Last, I search the room for the rest of the members in attendance from both the Autumn and Summer houses. I’m notsurprised to find them together, huddled in a corner, gossiping like old maids.
High Prince Damocles of Summer and High Princess Niamh of Autumn. My mother.
Though Damocles takes after his biological father, Cenarius, they do not appear to have much in common. Where Cenarius has a constant smile on his face, eyes crinkled with laughter, Damocles looks carved of stone. He wears a draping of dark blue cloth around his hips, leaving his chest bare. His shoulders are wide and thickly muscled, skin various shades of tan, most likely from training with equipment. He runs a hand over his shorn blond hair, and my mother leans closer to whisper to him.
Then they both direct their gazes at me.
My heart sinks. I can feel their piercing stares and even more piercing intentions from across the room. I know what they’re whispering about. Mother couldn’t keep silent about it for even five minutes while on our journey here.
They’re trying to set me up with the third son of Summer.
Daytonales.
The name sends my blood boiling. I met him once, when we were both children, but that was enough to solidify my understanding of the youngest child of Sabine and Cenarius.
Daytonales is a hideous toad.
Back then, he was wild, crazy, careless. A tornado with tangled blond hair that smelled of the sea. He had no patience, no decorum, and no care for fine literature. I can only imagine what kind of brute the years have turned him into. All I know is he’s made a name for himself as a gladiator, but he obviously hasn’t learned manners, as he didn’t even show up to greet us today with the rest of his family. If Mother thinks I’d have any interest in him, she doesn’t understand me at all.
If my heart was in a pit, it sinks down to the Below as I watch Mother detach from Damocles’s side and saunter over tome. I sigh and shift from foot to foot, desperately wishing I had another honeyed custard so I would have something to do with my hands.
“My clove, are you enjoying the party?” Mother grabs my arm and nuzzles against me. Her dark hair, woven into a long braid, shimmers with a few streaks of gray. Now that we’re arm in arm, both dressed in the one-shouldered draped cloth of Summer, I notice how ghastly pale we are compared to the sun-loving Summer folk.
“Not as much as you seem to be,” I mutter.
She flicks her gaze back to where Damocles stands. “The High Prince is quite a fine young man, isn’t he? Apparently, he’s already cleared the pirate blockade that plagued the Balthazar Isles for years. Isn’t that impressive? Sabine was wise indeed, both to raise such a son and in her choice to pass the Blessing to him.”
Oh no. Please don’t let this be going where I think it’s going. “Always seemed a bit soon for Sabine to pass her Blessing, don’t you think? She’s not even old.” I chance a glance back at the Summer Princess, who is licking the juice of a pomegranate off her finger.
“Oh, she received the Blessing when she was very young. Had her fill of it. Besides, it’s the right choice. We fae live too long to rule for our whole lives. No one should have this amount of power for such a lengthy time.” She digs her fingers into my arm. “Fresh ideas! Young minds! The tenacity of youth. That’s what society needs to flourish.” She looks up at me with a gaze too intense, but her voice becomes pensive. “For the sake of the Vale, we must pass power to the next generation.”
Thisisgoing where I feared. Quickly, I say with a grin, “Good thing you don’t look a day over three hundred.”
Mother doesn’t fall for the compliment. Instead, she shifts in front of me, taking my face in both her hands. “Sabine sawsomething in Damocles. We spoke of it at the last Council of the Realms. Isidora, Sabine, Erivor, and I. We four High Rulers have overseen times of turmoil and times of peace. It will only be a matter of time before Isidora passes her rule to her heir. Stagnation is the burden of civilization. For peace and prosperity, we must be growing, learning. It is only right that our reigns pass to those with the will and courage to act. Farron, you are smart and kind and?—”
And out of here,I think, pulling away from my mother. “Must we do this now? Isn’t it enough you’re scheming with Damocles to set me up with his half-feral brother?”
Mother puts her hands on her hips. “Perhaps that’s what you need. Someone to push you to do the hard things. Stars know I’ve never been capable of changing your stubborn mind. Daytonales may take taming, to be sure, but imagine it, Farron. You, on the throne of Coppershire, a High Ruler with a prince consort of royal Summer blood?—”
Throne. High Ruler. A prince consort. Blood.
It’s too much, it’s all too much. My heart leaps into a gallop, and black creeps along the edges of my vision. Unable to take a full breath, I stagger backward, smacking into the bust of Aeneas, the first High Prince of Summer. With horror, I turn to see the bust wobbling back and forth. Both my mother and I let out cries and lunge for it, but it’s too late. The bust clatters to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces of marble.
The music stops. All voices cut off mid-word. The only sound is my raging heartbeat. Slowly, I turn back to the crowd to see every single pair of eyes staring at me.
Oh no. Oh nonononono.
I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I can’t even make it through a party and Mother wants me to beHigh Prince?
What would she do in this scenario? Give a speech of apology? What about my father? Make some joke that would defuse the situation?
I have neither the charisma nor the charm. There’s only one option.
Run.
Sprinting out of the ballroom, I careen down the nearest hallway. I take corner after corner with no mind to where I’m going. I need to get away from their gazes, my mother’s horrified gasp. How does she not see what a mess I am? She’s been hinting for the last year that she wants to pass the Blessing, but now she’s full-on telling me that’s the plan. I’m not ready.
I don’t think I ever will be.
