“Please be seated.” The Queen gestures once everything has been set for the new guests to mirror our own table dressing. “I ask that you take your neighbor’s hand and cast your eyes to the sky so we might offer an expression of gratitude to the Goddess of the Harvest.”
I swallow the metallic taste on my tongue when an amber wave flows over my shoulders and down my arms, shielding my hands just before I place one over His Majesty’s, then hold the other out for the Annovian noble sitting to my right, when the Prince breaks with tradition and extends his across the table.
The Annovian sorcerer smiles and takes the hand of the witch sitting opposite him. While Prince Auden nods toward his open palm, and I scoot forward in my chair to more easily reach him.
His Majesty’s cheek lifts, apparently pleased with the way the Prince is so publicly displaying an interest.
Prince Auden’s eyes rise to stare up at who I assume must be Varic before following his mother’s command to look skyward.
My magic reaches for Varic and slams into his wards, no matter the fact I’ve told him he’s not a burden, though he must be as incensed as I am with the heat of his gaze grazing from my neck all the way down to my hand. Permeating the amber glow with a rippling sensation warming me the same as his skin, as if I were holding his hands instead.
I blink at the tears forming and raise my focus skyward, my heart clenching with the wish he could be the one to embrace me so publicly.
“Goddess of the Harvest,” the Queen begins. “We offer you our most profound gratitude for the bounty you have provided. We will pay our respect to you with every morsel we consume.” She lowers her gaze to me, and I stare at the fairy lights reflected off her mask.
“Goddess of the Harvest, we offer you our most profound gratitude for this bounty you have provided,” every Annovian chants in unison.
“Now, we partake!” Queen Celine shouts.
A clamor of activity sounds when we retract our hands to raise our glasses in celebration. Then the area becomes even more cramped as servers step forward to plate each of our dishes.
My magic naturally seeks Varic and imbues him with the safety I feel while held within his shield. Panic thrums from him in threads of ochre, and I draw them in, then release a breath once there is barely any left in him.
Raki spins in a slow circle over His Majesty’s shoulder, and the hairs on my cheeks rise when it lies down while seemingly staring in my direction. I shift my power to focus more on our captor, though his mood remains strangely content as he leans in the opposite direction to carry on a never-ending conversation with Wyrth.
Anya trades places with the server and ingests some of everything on my plate. Each bite and sip she takes garners more attention as the guests stare at the living example of His Majesty’s fear.
After she survives long enough to please him, he gestures for her dismissal. His Royal Highness smiles at me, to which I raise my glass in whatever sentiment he wants to believe I am thinking. The skin on my shoulder tingles when Varic steps back into his place by my left, against the Emperor’s orders. I fix my gaze forward and refuse to look at him to try to keep from bringing attention to his disobedience.
Lighthearted conversation carries through the humid night air, bringing an odd sense of contentment—then twisting my stomach the more I observe them all carry on so casually—because nothing this carefree ever occurs within the Palace. Witnessing how none of them carefully shift their gaze over to the Queen, it’s apparent they are without reason to assess her outward expression to better guess what to expect should she become angry or suddenly deem an action as treasonous.
Tears form along my lashes with the bittersweet recognition of all we could have, and I cautiously make sure no one is watching and wrap a blue cloth napkin around my fingertip to try to catch the teardrop threatening to fall—then pause midway to my face when a familiar warmth casts up my cheek from Varic’s knuckle, so delicately catching the errant tear for me.
My heart hammers in my chest, though Varic seems amused as the corner of his mouth lifts when I look up at him. I glance at the Prince, then the Emperor, who thankfully did not seem to observe this indiscretion as guests on either side of them continue to capture their attention.
“You shouldn’t have,” I admonish under my breath.
“I know,” he whispers, and returns his hand to clasp behind him.
We both do—and yet we keep taking risks. We both understand the need to be more cautious. Though neither fear nor awareness seems to make a difference. And if two of the strongest emotions cannot keep us from expressing the depth of our connection, I am afraid nothing can.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Queen
A chill breeze billows the fine fabrics worn by every elite guest instructed to stand in a wide circle around the Queen in the center of a clearing. An eerie sensation crawls up the back of my neck, and I shiver from the cool air casting over the skin that has otherwise been covered for as long as I have held my title.
All eyes follow Queen Celine as she strides toward the middle of our gathering. Lanska moves to stand before her, with what appears to be a blue velvet blindfold held aloft. The Queen smiles as she removes her doe mask and hands it to one of her Guards, then leans forward for Lanska to tie the blindfold around the Queen’s delicate curls.
Uncertainty writhes throughout my stomach, with its gray-blue mottled hue twisting through my abdomen while I wish there had been time for us to utilize the library after the Queen made the offer. Had we found a resource to help better explain this tradition, I might feel less nervous, since the book she lent me mentioned nothing about it.
Her Royal Highness straightens, and witches of all castes step forward to form a smaller circle around her. I follow their lead and close the gap around the royal and those who guard or attend her.
Varic cranes his neck to garner Fray’s attention. “You will guard from the center and are to fly her out of here at the earliest sign of unrest.”
Fray nods before squeezing past me and the witch to my right so he might stand before me while the rest of my Guards crowd in behind. Fray’s eyes narrow as he scans the crowd while I follow his line of sight, proving how I am the only non-royal with a Guard standing in the center. Shame rakes its claws across my skin as witches hide their tittering behind cupped palms, while their eyes noticeably flit between Fray and me.
Queen Celine raises her hands skyward to draw our collective attention to her.
