Iseult turned a pout up at her, but Adeline just smiled and pinched her baby-round cheek.
“Of course they know you, Iz. You’re their princess.”
She swung the girl up into her arms with only a slight grunt of effort, and together they peered over the balcony. Iseult waved heartily, and little cheers rose up from the steady swell of noise.
Iseult!
Mareda!
Adeline!
At the sound of her own name, Adeline grinned; the merriment was catching. This was the Eisalaan she loved, the Kingdom that folded you into its fairytale; the snow, the magic, the stories. She was glad to be here with her sisters tonight – even if a childish part of her had always wished she could be downthere, let loose, unconcerned with her posture and the preservation of her crisp white dress. She wanted her mess of dark curls freed from this too-tight braid, her ribs freed from the pressing cage of the corset made to flatten her curves. Wanted to sing and scream herself hoarse, breathless instead with dancing and laughter.
She let her eye rove the rolling sea of merrymakers, some with their goblets thrust high in the air, some laughing with their heads thrown back to the open skies, their frozen breath clouding and spiralling above them.
Her gaze snagged on the corner of the dais, where a stiff, suited Gard stared right back at her, a grin carving into his careful, stoic expression. Holding her eye, Ger clapped a hand over his heart and gave a theatrical wink. She clapped her own hand over her heart, then blew him a kiss on the tips of her fingers, stirring up a rowdy roar of approval from a few of the revellers. They both laughed aloud, but at a nudge from the Gard beside him, Ger schooled his features and stared sternly ahead once more, lips just barely twitching.
Iseult giggled in Adeline’s ear, but Mareda sighed. She gave her a soft, almost disdainful look.
“You’re a princess too, Ade,” she said, then resumed her demure pose, hand lifted in a barely rippling wave. She pretended not to notice the finger Adeline flipped up in answer.
Perhaps she had a point, though. It was Mareda who truly enchanted the people of Eisalaan with her grace and golden beauty. Alone of the three sisters, Mareda resembled their mother; willowy and fair. From this distance, in the dim light of the approaching midnight hour, she could be the Queen’s double. They smiled the same smile, Mareda gentle and serene, while the Queen allowed herself a moment of imperious amusement at the jig that had broken out before her.
It was such a rare expression on that beautiful, empty face that Adeline couldn’t help but stare at her mother, some old ember of interest flickering deep within her at the sight. The Queen turned her head, as though she could feel the weight of that single gaze so high above. The bare curve of her lips flattened as their eyes met. Slowly, she lifted her cup in greeting, then turned back to the crowd. Adeline felt the stirring within her chest freeze over once more.
She shook it off.
Fine. It was fine. Two full decades she’d gone without a scrap of maternal affection, what difference did it make now? She had all she needed.
She tightened her grip on Iseult and tugged Mareda into their little huddle with her free hand, ignoring the meek protests that gave way to reluctant giggles.
She had her sisters. As the crowd below finally sang out the countdown to midnight, she held them tight in a muddled embrace, smiling into someone’s hair as someone else pressed a kiss to her forehead.
And when the bells rang high in the moon-white towers of the Silver Palace, Adeline made herself a promise to never forget what her father had told her all those years ago. Not about love stories, but about her mother; whatsheloved, and what that said about her.
Her father had been gentle, held her hand as he told her the truth.
Your mother is a Queen first and foremost. She loves her Kingdom most of all.
It was, to this day, one of the few things she knew about her own mother. She was Selma Ashalynn Beira, the Queen of Snow and Silver – and she loved Eisalaan above all else.
Chapter 3
Adeline
Mareda was unimpressed.
Iseult’s nursemaid had come to dress her for bed shortly after the countdown, but the poor child had stormed and cried and Adeline’s heart had broken just a little bit.
“Let her stay, Bethany,” she’d pleaded with the older woman. “We’ll make sure she gets to sleep soon enough.”
The nursemaid had gladly taken off with the briefest of curtsies, eager to join the party in the snowy courtyard or perhaps even collapse into bed herself. But Mareda watched her go with pursed lips – then tutted once they were alone, and asked beneath her breath if Adeline planned to spoil the girl by giving in to her every whim. She only shrugged and ushered Iseult inside. Iseult spent three quarters of the year abroad; she deserved a few extra hours with her family, especially on a night of celebration.
The family drawing room was bright and warm after hours spent on the wind-chilled balcony, and the heat of the hearth sent a pleasant shiver cascading down Adeline’s limbs. She hummed contentedly, feeling the blood return to numbed toes and fingertips, the fresh scent of the cold outdoors still clinging to them as she peeled off Iseult’s cloak and hung it alongside her own.
Outside, the revelry raged on; it would be a long while before the Queen or any of their fathers made it upstairs.
“Shall we swap gifts?” Adeline whispered to Iseult.
