I try to knock his hands away, but he easily subdues me, forcing my hands into the same position as the others. Then he leans in close and whispers, “They need to believe I’ve forced your obedience. When I release you, remain in this position and follow their actions, but don’t close your eyes.”
I nod, even though I have every intention of bolting the moment he releases me. But when the boy eases back, his hazel eyes are soft and earnest, gazing at me with the same quiet reverence as when he recounted Ro’s memory.
Holding a finger to his lips, he stomps his foot once, and Queen Tessa and the other women begin to rock and mutter. He motions for me to do the same as he slowly circles us three times. Then, after another stomp, Queen Tessa and her ladies pick themselves up off the ground. They pat their cheeks and smooth their hair, all of them remarking on how refreshed and recentered they feel. Almost as if awaking from a collective dream.
The boy coughs and spears me with a glare until I awkwardly mimicthe others—blinking, yawning, and fluffing my dress.
Without another word to any of us, he marches out of the room, leaving me to wonder why he would help me. Andhow, exactly, he helped.
Queen Tessa drifts back to the sofa, and her ladies follow, curiously watching me and whispering behind their fans. Elodie rolls her eyes at them and mumbles things like, “Rowenna’s sister” and “just arrived,” just like she did when I first entered the salon. As if we haven’t spent the past few hours together.
Queen Tessa sinks into the sofa with a contented sigh and pats the cushion beside her. “Indira Harrak, my son’s new bride. Come, let me look at you.”
At first, I think she’s calling back to the prank she played earlier—literally “returning” to the beginning of our acquaintance to start again. But she doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile. Neither do her ladies. And when I fail to obey, she thumps the cushion harder.
With a growing sense of unease, I shuffle back to the divan and perch awkwardly beside the Vanzadorian queen. She takes my face in her hands and studies my features intently, as if she’s never laid eyes on me before. “Tell me,” she says, her voice lilting and mischievous, “what’s the single most memorable thing about you?”
Fourteen
Dinner passes in a blur.
Queen Tessa ushers me into the banquet hall, where Soren, Alaric, and the others have tucked into a feast that looks nothing like the tasteless mush Rowenna described in her letters. There’s roasted meat and potatoes, some sort of crusty pie, and even carrots and peas. It doesn’t look so different from the food we eat in Tashir. I can’t comment on the taste though. It’s impossible to enjoy any of it with the vile scent of Queen Tessa’s bagrava tea still lingering in my nose. And I can’t follow the conversation because I’m too busy dodging King Soren’s unrelenting stare, spearing me from across the table, and too consumed with questions about the young man in the blue tasseled hat, who is glaringly absent from the banquet.
I spend the entire meal watching the doors, hoping he’ll reappear, whisk me into the hall, and explain what happened in the queen’s salon—and how he knew my sister.
But he never comes.
“Everyone simply adored you! Just look at all those invitations!” Elodie gestures proudly to the pile of calling cards in my hands as sheescorts me back to my chambers.
I don’t remember receiving any of them, but I suppose I must have choked down my food and nodded along, because my arms are almost as full as my stomach.
“Your calendar will be filled for months,” she prattles on, as if I have any intention of accepting these invitations. “I do hope Prince Alaric will join you on occasion. I’m so eager to see the two of you together.”
I roll my eyes and grumble, “I’m glad someone is.”
Elodie covers her chuckle with a dainty hand. “Indira! You mustn’t say such things!”
“Not even if it’s the truth? Alaric Alaverdi is infuriating, condescending, and—”
A murderer, that’s what I start to say, but Elodie cuts me off with surprising vehemence.
“Do you have any idea how many girls would love to be in your shoes?”
“A captive bride, trapped in an enemy kingdom?” I deadpan, which earns me an elbow to the side.
“I’m being serious. Prince Alaric isn’t the most sociable, I’ll give you that. And his obsession with the mines is rather intense.Butthere’s no arguing he’s the best-looking man on the mountain and heir to the throne. At least half the girls at court probably want to kill you for swooping in and stealing him away.”
My step falters.
Why didn’t I consider this before? Especially when the guards made those crude jokes about Alaric’s “experience in the bedroom” while crossing the Tomb Flats. If droves of slighted women want to killmefor marrying Alaric, they would have wanted to kill Rowenna too.
I think of all the noble ladies I just met. None of them seemed particularly jealous. Certainly not outright hostile. And I can’t picture any of them outsmarting or overpowering Rowenna. But perhaps if theysurprised her? If she never saw it coming?
A seemingly innocent invitation to stroll along the cliffs.
One quick shove.
“I know Prince Alaric had many lovers before marrying my sister—and me,” I tack on grudgingly. “Who were they? Do you think any of them truly thought they would marry him?”
