“Ridiculously brilliant,” she counters, then she runs her hand along the spine of the book. “But seriously, if there’s even a sliver of truth in these old texts—if witches once protected this land—it makes mewonder.”
The thought hovers between us, daring and delicate.
Before I can respond, the door creaks open behind us.
“There you are,” Indira huffs, her heels clicking briskly across the polished floor. She eyes the book in front of Nadya with the disdain of someone who has no time for musty tomes or ancient curses.
“Oh, were you looking for me?” Nadya feigns innocence.
Indira’s nostrils flare, but her lips are pressed into a line, as if she’s trying to control herself. “I will deal with you later. But for now, you both must come with me. Immediately.”
“For what?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“Preparations are underway for the funeral,” she says. “The king has announced it will take place in two days’ time, and the queen has summoned the royal seamstress. You are to be fitted for your funeral gowns.” Her gaze cuts to Nadya. “You, too.”
Nadya groans and pushes the book away. “Mourning and fashion. Those certainly go hand in hand, don’t they?”
“If you’ve ever been to Podrosa,” I mumble, “I’d say that’s spot on.”
ChApter
Eight
The fitting isn’t as horrendous as I thought it would be, but I’m glad it’s finished. The corridor leading back to my room from the fitting chamber is colder than I remember. The stone beneath my boots chills the air, and the hush that haunts Ivystone feels heavier than usual. Since Nadya rushed off as soon as the seamstress was done with her, I head down the hall alone. I want to get back before sunset to see if Dante is on his balcony. Our evening rendezvous don’t always work out. Sometimes Dante is holed up in the council chambers with his father and Farvis. And sometimes Indira lurks about longer than necessary, making it impossible to step out onto the balcony at all. But I hurry toward my room with hope in my heart. Even if it’s just for a glance at him.
A murmur of voices drifts from the half-closed door to the king’s lounge, and though I know I shouldn’t stop, I do. I press a hand to my heart as dread fills me.
The voices sharpen—King Silas’s low, cutting tone and Queen Eleanor’s softer one, frayed at the edges. I creep closer, pressing into the shadowed alcove beside the door. I probably shouldn’t loiter, but I’velearned that what people say behind closed doors is far more honest than what they say in public. And when it comes to the king, this may be the only way to hear any truth he has to share.
“You are too hasty, Silas,” the queen says, her voice taut but measured. “This plan to legitimize Dante, it feels rushed.”
“It’s not your concern.” The king cuts her off, the words like a blade unsheathed. “You lost the right to speak of heirs long ago.”
A pause. Then, quieter, “I gave you a son.”
“Only one. And he is now gone,” he sneers. “Do not expect me to wait for your approval to secure the future of this kingdom.”
Her breath hitches, a small, broken sound that scrapes at my chest. “I tried to give you more.”
“And you failed me at every turn,” the king says, as cold as winter steel. “I am not to blame for it. I gave you plenty of seed with which to bear another heir, and yet here we are. Emptyhanded.”
The silence that follows is thick and jagged, the kind that makes my throat ache to swallow. I should go. This is none of my business.
When the queen speaks again, her voice trembles. Not with fear, but with rage barely held in check. “Do you think Iplannedto miscarry? That I wanted to feel life inside me, only to have it ripped away?” Her voice cracks on the last word, raw and unguarded. “Perhaps if you hadn’t been so rough—” She breaks off, swallowing a sob. “Perhaps Torbin would have three siblings standing in line for your precious throne.”
“Don’t you fucking dare—” A roar rips from the king, sharp and vicious. There’s a clatter, a glass shattering against the stone floor, and then the sound of movement. Fast. Threatening. A thump.
Oh, fuck!
I curl my fingers around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath my skirts. My heart pounds, each beat screaming at me to act. To stop him.
I step forward.
A voice cuts through the air from down the hall, and I freeze.
Farvis rounds the corner at the far end of the hall, his heavy boots echoing with easy authority. There’s enough rage within me not to care if he sees me, but when two guards appear behind him, I step back intothe shadows. My heart hammers against my ribs, acknowledging that I’d be outnumbered if I tried to burst into the king’s private lounge, even if it’s to reach the queen before—
The door to the lounge flies open.
