Sebastien nods, and his sigh of relief is audible when Zryan lets go.
“Well, now,” Zryan says, sitting down between Astrid and Skylar, “where were we?”
Astrid bursts out laughing, her eyes dancing as she looks at Zryan. Skylar can’t help it—she grins, too, despite the fact that everyone is still watching, despite the fact that she’s not supposed to look like she’s enjoying anything.
“Are you allowed to do that?” Astrid whispers.
“I’m the prince of Vatra.” As if that answers it. Which, in his case, she supposes it does. He glances at Skylar. “And I thought I should stop my sister from doing something she might regret.”
“I wouldn’t regret it,” Skylar mutters, pouring herself some wine.
“Besides”—and here Zryan bends toward Astrid, dropping his voice low enough that perhaps, if Skylar didn’t have magic helping her, she wouldn’t be able to hear—“I don’t want anyone else sitting next to you. Not tonight.”
She thinks she catches it, underneath the table. The way Zryan brushes his hand against Astrid’s. It makes her wonder, not for the first time, just what outcome he’s hoping for tomorrow.
Then Gwen appears by Astrid’s side, bending down to speak to her. And while Astrid’s attention is diverted, Zryan turns to Skylar.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Oh, just dandy.”
“You can talk to me. I know it can’t be easy.”
“Doyou now?” She doesn’t know why she is being antagonistic. Not now she knows what he’s been doing to help people all this time. Only, she doesn’t think she can face any more bonding. It will only make what she has to do tomorrow harder.
“I spent a long time when I was younger, trying to find a way out of the duel, you know.”
“What, didn’t fancy ruling?”
“Oh, I wanted to rule,” he says easily. “Because with ruling comes the power to change things, doesn’t it?” He pauses. “But I didn’t want to kill to get there.”
“No,” she agrees. “I imagine you didn’t.” She sighs. “And now you won’t do either. Kill or rule,” she adds for clarity.
He grimaces, though covers it quickly. Around the gardens, people have gone back to talking among themselves, as waiters bring out the starters. The king and queen, Skylar notes, are fashionably late. As is Axel. She hates herself for noticing that.
“I’m sorry,” Zryan says quietly, “that you got dragged into this. I’m not sure I ever said that.”
Skylar twists her goblet stem between her thumb and forefinger, then looks up, meets his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she says, “that I have to go in tomorrow.” That she has to fight Astrid. It can only end one way, and for that, she is sorry. She wonders how he’ll be afterward. What he’ll do, as he watches—powerless to stop it happening.
Gwen heads back to her seat, and Astrid returns her attention to them.
“Shall I give you some space?” Skylar asks her, gesturing between Astrid and Zryan. After all, she can give that to them, can’t she? A final night, unencumbered. As much as possible, anyway.
“No,” says Astrid. “We want you here.” She looks to Zryan. “Don’t we?”
He nods, then jerks his head toward the entrance of the gardens. “Besides, you have company.” She turns to see the king and queen moving into view, smiling around at the nobles. And behind them—Axel.
Skylar’s stomach tightens, and when he meets her gaze, her heart, her traitorous fucking heart, jumps just a little.
Zryan is watching her—she can feel his gaze on the side of her face. “You know, Axel is family,” he says—and though she refuses to look at him, she knows he’s talking to her and her alone. “We grew up together. We’ve always been there for each other.” He pauses. “Much as I love him, he can be loyal to a fault sometimes. So I get it, the way you’re feeling. But I will say this: I do think that no matter what he does, he does it because he loves his country—and the people who live here.” Skylar narrows her eyes at Zryan, letting him know that is not an excuse. He raises his hands. “Just letting you know, that’s all.”
She takes a sip of wine as Axel joins them at the table. He nods at Zryan, then repeats the gesture for Astrid, before sliding into the seat next to Skylar.
“I told you,” she says, angling away from him, “I don’t want to speak to you.”
“I know you don’t,” he says quietly. “But I thought maybe you’d prefer me next to you than a stranger.” Skylar glances at Astrid’s other side at that—the seat is still empty, so presumably Zryan’s warning got around.
She looks back at Axel. He is waiting for her response. Waiting for herpermissionto stay here with her, this final night before the duel. She hates that part of her wants him to. That part of her wishes she could forget—or at least forgive. That she could allow herself to take some sort of comfort from him.
