When Helena next spoke, her tone was no longer edged with worry. Instead, she was back to her halfhearted griping. “I don’t understand why you wanted to travel all the way here just to leave again in a matter of days. We’ll have traveled more days than we’ve visited.”
Helena was right but Mareleau didn’t care. So long as she could attend Cora’s wedding and return home by her due date, she was happy. She was hardly in danger of harming her pregnancy due to travel conditions. Their progress was ridiculously slow and careful, taking ten days when it could easily have taken seven. She knew this, because that was how long it had taken to return to Dermaine Palace when she and Larylis left Ridine last summer. And that had been with an injured Teryn in tow. Mareleau had been babied even more than him, her traveling coach the epitome of luxury. It was so large it might as well have been a cottage on wheels, with a built-in divan and ample room for her ladies and midwives to remain at her side.
“What if you go into early labor?” Helena said. “Seven devils, what if you give birthhere?”
Mareleau rolled her eyes. “We’ll be home just in time.”
What did it matter where she gave birth? She had several midwives in attendance night and day, and at least one stood outside her door now, awaiting her needs. Even if she were to go into labor on the road, she could handle it. After surviving a monster, a blood mage, and three straight months of morning sickness, there was little that intimidated her anymore.
“I just don’t understand why you want to attend your brother-in-law’s wedding so desperately. Larylis could have come without you.”
“I’m not here for my brother-in-law,” she said with a scoff. Though she didn’t hate Teryn nearly as much as she used to, it was true that she wasn’t here for him. “I’m here for Queen Aveline.”
Helena gave her a patronizing smile. “Dearest, you know she only invited you out of formality. You weren’t obligated to come.”
Mareleau barked a laugh. If only her mother knew that Cora had specifically asked hernotto come and to stay home and take care of herself instead. If Cora had wanted her to stay home so badly, she shouldn’t have ordered her to stay away, for Mareleau was nothing if not stubborn. Just seeing those words penned in Cora’s hand made her want to prove her wrong—that she could take care of herselfandattend her wedding.
“It’s not like Aveline had the decency to attend your wedding feast,” Helena muttered.
Mareleau shrugged. “We weren’t friends then.”
Helena pulled her head back and blinked at her a few times. “Does that mean you consider Queen Aveline your friend now?”
“She’s not just a friend. She’s mybestfriend.” Her cheeks flushed at the confession. She hadn’t intended to admit her friendship to her mother. Not that she wanted to hide it either. She just wasn’t used to being candid with her mother or talking about emotions. Though she tried not to push Helena away as often as she once did, she still harbored a grudge for how her mother had treated her, how she’d ignored the emotions she’d shared, how she’d refused to take Mareleau’s love for Larylis seriously, even going so far as intercepting her letters to him and having a scribe forge her heartfelt words into ones that drove them apart for three years. How Helena had failed to show any sympathy or concern when her unwanted suitors had hurt her.
Recalling that now sent waves of fury through her, but she did her best not to turn herself over to the emotion. Mareleau had made mistakes in the past. She could forgive her mother for hers. Or try to at least.
“I didn’t realize,” Helena said softly.
“Well, now you do,” Mareleau said as she rose from the bed and took a few steps away from her mother, “so please stop insulting her home.”
A beat of silence followed, then her mother’s footsteps slowly approached. “Dearest,” Helena said, a hesitant waver in her voice, “I’m glad you told me, and I’m happy you have a friend. I hope you know you can tell me anything.”
Mareleau’s chest tightened. She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes. She was too afraid Helena would see the truth and all her secrets would spill out then and there. How could she voice the shadows in her heart, ones that buried her burdens, her guilt over her father’s death? That was a level of vulnerability she wasn’t ready for, not with her mother.
So she did what she did best. She lied.
Summoning hermagic trick, she wrapped an air of indifference around her like a protective shroud. “You never know when a friend might become useful,” she said, tone cold. “The closer I keep Aveline, the easier she’ll be to use later.”
Helena’s expression hardened in an instant, closing like a shuttered window, but Mareleau was almost certain she saw disappointment in her mother’s eyes.
Mareleau had spent a lifetime disappointing Helena, so that was nothing new, and it was far more comfortable to the alternative—opening up, forgiving, and trusting the person who’d once rent scars upon her heart.
6
Cora fought every urge to fidget as she sat upon her throne before an audience of courtiers flanking a carpeted aisle. Any minute now, her royal guests would arrive. She’d have to receive King Larylis, Queen Mareleau, and Prince Teryn with rehearsed formality, all for the sake of their spectators. She’d have to see Teryn, speak to him in a cold and unwavering tone, and try not to blush. After their heated kiss mere hours ago, she feared it would be easier said than done.
Hence her current urge to fidget.
The discomfort of her ensemble certainly didn’t help. Her shoulders were heavy with the weight of her ceremonial cape, a mink-lined monstrosity of purple velvet emblazoned with Khero’s black mountain at the lapels. Her dress was nearly as smothering with its layers of heavy brocade, silk, and lace, boasting several shades of purple from lilac to violet. Purple wasn’t her favorite hue, yet it represented her kingdom. During formal audiences such as this, it was the most appropriate color to wear.
The stares of the courtiers were almost potent enough to burn, but she kept her gaze fixed on the doorway at the far end of the room, where her guests would soon enter. Her mental shields wavered, threatening to draw in the audience’s emotions. To strengthen her wards, she pressed her palms against the smooth, solid arms of her mahogany throne. Her tattooed palms tingled with the strength of the earth element, anchoring her, calming her, smoothing her nerves.
In a small act of boldness, Cora almost always kept her hands and forearms bare, revealing theinsigmorainked there. The tattoos were a symbol of her magic, geometrical shapes and moon phases that were sacred to the people who had raised her for six years. Her former Head of Council had ordered her not to show off her tattoos, but now that Lord Kevan was dead, she refused to hide them. They were a part of her, as were the Forest People. It didn’t matter what rumors circulated about her. If the people surmised she was a witch, so be it. Shewasa witch. While she understood the dangers of outright saying so this early in her tenuous reign, she wouldn’t hide it either. Witches—a term hurled at anyone who had uncanny abilities, keen senses, an interest in folk medicine and ancient traditions, or even an overt fondness for nature—would be protected under her rule.
Let them talk. Let them know that ousting such individuals from their towns and homes would not be tolerated. It was the one stance she would not budge on, even if it put her throne at risk. She’d rather lose her crown than ignore the plight of her own kind.
Movement caught her eye from just outside the doorway. Her pulse kicked up, but she kept her expression neutral. The Master of Ceremonies stepped forward and announced the arrival of her royal guests.
