“Adeleni, I apologise,” he said, then cut off and resumed in Dhaliaan, muttering to himself as he smacked a palm over his papery brow. Eleni intercepted, pulling his hand away and holding it as she spoke.
“We’re sorry, Adeline,” she said gently. “It’s easy to forget, sometimes. Loss is something different when you’re young. We do understand, if you would rather not speak of it.”
Lyra flopped down in the seat beside her grandfather and leaned over his wooden armrest.
“I lostmymother,” she said matter-of-factly. “And we talk aboutherall the time.”
And despite knowing little of her late aunt—and even less of her young cousin—Adeline wanted to tell her that it was different.
It was different becausethisgrief washers, and it had been with her for as long as she could remember. She had carried it her whole life, an open wound as old as she was. Slight as a papercut, at first. Tended by her father with such love and care that it never caused much harm, but it had never really stopped bleeding either. And then Selma had come back to herself, back to Adeline too, and it was at her hand that the wound had finally started to heal. It was tight and uncomfortable to begin with, as healing always was. Adeline had picked at the scab, slowed itsprogress—but itwashealing. By the end of last Mid-Winter, that healed part of her had become pink and tender.
Perhaps that was why it had torn so easily.
Perhapsthatwas why the queen’s passing had ripped this gaping cavern through her and left such a mess in its wake. Lefthersuch a mess.
I bet you spoke to your mother every day of your young life,she wanted to tell her cousin, hating the vicious, broken voice in her own head.I bet she played with you, listened to you. I bet you never cowered at the sound of her footsteps. I bet she didn’t have to learn who you are just weeks before she left you. I bet, despite it all, she died knowing that you love her.
Adeline did not say any of that. She bowed her head, low enough for her curls to swing forth and conceal the painful set of her jaw, molars aching.
“I am sorry for your loss, cousin,” she said, too stiffly. “And if it’s all the same, I’d still rather not discuss my own.”
“Of course,” said Eleni. And then, before Lyra could so much as draw a breath, the Empress gave a long, blatantly relieved gasp and a swift clap of her hands, attention sliding past Adeline to the entryway. “Come in, come in! Just in time, Your Majesty.”
The missing warmth rushed her chest, and when Adeline turned, she could swear her frozen pulse began to beat anew.
Because there, a tether in the flood of grief and strangeness, stood her Merrow King.
Chapter Seven
Kai
Now that he knew, Kai could not get past the blinding resemblance.
Here in the Empress’s private dining room, Adeline and her aunt stood with an older man and a young girl, all crowded together at the head of a long table of sun-bleached wood. Both women wore their curls swept up and braided at the crown with golden twine, both dressed in rich shades of purple. Both stood tall and proud with that practised, regal poise. But where Adeline’s warm skin had long been cooled by the Eisalaan frost, Eleni’s was bronzed and sun-kissed. The Empress spoke in a hush, and Adeline nodded distantly, one hand clutching a wilted flower, and the other folded too tightly in the soft heather skirts of her evening gown. Judging by the looser cut and the elaborate embroidery across her waist, it was a gift delivered upon their arrival just as Kai’s had been.
She suited the soft Dhaliaan fashion, just as she’d suited the more tailored Eisalaan tendencies. And her simple training room clothes. And the heavy bronze armour she’d worn at the Queen’s Tourney. He was, in fact, quite certain that Adeline could steal his breath wearing an empty potato sack.
“Come in, come in!”
He hadn’t realised Eleni had spotted them, and it was only at a nudge to the ribs from Al that Kai drew his eyes away from Adeline and took a stilted step forward. But the princess turned away from her aunt, visible relief flitting over her face, and his chest squeezed in response, snatching painfully at his breath. Al nudged him again, harder, and it occurred to Kai that she had quite literally stopped him in his tracks, twice in the space of a moment.
“King Cumhaill, welcome,” Eleni called, sweeping into a shallow curtsey. He returned a bow of his own, but when he stood, the Empress’s eyes were bright and trained behind him. “And darling Alun!”
Al stepped out past Kai, arms already held aloft as Eleni swiftly closed the distance and drew him into a hug. They rocked in their embrace, turning as they squeezed one another, and Al shot a wink over the Empress’s shoulder that had Kai suppressing a snort.
Ofcourse,Alun had thoroughly charmed their host. He should have expected nothing less.
When they finally leaned back from each other, Al’s arms still cradled hers. Her hands remained wrapped around his shoulders as though he were a beloved youth and she the doting older relative ready to coo over his recent growth spurt.
“Apricot is certainly your colour,” she said, with a fond tilt of the head.
Al’s eyes darted to Kai’s with the briefest flare of satisfaction, but he trained his attention and charm on the Empress, flashing his brightest smile.
“We should talk, Your Imperial Highness, now that my king has arrived. Discuss our meeting with the merrow, and—”
“Oh, Alun,” Eleni tutted, with barely a hint of real reproach. “Already so desperate to depart from my company.”
“Well, what am I to do?” Al returned. “You’ve refused to adopt me.”
