alone before the altar in a rundown Godskeep several miles from home, watching the door for hours. He’d never shown up.
She knew now it had all been for the best. A fifteen-year-old girl had no business eloping. Still, he could have at least replied to her letter. It would have saved her many tears and a whole lot of embarrassment.
Queen Helena angled her body so she blocked Mareleau’s view of the hall—and Larylis’ waning figure. The queen had been in a dark mood ever since Mareleau made her announcement, and she didn’t seem anywhere close to being rid of it. Her mother was like that at times, drifting between maternal kindness and cold fury without anything in between. “What were you doing alone with that boy?”
“That boy? You know whothat boyis, Mother.”
“And your father and I have forbidden you from speaking to him, much less being alone with him. He nearly soiled your reputation once before. Had anyone but your uncle caught the two of you in that stable—”
“Reputation,” Mareleau said with a cold laugh. “I don’t recall you caring much for my reputation when you left me alone with Prince Augustine.”
Her mother’s expression softened at that, draining some of the fury from her eyes. She put a hand to her forehead, then swept a curl from her brow. When she next met Mareleau’s gaze, she wore a sympathetic smile. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”
Mareleau wanted to say that marrying any of her current suitors would lead to more regret than anything else would, but she held her tongue. So long as her mother was trying to control her temper, Mareleau would too.
“Darling, I understand what it’s like to be in your position,” the queen said. She took Mareleau’s arm and linked it with her own. With leisurely steps, she led her out of the alcove and down the dark corridor. “I too had to give up my own desires in the name of duty. However, I held far less responsibility on my shoulders. I wasn’t the heir to my father’s crown like you are. Even so, I had to relinquish my dreams to marry Verdian.”
Mareleau sighed. She’d heard this all before. Whenever the queen wanted to prove just how much she sympathized with her daughter, she’d go on and on aboutabandoning her dreamsand how grateful she was to have done so.
Queen Helena’s tone turned nostalgic. “I had perfect pitch, you know.”
Mareleaudidknow, as she was forced to hear about it again and again. Helena, in her youth, had been a talented musician. She played the harp and piano and had the most pleasant singing voice. She could play any song by ear after hearing it only once and composed new music from thin air.
“The audience used to weep when I’d play. My father nicknamed me hisLittle Sirenafter the creatures of fae lore.”
Mareleau nodded along as if she hadn’t heard this a thousand times.
Then, as if coming out of a daze, the queen turned to Mareleau with a warm grin. “Speaking of fae lore, I apologize for not trusting you when you announced the goal of the Heart’s Hunt. I’d assumed you hadn’t been taking the competition seriously.”
Mareleau studied her mother’s profile, startled by the unexpected apology. “That means…you’ve changed your mind? You think Iamtaking it seriously?”
“Your father and I spoke to Lord Kevan. He confirmed he had, in fact, seen a unicorn with his very eyes, as did several of his men. They hunted it for a week before it crossed the border from Selay into Khero.”
Mareleau pulled up short, her heart leaping into her throat. “He…he really said that?”
The queen nodded.
“So…Lurel’s earrings…”
Queen Helena gave a dismissive shrug and nudged Mareleau to start walking again. “Your uncle purchased those earrings for her, which were only rumored to be made from unicorn horn. Still, it gives added legitimacy to your Hunt.”
Mareleau bit the inside of her cheek. While she’d needed her uncle to carry the blame for her ridiculous request, she hadn’t expected his tale to be so convincing. Could he have been telling the truth?
