‘Where did you get that?’ Her words settled cold as snowflakes.
I drew myself straighter. ‘Your father bade me wear it.’
‘But it’s a Stellarion jewel and you’re… you’re…’
My insides squeezed. I knew full well what I was. What I wasn’t.
‘He said I am to wear it, now you and I are betrothed.’
Her mouth fell open. Clearly, she hadn’t been told.
‘I won’t be bound,’ she croaked. ‘I can’t be.And never– never – to a lowborn like you.’ Her lips curled as she shoved the cake – now crumbling – back at me and slammed her door.
A moment she likely can’t remember. A moment I’ll never forget.
Shame swelled, but anger surged faster. She was Sistertouched. Who was Leilani to look down on me? I knew then there was little chance of a happy union between us. But binding to the Princess would cement my position at court, so marry her, I would. I kept my distance again after that.
Less than a sunring later, I left for the Asteum.
I worked hard there. Kept my eyes open – watching, listening, imitating. I buried the parts of myself I didn’t care to remember, polished my rough edges, became someone the King could be proud of. I thought occasionally of Leilani, wondering if she would also change. What manner of bride would I return to? Hyperion visited me at the Asteum, but spoke little of the Princess. Occasionally, he let slip stories of her disobedience, but always reluctantly – as if it pained him to admit to them. Like the time she hoarded banned books about the vile traitors who killed my father. Still, a picture crystallised in my mind of a headstrong young woman, prone to reckless behaviour, lacking in propriety, without proper respect for her position.
A tacit accord flourished between us during these visits. I would see to such failings after we were bound.
And at last, the time came for me to return to Meissa. Again, Leilani stood alongside her parents on this very staircase to welcome me home. Again, she wore a full veil. Again, she didn’t speak, merely offered a gloved hand for me to kiss. It was hard to reconcile the image I’d constructed from the bitter crumbs gleaned from her father’s lips, with the slight young woman before me. I wondered if we might not reach an understanding now we’d both matured.
But then came the news of her failed escape.
Rage simmering since the night of the spoilt mooncake boiled afresh. I had condescended to this binding, agreed to serve as stud, to risk siring monsters, all for the good of the realm, to preserve the future of her line, and she deigned to flee? Her father saw her punished, swore the lesson had been properly taught. But I remembered the sour twist of Leilani’s lips as she pronounced me ‘low’. She’d not changed at all. Still the same misplaced arrogance. Still the same scorn. But I am no longer some peakscrub’s shame plucked fresh from the flats. I’m a man grown, a member of The Nine, in manners and education now as well as name, if never by full blood.
If Leilani wants a cold marriage, she’ll have it. But I’ll do my duty. Binding gifts and all. Let her choke on them.
I slow as I approach the door to the Orbium. It’s one room in the palace I’ve never entered, being reserved for the King and his Conclave. I reposition the Stellarion pin at my throat, straighten my cuffs once more, smooth the silver brocade I spent hours selecting to match the dove-grey of my doublet. Everything must be perfect tonight.
A pair of Watchers flank the door. They step aside as I knock.
‘Enter,’ the King’s voice booms from within.
With a final adjustment to my short cloak, I push open the door and find myself inside a circular jewel box. Every surface is gleaming, highly decorated, the kind of space so brilliant I can’t help but feel shabby – and yes, low – beside it. Inhaling a cloud of thick incense, I cross the threshold, elongating my stride, squaring my shoulders – tricks I absorbed at the Asteum to take up space, to look as if I belong here.
I should have chosen the wider brocade.
‘Ah, Astrophel,’ the King says rising from his seat at the Star Table. ‘All ready, I trust?’ He takes in my binding clothes with a measure of approval, nodding once.
‘Yes, Radiance.’
‘A night I know we’ve both been anticipating for many a sunring,’ he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
‘A great privilege to bind our families. And ever my father’s hope.’
He frowns. Clears his throat. ‘A good man, Caelum. A loyal friend.’
There’s a pause. Why has he summoned me here? I assumed it was to discuss the finer points of the ceremony, but the air feels strangely weighted. As if to puncture it, the King turns, dragging an elaborately carved wooden box towards him. He opens it. Candlelight winks off the rosy surface of a sickle blade.
By the Throne. My father’s sword.
My mouth runs dry. I lick my lips, try and keep my face ice-smooth.
‘For you,’ he says, proffering the sword by its pommel.
