When I glance back toward the high table, Dante is no longer seated. He’s at the king’s side now, moving through the crowd like a dog on a leash. King Silas wears the expression of a man thoroughly pleased with himself, pausing before lords and counts as if expecting them to fall to their knees as he shows off his shiny, new toy. And most of them do—bowing their heads, clasping their chests, murmuring greetings with the kind of reverence I’ve never once seen them offer to Dante before.
It startles me, the way they’ve turned so easily. Some of these same men used to scowl at him from the shadows of council chambers, barely concealing their distaste. Now, they lean forward to shake his hand, tomutter some respectful phrase or another. I suppose loyalty bends where power flows. It all feels like pageantry—scripted, shallow, a show meant for the king’s pleasure more than Dante’s acceptance.
Then come the ladies. A wave of velvet and perfume. They drift toward him in practiced formation, each one angling to catch his eye, offering the curve of their hands as if awaiting his kiss—which he cleverly avoids by taking their hands and bowing instead. They laugh at things he hasn’t said, smile too sweetly, tilt their heads just so. I recognize a few of them. Two of them, at least, once stood at the edge of the royal gardens murmuring that Dante shouldn’t have been allowed to remain in Hedera. That a true queen would have turned him away. That the court was growing soft.
Now their eyes gleam when he so much as glances in their direction.
I set my fork down. The taste of rosemary and roasted fig has vanished from my tongue. All that’s left is bitterness.
Nadya turns to me, her brows pulled together. “Are you okay?”
“I think I need some air,” I say quietly. “Or maybe just sleep. My stomach’s turned.”
Nadya starts to rise. “I’ll come with you.”
I shake my head gently. “No. Stay. You actually enjoy these kinds of things.” I try to smile, though it feels thin. “Besides, we’ll be stuck together in a carriage for the next few months. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of me soon enough.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “Fair point. Get some rest, then. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
She pats my hand, and I rise, smoothing my skirt, careful not to draw too much attention. Most eyes are on Dante, anyway.
At the edge of the room, just before I slip into the corridor, I glance back one last time. He must sense it, because his gaze lifts across the crowd and lands on mine. A pause. Then the faintest of nods, subtle and sure.
It’s not a kiss. Not a word.
But it’s enough.
For now, anyway.
ChApter
Fifteen
Anote lies on my pillow when I get back to my room.
The parchment is folded once, tucked neatly against the hem of my turned-down blanket. No seal. No crest. Just the faintest scent of cloves and spice. My pulse stutters.
I scan the corners of my chamber, but the shadows reveal nothing. No creaking door, no fading footsteps. No Indira lurking around. Only silence.
I unfold the note.
After midnight. Use the secret passage. I made sure it’s safe. Please come.
—D.
I read it three times, as if my eyes can’t quite trust what they’re seeing. A thousand thoughts crowd into the space behind my ribs, but one rises above the rest.
We haven’t been alone together. Not really. Not since before Torbin’s fall.
Even on the mission to Robinburg, we were surrounded by Sir Holden and my squad, forced to keep our distance by duty, watchfuleyes, and too many ghosts. There’s always been someone watching. Someone listening.
Tonight… could be different.
Except for Indira.
Assigned to watch over me by order of King Silas himself, she’s taken her post as my nighttime chaperone with maddening devotion. Every evening, she settles into the armchair by the hearth, her boots kicked off, a book in her lap and a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She doesn’t sleep. Not until I do.
Until tonight, if I can carry out my plan.
