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“Anthea . . .” The prince murmured.
“Thea . . . you can call me Thea.” But there was one more thing she wanted to know. “Endreth, did you or any of your . . . did you ask Alyra to befriend me?”
He stepped back, blinking, head cocked to the side, “why would you think that?”
“She’s the only one who speaks to me,” Anthea confessed, dropping her eyes to her hands. “Only one of the servants who has . . . who has been keeping me company. It feels?—”
“Which one is Alyra?”
“The one with the long white hair and the blue eyes. She cleans the court’s public rooms. She mentioned moving from the Nephrite court to the Crimson court . . .”
The mere mention of the Nephrite court seemed to stir something in Endreth. “I never asked anyone to befriend you.”
Anthea observed Alyra as she sat across from her at the dinner table. She had been avoiding her, had been taking her evening meals at hours she knew the elf would still be doing her chores, but this evening Alyra had shown up earlier, had taken her usual place opposite her. Endreth had told her he hadn’t asked Alyra to get close to her. But Aegonar . . . Anthea wouldn’t put it past him.
“Have I upset you?” the elf asked, her voice filled with concern. She placed her spoon down gently, focusing all her attention on Anthea.
Maybe she was wrong in distrusting Alyra. Maybe she had made it all up in her head. After all, she had no real reason to doubt the elven maid. If Aegonar knew what Anthea had told Alyra about Endreth—surely he would have said something. He wasn’t the type to keep it to himself.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Anthea replied. “It’s just . . . These past weeks have been draining. The prince—he has kept me occupied.”
“Has it gotten any better?” Alyra’s eyes softened slightly as she asked, lifting her spoon, and sipping the rich broth of her soup.
Anthea sighed, looking down at her own bowl and swirling the food around for a moment. “I’ve gotten used to it. Adjusted, I guess.” She wasn’t exactly sure why she continued the façade of Endreth abusing her. Perhaps it would still be needed if all else failed. “It’s not so much about it being painful anymore. It’s just different,” she added carefully, offering a small smile.
Alyra nodded slowly, still looking slightly wary but also somewhat relieved. “Just remember, you can always speak to me if you need someone to listen.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. Truly. Not everyone here looks past my role in the court—not as you do.” She couldn’t help the small jibe. She was half ready to roll her eyes and ease it with a joke, expecting the elf to tell her again about elves and their slow approach, but?—
Alyra’s expression shifted slightly, her brows furrowing. Anthea could see her words had struck a chord. Leaning forward, the elf’s voice was a soft whisper, “Everyone has a role to play in this court, but it’s not always wise to keep secrets, to spin tales, Anthea. They have a way of catching up.”
Maybe she hadn’t made it all up after all. There was definitely something going on with that elf she couldn’t trust. “I believe everyone has their secrets, Alyra. Don’t they?”
The female simply laughed, her laughter melodic and yet with a hint of something Anthea couldn’t place. “Touché,” she responded, taking a sip from her glass. “Be careful, dear. Not everything is what it seems.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“Nothing of importance really.” Alyra put her glass down, eyeing her. “I am glad you have adjusted to your new life here.”
“Adaptation is a curious thing,” Anthea stared the elf down. “One must learn the terrain, the customs . . . and most importantly, who to trust.”
The smile appeared suddenly, sharp and knowing, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk. But just as quickly, it disappeared, Alyra’s expression smoothing into one of serene neutrality. “Just be wary,” she murmured, her eyes sharp. “Even in a court such as this, the broken shards of trust can be used to draw blood.”
Anthea simply raised an eyebrow.
Alyra’s gaze didn’t waver. “Simply put, do not forget the game and your place within it. A slave, after all, is but a mouse under the paw of a cat.”
“Are you trying to warn me or threaten me? Because from where I’m sitting, it’s rather hard to tell.”
“Neither. Consider it a lesson in survival,” she offered. “Remember, Anthea, you are human, a slave at that,” Alyra’s tone dipped, a dark melody to her words. “You should stop thinking of what might be, and accept what is. Terrible things happen to humans who fail to adjust to their rightful place.”
Anthea’s temper flared white-hot, her fists clenching at her sides. The elf’s eyes held a challenge, a deliberate provocation impossible to ignore. Now she understood—the supposed support, the camaraderie, it had all been an act. To Alyra, she had always just been a slave, a trifle to be toyed with. Slamming her palms onto the wooden table, Anthea leaned forward until she was eye to eye with the elf. “Just because something is the way it is, doesn’t mean it’s the way it should be,” she hissed. “A mouse also has claws and teeth. And a clever mouse knows that sometimes the best way to survive is to play the cats’ game better than they do.”
Alyra’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something that crossed her face for a mere second before it was gone, replaced by the same challenging mask. “Is that so? So, the mouse fancies herself clever then? It’s a dangerous game for such a small creature.”
“If I need to be.” Anthea conceded, her voice a whisper of steel. “But I’m not interested in games. Especially not the kind with stakes higher than I can afford.” For a moment, the two women stared each other down. Then, with a curt nod, Anthea stood, her chair scraping back sharply. She had laid her own card on the table, for better or worse, she had shown her teeth. Without another word, she turned and left the room.
18
