Alaric drapes his arm over my shoulders, enveloping me in the spicyscent I used to find so intoxicating. Now it just makes me nauseous.
“Shall we dance?” He gestures to the revelers. “You look like you could use a distraction. Visiting Cloudia clearly upset you.”
I hate how well he knows me, how easily he reads me, when I know nothing about him. But most of all, I hate my body’s reaction to him. Despite everything, it still wants to be swept up in his traitorous arms.
“Are you feeling all right?” Alaric murmurs as he spins us in a slow circle. “You seem distracted. Or upset.”
I shake my head—perhaps too fast—because Alaric raises a brow.
“It’s nothing.” I force my lips to smile while inwardly berating myself. Alaric has been deceiving me for weeks. Surely, I can pretend everything’s normal for a single dance? “I’m just tired,” I continue. “It’s hard to see Cloudia so ill and Delphine so worried.”
Alaric’s frown deepens. “What aboutyou? Howare youfeeling? You’re so pale. And we still don’t know what’s ailing Cloudia. I’d hate for you to catch her illness.”
Or uncover her memories, I think darkly.
But I say, “I’ll be fine.” Then I broaden my smile, kick up my heels, and pretend everything’s perfect. When the song ends, though, Alaric is still considering me with a frown.
“You know you can talk to me about anything,” he offers. “Iwantyou to talk to me about everything, especially if something’s bothering you.”
He always says the right things, knows precisely when to flash his smoldering smile to bend people to his will. And since I’m apparently incapable of hiding my emotions from this man, I decide to tell him the truth—at least a portion of it.
“I’m just missing Rowenna. I wish she could be here to see everything we’ve accomplished and take part in the victory.”
I carefully watch Alaric for a slip in his composure—for a twinge of panic or remorse at my sister’s name. But there’s nothing.
He truly remembers nothing.
Which means it’s time to remind him.
***
Three days later, Alaric stands at the head of my planting beds in our solarium, admiring the mature crop of bagrava I’ve been tending night and day since the moment I left the coronation festival.
“It’s so beautiful,” he says with hushed reverence.
I nod because it’s true. The yield is almost flawless: thick green stalks, as tall as my waist; bright indigo flowers, softer than velvet; and delicate serrated leaves, sharp as a razor.
It’s as fine a crop as any I’ve grown in Tashir, not due to perfect growing conditions, but because I’ve spent every minute of the past three days coddling the seedlings. Anything to speed the process along so I don’t have to stay on this mountain a second longer than necessary.
Anything to avoid Alaric.
The less time I spend with him, the less likely I am to get re-ensnared by his calculated charm and devastating beauty.
Thankfully, growing bagrava for the sick has been the perfect excuse. Every time he’s come to talk, I remind him bagrava needs silence. Every time he tries to take my hand and lure me away for a stolen moment, I remind him the crop could wilt if I step away. As king and queen, we have to put the well-being of our people above our own desires.
If I’m honest, the bagrava has always been my excuse—even back in Tashir. Tending plants has always been easier than cultivating relationships. Keeping my head down and my hands in the dirt always yielded better results than sticking my nose in political matters where it didn’t belong. I have no business trying to lead. I’m as pathetic and useless as my father. The one time I decided to trust my own judgment and rely on other people, I ended up aligning with Rowenna’s killer.
What about Delphine?a tiny voice cries from the rotten, soggycompost of my heart.And Elodie? You don’t have to cut them all out.
But I do. I’ve been keeping both girls at an arm’s length since the celebration—declining Elodie’s invitations and being purposely vague with Delphine about the next steps of my plan to steal Alaric’s gemstones. I have to protect them.
If I fail, I’ll fail alone.
“How many people will this treat?” Alaric asks, bringing me back to the solarium. “Can we reseed these planters immediately? I’d like to see if we can give the sick more than a few hours of relief each day.”
Each question makes my hackles rise higher, and I barely stop myself from slapping his hand away when he strokes a rounded bagrava fruit. Now that I’m no longer blinded by his charming smile and clever lies, I can’t believe how transparent he is, how I didn’t see through his act.
I reach for the reaping scythe propped against the wall, more than a little tempted to swing it at his neck and take my vengeance immediately, but, since I’d never make it out of the Fortress covered in his blood, I lop off an entire row of bagrava with one artful swing and flash a sweet smile over my shoulder instead.
