Faramir scowls, stabbing a piece of sausage on his plate.
There is a brief, peaceful moment of silence before he shatters it. “Brother, I’ve been thinking … would you be disappointed ifMayahgives birth to a healer? Healers are so”—he wrinkles his nose—“weak. Boring.”
The room darkens as clouds gather outside, smothering the natural light filtering through the large windows. I squeeze Zev’s hand, still intertwined with my own, shooting him a glance that I hope conveys,I can handle myself. The clouds remain, though Zev dips his chin slightly, lips mashed together to cage the sharp retort that I know is poised on his tongue.
“Weak, compared to waterwielders?” I ask casually, taking a sip of a tart juice Zev pours for me. “Brother-in-law, correct me if I’m mistaken, but my understanding is that a waterwielding bride would have never been permitted inside Arbinj. Isn’t that why my father wasn’t granted leave to attend his own daughter’s wedding? Because he’s a waterwielder?” I lift a brow, letting the question linger. “Honestly, I’m surprised he’s being welcomed to the Equinox Festival.”
Faramir eyes me curiously, like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve. My chair scrapes against the floor as Zev throws his arm over the back and tugs until my side is pressed against his.
“His invitation,” Faramir purrs, “depends on your good behavior,Mayah. Right, Father? If you’re naughty, then—”
“Faramir.” Varad’s voice is rife with warning.
“For a healer,Mayah,” the crown prince continues, undeterred, “you’re actually quite fascinating. And who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise us all and birth an earthwielder like me—”
Faramir ducks as Zev snatches a fork from the table and flings it at him. Silver arcs through the air, the tines of the fork raking through Faramir’s blond hair before clanging to the floor.
“Donotspeak to my wife,” Zev growls, leaning across the table, veins bulging in his forearms.
“Guards!” Faramir bellows, his face turning a blotchy red. There’s a strange madness in his wild gaze. “Seize him!” The armored men manning the doorways don’t move. Faramir’s eye twitches uncontrollably. “I said,seize him!”
“ENOUGH!” Varad shouts, slamming a fist on the table. “Faramir, not another word. Zevayr, just—” He rakes a violent hand through his hair—another Zevayr-like mannerism that turns my stomach. “Just stop,” my mother’s murderer growls.
The crown prince levels a scathing glare at his father. His eye twitches again, chest heaving. Faramir beats his headthree times—thwack, thwack, thwack—before smoothing his disheveled hair.
An awkward silence persists through the rest of the meal.
“King Varad,” I say eventually, clearing my throat. I force myself not to flinch beneath the king’s gaze—Tides, why must he look so much like Zev?
My husband casts me an inquisitive glance, his hand tightening where it rests on my shoulder. “Speaking of the Equinox Festival … one of the noblewomen last night mentioned that I might assist with planning.”
Varad stares at me for a long moment, eyes drifting toward Zev’s arm thrown possessively over the back of my chair, his body angled toward mine. “That would be a great help,” he finally says. “I’ll have the servants consult you about preparations.” He licks his lips, measuring his next words. “And Mayah … it’s best if you pen a letter to your father about your decision to marry Zevayr. I will write to him as well, of course, but he should hear fromyou. It will help smooth things over.”
“Of course, King Varad.”
“And … you may call me Father. If you wish.”
I nearly gag. That will never happen. It takes all my political training, years of biting my tongue in council meetings, to smile demurely.
“You’re quite the diplomat, Mayah,” Faramir drawls, trailing a long finger around the rim of his glass. His coloring has returned to normal, but his straight blond hair remains unkempt. “You could be a strong queen … if you wanted.” Before Zev can react, he adds, “Maybe you can get my little brother to stop scowling so much.”
Zev bares his teeth in a snarl.
I run my fingers over my husband’s stubbled jaw, angling his face towards me.Zev. He’s Zev—not Varad.
A spark of surprise alights in Zev’s eyes when I say, “I rather like his broody scowl.” My husband studies me carefully for a moment before his face breaks out in the most delighted, boyish grin.
My heart stutters.
Zev rises from his seat, helping me up. “Excuse us. I have plans today with my wife.”
We’re nearly to the door when Faramir calls, “What about the council meeting?”
Zev waves a dismissive hand. “Fill me in later.”
“…and this is the library.” My husband swings the door open and ushers me inside the latest stop in an hours-long tour. He’s in an incredibly good mood, and I bask in the glow of his attention.
Because I have to.
