“Why don’t you go ahead, Lila,” the king says, and my pulse picks up.
She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze on her way out. In the quiet moments of shining silver and setting tables, she and I have begun to talk these past two weeks. Small things, like how tangerine is her favorite color, how I prefer the trousers of Reign to the skirts of Illusion, and she prefers dresses to anything else. How Hector’s grunting while eating is off-putting. It is simple and slow, but like a small creek, friendship begins to flow.
The servants’ door clicks closed, and I am alone with the king.
He leans back in his seat. “I seek to change many things, but it is difficult knowing what to prioritize or even where to start. It feels like trudging up a muddy slope.”
I hesitate, then say, “It must be overwhelming.”
The king glowers at the fireplace. “My grandfather founded most of the laws in this land, and my father strengthened them. I understand we need accountability, but perhaps the pendulum has swung too far.”
Blood roars in my ears. I balance on the eye of a needle: One side is a backslide into the safety of invisibility; the other is a leap toward the danger of ingratiating myself. Two opposing destinies. One heartbeat to decide.Impact over effort,I think.
I take the risk.
“We do need accountability,” I say. “And it sounds as though you have a vision.”
“What does it mean when the vision for my legacy is to break down theirs? Who does that make me?”
Something in me stirs. “May I answer, Your Magnificence?”
He gestures, glancing up at me once more in earnest. “Of course.”
I take a breath. “It makes you a king posed for peace and prosperity. It makes you…an intellect,” I finish, thinking of Kassandra’s words. “That could be your legacy.”
His eyes focus on me, and my pulse skitters. He clears his throat, voice deepening.
“I suppose that may be true.” The king shifts, loosening the laces at the top of his tunic. His hands have small nicks and scrapes. They are not the smooth ceramic of Dominik’s.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs. His tousled hair rests against his thick neck, and I wonder if it’s soft the way Kassandra’s is, or coarse.
“Your hands, my king.”
He turns wide palms up. “I’ve been practicing a new technique. One for Lady Kassandra.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he says. “I will forge her a diamond dagger.”
My heart sinks, as I mull over how that will be received. But I already know; she’ll be unimpressed by the lack of creativity.
“You think this is a poor idea,” King Maxian observes.
“No,” I rush to say. “No, I was just imagining how yours may differ from hers.”
“How long have you served Lady Kassandra?”
“Two years, my king.”
“Have you spent most days at her side?”
“Every day.”
He rubs eyes bleary from hours of reading. “I’m seeing her again for another walk in the courtyards. So I have time to decide if she would like the diamond dagger.”
“That’s delightful.” I smile, and this one is real. If they are getting closer to a betrothal, then Kassandra may be free of Dominik, and I can erase my and Benji’s debt faster. If Maxian and Kassandra marry, I may maintain the salary of a Reign Crest, may even experience another pay raise in serving the king and queen. I could be like Lila, with her three rings on each wrist, or even Carter, with only four on his arms altogether.
“I hope so,” the royal says, but I catch the hint of anxiety: a dry swallow, the creeping flush to his cheeks. “The last I saw her two weeks ago, I was denying that the diamond dagger was a creation. I couldn’t understand how it wasn’t an Illusion—but now we know she must have some very distant Reign magic she drew upon because I’m forming diamond daggers as well. Except I’m not quite sure how I should go about speaking with her again.”
