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Aegonar shifted in his chair but remained silent. His eyes locked onto Anthea.
“I’ve thought long and hard about the prophecy, and the war it talks about,” she continued. “I know I have a role to play here, but I also have conditions. I’ve drawn up some preliminary terms,” she said, smoothing out the rolls of paper before her with trembling fingers. Anthea scanned each face before her, searching for any hint of their thoughts. “It’s to protect all of our interests. While the prophecy has trapped me in this world and its conflict, I want to ensure my cooperation benefits not only the courts but myself as well. So I have a proposition for you.”
Galodir tilted his head, the golden circlet upon his brow catching the ambient light. “A proposition?” he echoed, his deep voice betraying no emotion.
“Exactly. A three-sided agreement, between myself, the Crimson court, and the Nephrite court. The foundation is here.” Anthea tapped the parchment. “But there are details we need to work out together.”
A ghost of a smile touched Fyralin’s lips, her hazel eyes dancing with intrigue. “An agreement?” she mused, her tone playful yet sharp. “How . . . intriguing.”
“Given our past misunderstandings.” Anthea kept her tone diplomatic. “And the evident lack of trust between us, it’s clear we need something binding. Where I come from, when trust is scarce, we draft contracts. They ensure all parties uphold their end of the deal and face consequences if they don’t.”
Aegonar leaned forward slightly. “And what, precisely, are you proposing?”
Anthea reached for the papers and began to unravel them. “I want guarantees,” she said firmly. “Guarantees for my safety, for my freedom after this is all over. Additionally, I want a nice little cottage with a good compensation for my troubles, good enough to give me a comfortable life in Isluma. And I want guarantees for the treatment of humans after this—no more slavery.”
“Those are significant conditions,” Aegonar said after a moment’s pause.
“They are. But I believe they are necessary if I am to help you.”
“We can discuss your safety and freedom,” Galodir said slowly, “But the place of humans in Isluma is a broader issue.”
“It’s an issue that needs to be addressed,” Anthea pressed. “And I want it in writing—a binding agreement.”
Galodir leaned back, eyes on Anthea, considering.
Fyralin’s face was inscrutable, her eyes focused on the rolls of parchment on the desk.
Aegonar’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, a hint of uncertainty playing across his features.
“You’re welcome to read them,” Anthea pushed the rolled parchments slightly forward with her fingertips. The documents unfurled further to reveal her messy handwriting. “I’ve been thorough.”
Galodir, his eyes never leaving Anthea, reached out and took the topmost roll.
Anthea leaned forward, her elbows on the dark table, massaging her temples. The night had been productive, but draining: every word, every clause, and every condition had been debated, dissected, and deliberated upon. For every point Anthea had raised, Galodir had a counter, Aegonar a consideration, and Fyralin—a perspective that neither Anthea nor the others had even considered.
Requesting Fyralin in the room had been a spur of the moment thought for Anthea. But now, she couldn’t be more relieved she had come up with it—not only did the Nephrite queen bring a unique perspective, but her influence over Galodir was undeniable. Things were moving in the right direction. And she had Fyralin, in no small part, to thank for that.
The small break for dinner had been a welcomed respite—the rich flavors of the soup, accompanied by the bread, crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, lathered with herb-infused butter—it had given her the much needed strength for the rest of the evening.
But then Aegonar had decided to approach her.
His initial words had disarmed her. He had asked her to not hold their actions against Endreth, after all, he had advocated for a different approach in handling her—and perhaps he had been right—the Crimson heir had offered. For a moment, Anthea had even dared to think that perhaps Aegonar would apologize for his actions, believing that maybe beneath that arrogant exterior lay some depth.
But then, just as quickly, he’d managed to undo any goodwill. His follow-up statement about this not meaning Anthea should jump back into his brother’s bed had erased any doubts in her mind that the Crimson court’s heir was an arrogant prick. The meaning of his comment had been clear—Endreth might have had an interest in her, but she was leagues beneath him in the grand scheme of things.
Her cheeks had flamed with anger, her eyes had blazed, and she’d had to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent a sharp retort. Instead, she had met his gaze evenly, mustering all the grace and poise she had—and had thanked him for his advice.
Anthea had wanted to punch Aegonar more than once after that, she had to remind herself that lashing out would not help her cause in any way.
Despite all this, by the end of their session, they had a working draft they all felt good about. It wasn’t perfect, and there were compromises on all sides, but it was a start.
35
“Where’s Beldor?” Anthea asked, looking up from an old book she had found in the corner of her room. Over the past week, Beldor had been her bridge to the outside world, offering insights on their explorations of the castle and its grounds. She had started to enjoy these walks—the gardens of the Halls of Jewels were magical—wild and untamed. Gnarly trees, their trunks twisted, stood sentinel, their long branches draping downward. Beldor had told her that some of these trees had stood here for millennia. Their roots ran deep, drawing water from hidden springs beneath the mountains. Streams, clear as crystal, wove through the gardens, burbling over smooth stones and forming delicate waterfalls that cascaded into serene ponds. In the reflective surfaces of these ponds, Anthea had seen the silhouettes of colorful fish. And then there were the stone arches, half-hidden amidst the lush greenery. They were blanketed in thick vines, bearing white trumpet-shaped flowers.
Eldrion leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded across his broad chest. “We share the duty of watching over you,” he said evenly.
“Watching over me?” she echoed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a sardonic smirk. “That’s a rather . . . quaint way to describe keeping me in line, don’t you think?”
