I obey.
When I open the doors, Zevayr and Daak are glaring at each other, likely seconds from unsheathing their weapons. I ignore the Dark Commander, addressing only Daak with a dip of my chin before gliding down the hall. The men trail behind me.
My heart beats in my throat as I cross the threshold of the palace’s towering doors. A host of nobles and advisers are lined up in neat rows in the snowground. Every balcony is filled—servants, guards, warriors, nobility. Everyone come to bid their princess farewell.
Perhaps, forever.
I nod at each of them but don’t let my gaze linger on any face for long. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.
Disdain? Pity? Approval?
Father waits at the end of the line. Behind him are four Arbinji carriages. Three are large and regal, crafted from gleaming polished wood. The carriage at the end of the procession is smaller, the wood faded and scarred. At least four dozen men on horseback flank the carriages—the soldiers wear dark leathers and armor, a stark contrast against the white snow, like soot stains on our pristine landscape.
Father envelops me in another stiff embrace while the servants load my bags into the largest carriage. I stand awkwardly in the circle of his arms, willing my body to relax. It refuses.
“Don’t disappoint me,” he murmurs in my ear. Sharp words whispered so softly. “I will see you at the Equinox Festival. Tides protect you.” I nod stiffly against his shoulder. When he pulls back, his gaze snags on my mother’s necklace. His lips tighten, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Father,” I whisper. “The feast tonight … divide the food amongst the people.Allthe people. Please.”
His eyes sharpen into a blade, cutting through me.
He doesn’t deign a response.
Daak stands beside him, mournful blue eyes fixed on me. I wish I could say goodbye to him properly. He bows his head, but his fierce gaze says so much more.
I’ll always love you. I’ll find you. Tides protect you.
With one last nod to Father, Zevayr helps me into the carriage.
I leave my home behind.
Chapter Five
Thecarriagejoltstoa stop.
We’ve only been traveling for thirty minutes. In absolute silence. I throw a questioning glance at Zevayr that he ignores. Instead, he dismounts from the carriage, turning to extend his hand.
What is going on?
Still seated, I stare blankly at him. “Why did we stop?”
“A precautionary measure.” His deep voice rumbles over me, and somehow he makes those few words sound like a command.
I don’t move.
A beat of silence. Another staring match.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The action irks me—what right does he have to be annoyed? I haven’t done anything.
“If we’re attacked,” he explains slowly, as if I’m incapable of intelligent thought, “they’d expect us to ride in one of the royal carriages. So we’ll ride in the smaller one.”
“Attacked bywho?”
The Dark Commander doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring at me with his unyielding gray gaze.
“Why didn’t we just ride in the smaller one to begin with?”
Zevayr grinds his teeth. “I wanted to avoid explaining to Tormik why I was delivering his daughter in the … other carriage.” He jerks his hand, the sharp movement dripping with impatience. “Dismount.Please.” He grits out the last word like it pains him.
