He looked at her as if she were pure starlight—as if she could do no wrong. Envy tugged at me. No one here would ever look at me that way.
“Someone didn’t give me time to put it back,” I said.
Fyn only smoothed the crumpled edges of the paperwork that lined Lioran’s desk.
“Well, you’re here now.” Aelira patted the sofa beside her as she inspected me.
“A correspondence arrived from Estlen—an invitation.” Lioran set his glass down on top of the mound of paperwork.
Fyn carefully pulled it aside, blotting the parchment beneath it with a fabric square that he retrieved from his tunic.
“I’m glad to hear all is well with at least one human kingdom.” I inwardly cursed myself as I tried to still my face. No one required reminders of the war my kingdom caused. Certainly, I was already enough of a reminder. “I assume trade is going well.”
Aelira straightened out the creases in her new gown. The deeply hued fabric could only have been made with Estlen’s coveted dyes. Nythrel had nothing like it.
“All is well with trade—the ore is just as theypromised,” Fyn said.
For weeks I watched the cartloads of metal ore arrive—all mined from Estlen’s mountain range. Each one would be used to rebuild after the war and expand Aelira and Lioran’s castle in the Heart of Lythira. “Will you travel there?”
“The invitation isn’t for us. It’s for you. Prince Soren is seeking a bride. He would like to consider you.” Lioran straightened the neckline of his golden jacket as if he was just talking about the weather.
My sister’s silence weighed on me.
I had to break it. “You wish for me to go?”
“We want you to choose what is best for you.” Aelira’s face was still and unreadable. It rarely ever was.
“It would be an opportunity to be among your own kind again if you wish it,” Lioran said.
An opportunity formulated by a kingdom that didn’t know me. I waited for someone to say something else—to urge me not to go.
There would be an insult from Fyn.
My sister would tell me how this plan wasn’t advisable.
But no one said anything else at all.
“How does this involve Fyn?” I watched him as he pretended to study the books that lined the bookshelf.
Lioran cleared his throat. “As the Lord Chancellor of Nythrel, Fyn oversees all negotiations like this. It is?—”
“It’s a form of trade.” They would trade me. “If I go, does this solidify your trade route?”
The color washed from Aelira’s face. Her eyes widened. “You’re not being traded, Ashlyn. We would never trade you.”
I wasn’t easily convinced. Fyn had been far too reserved for this news. I couldn’t handle his silence. “I’d like to hear it from you, Lord Chancellor. Do you advise that I go?”
“I personally wouldn’t, but I am not the least bitinterested in princes.” He slowly pivoted back toward me, but when he did his eyes only met mine for a moment before he turned to Lioran. “Maybe I should leave you three to discuss it.”
It was like I wasn’t even there—like he didn’t even care to see what I would say. My eyes drifted to Lioran’s study ceiling, perfectly painted with tiny golden stars.
Fyn knew exactly what discussion he was bringing me into. He said nothing about it when he could have easily warned me. “No, please stay. It seems you already know everything—that everyone did before me.” I tugged my hair too tightly, desperate to weave it back together into its braid. I wouldn’t just sit and do nothing. “Has a pact been arranged already?”
“It would be formally outlined during your visit,” Lioran said plainly. “Once you and he agree to it.”
“I hear it’s the way true love forms.” Fyn slid his finger around the edge of an empty glass.
“Fyn,” Aelira scolded him.
