As if reading my thoughts, he appears from behind my wardrobe, smiling appraisingly at my dress.
When I open the door to the hall, Jax is standing off to one side, staring at a painting of King Wylding in his shroud. If not for the crown, it could be a portrait of any of the Dead.
As usual, Jax has put on his finest for the royal celebration: black silk robes, his only adornments a longsword in a golden scabbard and his master necromancer’s sapphire pin.
I prop a hand on my hip. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” I assumed I’d see him at the party, hovering near the banquet tables or trying to outdrink the Dead.
Jax’s copper skin gleams in the torchlight of the hall as he turns to me, his eyes uncertain. “I thought we’d go together.” He shrugs. “If you’d rather go alone, I’ll give you five minutes’ head start.” He points to the left, down the hallway. “The party’s that way.”
“This isn’t...” I pause and lick my lips, struggling for words. I need Jax in a way I’ve never needed anyone before, but he can’t fill Evander’s place at my side. “This isn’t like that.We’renot like that.”
Jax scowls. “Like what? You mean we’re not friends anymore?”
I shake my head, relieved, and twine my arm around his. “Of course we are. Lead the way.”
The palace courtyard looks much as it did on the night of the Festival of Cloud, only there are no nuns in charcoal-gray habits or any roaring bonfires. Instead, glass jars filled with water and tiny candles perched on every ledge overhead give the impression of floating lights. There’s a large space for dancing, and the musicians who aren’t currently performing roam among the crowd, their chests thrown out to show off the gleaming silver harp pins bestowed upon them by King Wylding, eating their fill before they take the stage.
Gathered around a magnificent display of tarts, the queen and her ladies-in-waiting are deep in conversation. The gold banglesand other gems on their shrouded figures chime softly with each gesture, the air around them thick with citrus and spice, as though they’ve all doused themselves in bergamot perfume.
There’s no sign of King Wylding yet. He’s surely busy writing out a long, rambling speech about Hadrien’s accomplishments, which he’ll give before he cuts the cake—honey and lavender, the same as it’s been the last seven years I’ve attended the royal birthday parties. Jax makes a beeline for the banquet tables, leaving me adrift in a sea of flowing silks and bodies warm and cold.
“Thanks,friend,” I mutter after him.
A servant bearing a large and heavy-looking silver tray passes by, and I swipe a glass of pale liquid and sniff it. Honeysuckle wine, I think, but there’s only one way to be sure.
Two glasses of sweet wine later, I’m no longer bothered that everyone seems to be sneaking curious glances at me instead of talking to me or asking how I’ve been. I’m swaying slightly to the lively tunes of the evening’s main band. I’m singing along, making up my own lyrics. I’m laughing as Jax bumps into Princess Valoria, knocking her glasses into a bowl of cranberry sauce and then frantically trying to clean them on his tunic. The redness of the sauce is nothing compared to the fire in Valoria’s cheeks as she snatches her glasses back and adjusts them, stealing glances at Jax after putting them back on.
I don’t have any time to dwell on what those glances mean, or how I feel about it, because someone shouts my name as I reach for my third or fourth glass of wine from a tray that’s moving alarmingly fast.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Prince Hadrien says as he squeezes between two dancing couples to reach me. “And I’m not the only one.”
The prince’s messy blond hair seems paler than usual, especially where the longest strands brush the shoulders of his midnight-blue tunic. He scans the crowd around us before focusing the full intensity of his gaze on me and spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “I swear she was just over by the cake, talking to Mother...”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Valoria?” I guess, cringing at the way I slur the name. I’ve had three glasses of wine before, but maybe it’s not mixing well with the calming potion.
“No, my sister is always easy to pick out of a crowd.” Hadrien smiles, the kind that lights his eyes from within, the kind he always gives to me in particular. “I’m afraid I don’t know the young woman’s name.” He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even though the breeze was already doing that for him. Maybe he knows how perfectly imperfect he looks with pale strands falling across his eyes. “I’ve never seen her before, which is strange, because she seemed to be about our age. But she’s very insistent on speaking with you.”
I run through a list of names in my head, though it pounds with the beginnings of a headache. Master Cymbre? No, Hadrien knows her. Elibeth? But Hadrien knows her, too. One of Kasmira’s crew, perhaps?
“Here, join me.” Hadrien presses a glass of dark elderflower wine into my hands, chasing away the mystery of who would be asking for me tonight. “A little something to raise our spirits inthese troubled times.” His hands are on my waist, keeping me steady. I hadn’t realized how much I was swaying.
I clink my glass against his and drain it quickly, drowning my thoughts of how Evander would’ve snarled to see Hadrien holding me like this. “Happy birthday, Highness.” I lift my glass again, but it’s nearly empty. A lone drop splashes my cheek.
“Hadrien,” he corrects me again. He pulls a white handkerchief from the pocket of his leather trousers and dabs my cheek dry. “And if you really want to make it a happy one, you’ll—”
“Yes.” My heart’s hammering a staccato beat, at odds with the gentle waltz the fiddlers have just begun to play. “I’d love to dance with you, Hadrien.”
The prince blinks, closes his open mouth, and takes my hands.
I’m not sure how we wind up in the middle of the dance floor, or how I let Hadrien pull me so close that I’m forced to gaze deep into his eyes. They’re the darkest brown I’ve ever seen, like Evander’s were the darkest blue.
I want to ask him if he’s ever seen his sister’s inventions. Or if he creates things in secret, too. But I’ve never asked for secrets from a prince, and if I move my lips too much just now, they might catch on Hadrien’s, and that would create a whole new mess I’m in no state to clean up.
“How have you been, Sparrow?” Hadrien whispers, his mouth near my ear.
Now I can see the many stares I expected. Even the Dead have turned their masked faces our way, and their silence is palpable, leaving only the music.
“No different than I was when you asked this afternoon in my chamber,” I answer at last. Hadrien pushes me away so I can twirl in time with the chorus, then pulls me in with a force that makes my head spin. “You’re the only one who’s asked lately, though.” I try to take a deep breath, but it’s not easy with the prince’s arms hugging my waist like the corsets the noblewomen wear. “Thank you—for caring.”
