She was overbright.
“Is there something wrong with…?”
Not knowing how to form the question, Adeline turned to Edward, but he was locked on the Queen still, a frown even deeper than normal pulling at his bushy brows. She leaned forward in her seat instead, looking around for Mareda, until a scuffle and flurry of movement pulled her attention back to the floor.
Selma was wrenching her arm out of Sebastian’s grasp as he tried to coax her to him, murmuring something soft and soothing. She danced out of reach, wobbling just slightly, holding her glass aloft as wine sloshed gently over the rim and dripped down her bare white arm like blood.
“And who are you to tell me it’s time to sit?”
The Queen was smirking. Taunting. Her familiar, lyrical voice was raw and jarring in its sudden volume.
Chatter around the room softened, eyes all over the hall drawing to the mild commotion. Although she couldn’t hear Sebastian at this distance, Adeline could read the shape of the words; “My love”, as he reached for her again.
“No, no, no!” Selma danced backwards once more, spilling another gush of wine down her arm. Her pale eyes were wide and glittering, almost feverish. “I’ll dance as long as I please, thank you. You’re not King yet, Sebastian!”
The Queen laughed herself breathless, mute, laughter wracking her slim frame so hard that she doubled over, and then –
Her glass slipped slowly from her slackened grip to crash in a shower of red and crystal on the marble floor.
She swooned.
The courtiers nearest to her surged forward, and at Adeline’s side, Edward leaped to his feet as though he’d vault the table to get to her. From somewhere across the room, Mareda shrieked; “Mother!”
But Sebastian had caught her, and the Queen was already upright again, blinking dazedly at the shocked faces around her.
“My darlings,” she gasped out, then cleared her throat on a soft laugh. “Nothing. It’snothing. Too much wine and merriment!”
She smiled a slow smile, and the nobles around her gave a nervous titter. Adeline caught movement at the edge of her vision, and glanced up to see Edward storming off, a scowl now firmly fixed in place of his soft, drunken glaze.
On the floor, Selma finally allowed herself to be led from the dance, and Adeline slipped quietly away from the head table before her mother and Sebastian took their seats.
The Queen did not rise again for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 8
Adeline
In the slow days that followed New Winter, the kingdom fell back into its everyday rhythm. Workmen carved sheets of ice from the mountainside to send across the seas to hotter climates. Merchant Wielders practiced charms and spells to thrill the market-goers with their magical wares. Among the bustling crowds at her shrine, the Sorceress saw tributes and gifts, and many prayers for a longer, colder Winter.
And all too soon, Iseult was shipped off to the misty shores of Caldbon to reunite with her tutors and her grandfather, the King. Adeline and Mareda woke at the crack of dawn to see her off at the gates, their goodbyes as long and tearful as ever.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Iseult had asked, lip wobbling and her eyes dewy. “Every week?”
“Of course,” said Mareda, before Adeline bundled them both into one hug.
“Every day, if I can manage it,” she swore.
And she would, even if it killed her. Which it very well might. She had barely a moment to breathe as it was. If she wasn’t attending royal appearances at local schools and distant villages, she was at the palace, completing the rigorous hours of combat and dance training the Queen had always insisted upon.
We are leaders first and foremost, she would say.We will see as many a ballroom as a battlefield in our lifetimes.
Absolute bollocks, as far as Adeline was concerned - but the training was not the worst of her mother’s demands.
Now that she was to be married it seemed the Queen wanted to play house, and they were all expected to play along too. She was to host a family dinner. An intimate affair between the Queen, her betrothed, her two former lovers, and her eldest daughters.
Cosy.
When dusk drew in on the day of their awkward little dinner, Silas came to greet Adeline at the carriage house on her arrival from the Capital. She had dressed in blue as her mother preferred; the unofficial uniform of the royal family. Only Adeline’s dress was not the pale icy colour of the Eisalaan flag, but a sweeping gown of bright cerulean layered with cream lace, like crashing ocean waves beneath a warm sun. A petty, pointless move overall, but it was all she had.
