“Wait!” Mayah calls out as the woman turns to leave, mumbling useless apologies. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Disappointment wells in my chest, mingled with irritation and something that feels damningly likehurtthat she pulled away so quickly. Like she felt embarrassed at being caught doing something she shouldn’t. With me. Her skiesdamnedhusband.
I school my expression into neutrality as she turns back, though I can’t contain the sigh that escapes me as I stand.
Patient. I need to be patient.
“I’ll be late coming to bed,” I tell her, tracing my thumb along her jaw. “A delegation from Volca arrives tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”
She clasps my wandering hand and presses it to her cheek. My heart stutters.
“All right.” Her brows are furrowed, lips pursed. There’s something she’s not saying.
“What is it?”
“Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”
My heart aches for her and the hope in her blue gaze. There hasn’t been a single letter. She must read my remorseful expression because her shoulders stiffen, and she says, almost defensively, “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re just delayed.”
For a truthwielder, I tell a staggering number of lies.
“Did the princess like the gifts I sent?” Faramir’s voice is uncharacteristically polite. Emerald-green vest, hair styled in neat waves, he’s the picture of Arbinji royalty. My half-brother appears at ease, but the violent pulsing of his energy signature reveals his nerves.
At least he’s taking this meeting seriously.
The three emissaries share a covert glance. Burgundy robes rustle as their leader, a portly man with a long beard, shifts in his seat.
“She did, yes. Our princess sends her gratitude.”
Vicious needles jab the back of my neck, and I grit my teeth against the sensation. Like every other diplomatic meeting I’ve had the misfortune of attending, the last hour has been exceedingly uncomfortable, sharp prickles following nearly every sentence.
“That’s wonderful,” my father rumbles, leaning forward in his chair. “Has your queen considered our proposal? The last letter was rather … vague.”
“Queen Saeren is considering it,” the portly emissary says smoothly, meeting my father’s gaze head-on.
Lie.
“She, too, sends her gratitude for the silks and jewels and … birds. But, King Varad, you must understand—the princess is young. Last month, we only just celebrated her seventeenth birthday.”
The understanding smile that unfurls across Faramir’s face is not one I’ve ever seen. “Of course. Seventeen is far too young for marriage. But, perhaps, we could cement the bonds between our kingdoms with a betrothal. Surely, Queen Saeren would be amenable to that.”
Interesting.
Faramir came prepared. I’ve never seen this … kingly side of him.
“Ah, a betrothal,” the emissary says, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is our understanding thatyouwere recently betrothed to Princess Mayah of Tundrayn.”
Silence descends over the room as all eyes turn to me.
A muscle pulses in my father’s jaw. Faramir’s left eye twitches. Still, his voice is even when he says, “Yes. Perhaps my brother can speak more to that.”
I clear my throat. “After the alliance, I went to retrieve Mayah and bring her to Arbinj. Our party was attacked, and we made the journey back alone. On foot. Over the course of several weeks together, we grew to … care for one another. My father and brother were gracious enough to”—I grit my teeth—“allowa union between us.”
“The power of love,” the Volcan emissary says with a smile. “Congratulations on your nuptials. Though, tell us more of this attack. Who was responsible?”
A sudden rumble of thunder steals the words on my tongue.
