Her gaze drifted, and the sleep vanished from her eyes as they landed on him, a clear, pure brown. Ramson trailed a finger over her cheek and she crooked her face to study him. He somehow had the impression she was searching for something. For answers.
Summoning the courage and steadying his breath, he pushed back a strand of her hair. Then, with a flick of his wrist, heproduced a coin, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger as he held it to her. “Cop’stone for your thoughts?”
She blinked, took the coin, holding it up to the light, brows furrowed as though examining it. Turned to the window, dark hair sweeping over her bare back. “Now that I have a clear action plan, I’ve been thinking about it all,” she said. “The next steps for this empire, after all this is over.” She drew the furs over her like armor, a cloak to hide in. “My entire life, I’ve been indoctrinated with the idea that I am an heir to the throne, and that I must rule to the best of my capability. But…” She drew a long breath, let out a shuddery exhale. “What if this legacy in itself is a broken one?”
From the tentative way she spoke, the heaviness to the words, he could tell she had been pondering this for a while, now. Ramson set his hand in the space between them, wishing he could close their distance. “You mean to say, the Cyrilian monarchy?”
She swallowed. Nodded. “When Morganya captured me…” Another gulp. “She seems to believe she is doing the right thing, Ramson. And that’s what scares me the most.” Ana turned to him, and her face was colder than he had ever seen it. “My father thought he was doing the right thing. And my brother was incapable of even trying. I am afraid that one day, I will not know what the right thing is. That, even in this moment, I do not know what the people need.”
Ramson thought to his own birth kingdom, to a conversation he’d had with a boy king not long ago. “King Darias is taking steps to make the Bregonian government fairer and more representative of the voices of the people.”
She watched him carefully. “How?”
“I once said the Bregonian government is made of checks and balances—the King has no absolute authority, and all decisions are ratified by the Three Courts.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You once said it was all a lie.”
He cleared his throat. “Historically, our Courts have only been open to the nobility—to those with the power and resources to get into the system. King Darias is reforming this, with his new general elections. He’s filling the seats with magen, with civilians from unprivileged backgrounds. Fromalldifferent backgrounds.”
“Yet there is danger in that, too,” she said. “For years, the Bregonian monarchy remained under your father’s control. The King was merely a puppet, and whoever controlled the King pulled the strings. The same happened with my father, when Morganya was controlling him. No one in the government stepped forward—they were all too afraid to contradict him.” She worried her lips. “I…no longer trust in a system that relies on a single point of authority.”
They had never broached this kind of a subject, and he marveled at the logic to her words, the knowledge churning in those eyes. “I think that’s wise,” Ramson said softly.
She looked at him, but he could tell she wasn’t really seeing him. It was a long while before she spoke again. “You are correct about the need for equal representation in government. My father took my mother as Empress in order to strengthen the union between Northern and Southern Cyrilia. The people of Southern Cyrilia are different—culturally and ethnically—and the Salskoff Palace needed to integrate the two peoples more. And so…” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger absently, and Ramson suddenly hated himself for never having asked herabout this; for never having even tried. “Luka and I looked different from everyone at the Salskoff Palace. Weweredifferent.” She turned her gaze to him and he looked at her anew. Taking in the fawn color of her skin, the deep chestnut of her hair and eyes, the way her features curved in a blend of Northern and Southern Cyrilian. “Southern Cyrilia does not have representation in our government. And neither do Affinites.” She swallowed. “My father failed to see me, and he failed to represent people like me in our system. Me, and so many others.”
Ramson reached for her hand. Pressed her palm to his lips. “You can change it,” he murmured against her skin. “You can change it all.”
She shuddered, her fingers curling against his cheeks as she looked away. “I know, and I will. But…I’m afraid.”
The confession pried something open within him: an age-old chest of memories he’d kept firmly locked and tucked away in the recesses of his mind, yielding in her presence.
“When I was twelve years old, my best friend was murdered by the Bregonian government.” The words cut like shards of glass in his mouth, but he pushed forward. “Nobody cared. A poor, orphan boy like him with no power and no gold to his name was disposable; he would never have moved too far up in the system, anyway.” Memories, now bleeding from his heart, pouring out in torrents. “It’s why I left Bregon. Instead of fixing the system, I ran from it.” His voice came tight, hoarse, the locks in his heart fighting to open. “But not you, Ana. You see the injustices of your empire, and you are not afraid to stand against them. Youcare.You’re braver than anyone I know. It’s why I…”
Say it,a small voice inside him urged.
He couldn’t.
“It’s why I look up to you,” he finished, turning away.
He could feel her gaze on him, burning brighter than he’d ever seen it, as though she’d known what he’d meant to say, heard the words on the precipice of his mind. Seconds, heartbeats, tumbled between them, trickling away into eternity.
And then something like recognition clicked on her face. She drew a sharp breath, eyes growing wide. Abruptly, she sat up, untangling herself from his arms and staring at him. He recognized the look on her face. It was one of calculation, of defense. “I can’t do this, Ramson,” she said suddenly.
Ramson blinked. “Do what?” he asked, but she was already turning, the furs closing over the skin of her bare shoulders, her gaze shuttering. “Ana—”
She flinched away from his grasp and slipped on her shift, then picked up her crimson cloak from the floor and fastened it around herself. When she was dressed, she finally faced him again, and it was as though he was looking at a completely different person. Gone was the girl who’d lain in his arms, who’d kissed him as though there were no tomorrow, who’d murmured his name in the dark.
Ana lifted her chin. “Last night was a mistake, Ramson, and I apologize.”
“What?” The change was so jarring that his mind struggled to keep up. Ramson propped himself up, suddenly feeling cold. “Ana—”
“Did you come back to fight by my side?” she demanded, and there it was: that flash of the icy princess he’d met back at Ghost Falls, the stone exterior of a girl who carried too many scars.
He traced his gaze to her left wrist. The siphon gleamed a pale green in the morning light. And, on her neck, that wretched band of blackstone.
They all die.
Ramson decided to tell the truth for once. “No. I came back because I think I’ve found a way to save your life, Ana.”
