My inquiry is met with silence.
“It begs the question: how many more innocents are being snatched from their homes? And what exactly is considered treason? Are we arresting Grounders for owning harmless fairytales? We’ve all grown up with those books. It’s ridiculous to suddenly consider itforbidden.” No wonder the rebels want to dismantle the monarchy. I bite my lip to keep from asking more questions. For now.
Belhan’s thin lips part for a few heartbeats. My focus darts around the table at the other councilors, hoping to find at leastunderstandingon someone’s face.
Jac lifts his hand. “The Grounders have been known to disguise books of enchantments as fairytales, Your Highness. Could that be what you’re referring to?” His supercilious grin makes me want to shoot an arrow through his pretty face. He notes my glare, and his knuckles scrape across his stubbly jaw. “I will see that it is looked into. If there has been such a case?—”
“Are you accusing me of speaking falsehoods, Councilor Jac?”
His umber skin pales. “No, Your Highness.”
“Because thereissuch a case and I’m certain there are more I’m unaware of. Something needs to be done about it. How long has it been since there was proof that Mages exist?”
“A millennium, Your Highness.” He drums his fingers briefly on the table. “But Grounders are known for finding ways to procure magic through artifacts and?—”
“I know that,” I snap. “I agree that procuring magic is dangerous and should be punished. But banishing Undesirables and arresting anyone on mere suspicion of using magic is unjustified. Especially when there has been no proof. I’ve been to the depository after Quarterly Raids. All the confiscated items in there are ordinary. No magic.”
Jac lifts a brow as though challenging me. Gods, he’s so cocky. I hate that he’s also bloody handsome.
“Unfortunately, Princess,” Iywan begins. “We cannot demolish centuries of practice in one small council meeting, but we can revisit this discussion at a later time.” There’s finality in Iywan’s voice, and as I draw in a breath to rebut, I thinkbetter of it.
I sit back in my seat, simmering. For a while, no one speaks. Someone clears their throat, another coughs.
Then Iywan finally speaks up, his focus on me. “I’d like to discuss the Feast while we have you present, Your Highness.”
Of course. I hold back a sigh. “I believe that would be beneficial, Lord Iywan.” I glance at the mistress of ceremonies who laces her long fingers together, blue veins standing out on her fair skin. “Shall we start with the most unlikely contenders?” I ask.
Iywan quirks a brow and gestures for me to continue.
“Of the five suitors,” I begin, making it clear that I have indeed considered his list. “I am concerned about Prince Morand of Caldeon. Wouldn’t that jeopardize our peace treaty with Ardall in a way?”
“In a way,” says Iywan, glancing at Tomen briefly. “However, Caldeon has grown significantly more powerful in the wake of Ardall’s disease outbreak in the past year.”
My brows lower, my head immediately starting to ache while I mull over the ramifications of this. If we form an alliance with Caldeon, it may grant us some protection should Ardall try to infiltrate, but it can also cause a backlash. Ardall may have a weaker army and less power, but they have wealth and a host of arrogance.
“As for Prince Odgar of Uldarvik, he’s a… unique choice. Does he know this is a formal event?” My voice sounds strained as I try not to laugh.
“Yes, Your Highness,” says Iywan. “The other three suitors are of great noble families. Lord?—”
“Bevin, Duke of the Outer Isles,” I say, cutting him off. “Lord Jamie, Duke of Darragh.” My stomach churns. “And Rheon of Bayenbar, Lord Commander of the Royal Brigade.”
Iywan’s eyes widen, but he nods. Around the table more expressions of surprise unfold. Good.
“Many wonderful suitors, Lord Iywan. I am excited to meet them all.”
In the early afternoon, I catch Paramount’s merchant, Wynn, just outside of the wine cellar, his lean arms wrapped around a wooden crate filled with glass bottles. Beside me, Callum’s steps falter, but I plow on. Wynn turns toward me, brown eyes alight, his sepia complexion reddening slightly. “Your Highness,” he says with a smile and a small bow. “Sir Callum.”
Callum nods to him, ice in his glare. “Lordling…” His tone is nothing short of demeaning, a manner reserved for Wynn.
The annoyance on Wynn’s face is brief. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Highness.”
I smile at him. “Is that all the wine you’ve brought?” I gesture to the crate in his arms.
“No, this is the third one.” Wynn nudges the door open with his hip and sets the crate down just inside the cellar.
Carnal need clenches my stomach, but I try to remain casual. “Alys has been eagerly awaiting more honey…”
Wynn smiles warmly. “Yes, she was very happy for… the restock.” His gaze lowers to my lips, his last few words delayed as though he’d had to regain his focus.
