“Yes, very sure,” Ferris confirmed. “They can’t destroy me in public.”
“Couldn’t they murder you in private later?”
“They could. But this goes two ways.” He glared at me. "You won't murderthemin public.”
“I don’t have qualms about where I kill people.”
“Don’t say that,” Ferris groaned. “The last thing I need is you going feral in front of the queen.”
“She can’t do anything to us if she’s dead.”
Ferris gaped at me. The corner of my mouth tugged upward, and I glanced away.
“Are you joking?” He asked. “I can’t tell. Have you ever made a joke before?”
“I don’t joke,” I said, shifting to peer into the ballroom.
There were far too many people here. Ignoring the sea of Solhearts, I focused on the table to my right. I’d never seen Aenir’s king before, but I could guess what he looked like. My eyes twitched.
If he so much as snarled at Ferris, I’d draw my blade.
“Let’s go,” I said, looking back at the prince.
Taking a breath, Ferris nodded. “Alright. Let me do the talking, yeah?”
“That’s probably for the best.”
“She agreed, I can’t believe it.” Ferris shot me a sly grin as he slipped past me into the ballroom.
One step through the archway, and dozens of eyes fell upon me, on the woman dressed in men’s clothing, holding a Paragon’s bow. Ignoring them, I stared at Aenir’s king and tried to shut out the noise.
The king turned toward us, hand slipping off the table. He and Ferris looked alike, and yet so different. Their curls shared the same steel shade, their noses had a slight curve. But the king’s eyes were pale green and his demeanor . . . cold, regal—nothing like his son.
King Ailithir rushed toward us. My hand tightened on my blade.
“By the saints,” he cursed, grabbing Ferris by the arms.
Ferris flinched, ever so slightly. I drew my blade an inch from its sheath.
“Solathair’s breath,” Ailithir cursed. “I thought you were dead.” He stepped back, exhaling.
Someone was staring at me—I noticed their glare out of the corner of my eye. The crown prince remained by their table, hand gripping its edge. His forest green eyes focused on my blade. I slid it back into its sheath.
King Ailithir looked over at me. “And I thought my Paragon drew controversy. Thesaints.” He swallowed. “Solathair has a funny sense of humor.”
“Indeed.” The crown prince strode over, hands knitted behind his back. “I hear my brother has committed a few crimes in your home city.”
“He helped me break out of the dungeons," I said. “Twice.”
“They were going to kill her,” Ferris interjected. “What was I supposed to do? Sit on my hands?”
“We would all prefer it if you did, once in a while,” Laiserian snapped. “Lucky for you, Paragon Tiernan intends to settle this matter tonight.”
Narrowing my eyes, I studied the crown prince. He looked neat and kept, steel locks short. His features differed so greatly from Ferris’ that they hardly looked related—his were long and elegant, Ferris’ was curved and mischievous.
“If you want my opinion,” Laiserian continued, noticing my glare. “Should we decree that the weapons can make mistakes, we call all Paragons into question. With enemies on our borders, we ought to put faith in what is supposedly a gift from God.”
I blinked, taking in his words.
