Tomorrow, the palace would close tighter.
But tonight, she had proof.
And proof was a weapon.
Seventeen
The Balcony
Sabine sat wrapped in blankets near the fire, still cold hours after the Blackwater.
The chill had settled into her bones. Her hair was nearly dry now, but her throat felt raw from coughing river water and her fingers ached from how hard she had clutched the circlet and the music while the current tried to drown her.
The mark on her palm pulsed hot against all the cold.
Lysa crossed the chamber with a fresh shift and a heavy robe. “You need to dress. The palace will want you presentable when the summons comes.”
“What summons.”
“The one that always comes after a prince breaks witness protocol to save a bride from sacred water.” Lysa’s voice was dry. “The court has been talking for hours. You are either divinely favored or doomed, depending on who one asks.”
Sabine stood carefully. Her ribs ached where Lucien’s arm had locked around her, hauling her back from drowning. Shecould still feel the memory of his body against hers, solid and burning hot compared to the freezing river.
“What are they saying.”
Lysa helped her into the shift. “That the prince entered the Blackwater for you. That he touched you after the river claimed you. That the bond must be real because no man risks himself publicly for political strategy.” She began fastening the robe. “Some say you have brought him back to himself. Others say you are leading him into the same pattern that destroyed his first bride.”
“And what do the servants say.”
“That the palace prefers women to nearly die neatly, without making princes reveal what they would risk to keep them alive.” Lysa met her eyes. “You passed the trial. That is the problem. You passed and made him show the court exactly what you mean to him.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Lysa opened it. A palace attendant stood in the corridor, holding a sealed card on a silver tray.
The seal was royal. Not Lucien’s personal mark. The dowager crest.
Queen Mother Ilyra requested Sabine’s presence immediately.
The conservatory was full of white moths.
They moved through the glass chamber in slow spirals, their wings catching lamplight. The air smelled of humid earth and the particular sweetness of flowers bred to bloom at night.
Queen Mother Ilyra stood near the center fountain, dressed in pale silk that made her look like one of her own moths. Beautiful, delicate, and capable of surviving winter while lesser creatures died.
“Lady Sabine,” she said warmly. “Come sit with me. You must still be chilled.”
Sabine crossed to the carved bench Ilyra indicated. The stone was cold despite the humid air.
Ilyra poured tea with elegant hands. “I wanted to see for myself that you recovered from the trial. The Blackwater can be quite unforgiving.”
“I survived.”
“You did more than survive. You retrieved an object the river did not wish to release, and you returned with evidence of my son’s… investment in your wellbeing.” Ilyra’s smile did not reach her eyes. “The court found the display moving. The temple found it irregular. I find it expensive.”
Sabine accepted the tea but did not drink. “Expensive how.”
“A prince may want a woman privately. The court punishes him only when wanting becomes visible.” Ilyra set her own cup down with precision. “Lucien entered sacred water for you in front of witnesses. He defied temple protocol to keep an object in your possession. He touched you with the river still dripping from your hair. Every noble, priest, and servant present saw a man who would break ceremony to save one particular bride.”
