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The king threw back the rest of his wine. “Fine. Proceed as you proposed. Let us be rid of her.”
Her stomach dropped. Although she’d expected this news would herald some change, even her worst expectations hadn’t imagined it being set into motion so quickly. And she realized abruptly that if they talked about her magic openly—thinking they were alone—her secret would be revealed, not just to the servants who had perhaps already been threatened into silence, but to Jav. Her nails dug into her palms again, and she willed herself not to start shaking.
The queen’s grin was wicked. “Excellent, my lord. You won’t regret this.” Setting down her goblet, she rose and strode away, off to initiate whatever plan she had, leaving the king to drink alone.
Iseris was frozen at Javarin’s side, both just staring at the silent king drinking his wine.
There might still be a little time. She could run to her room and grab the bag she’d packed. Or she could try to escape the castle now, via the secret passages. But then, she’d have nothing. It was beyond intimidating… and possibly a good way to get caught or die. She’d stick out like a sore thumb, wandering streets she didn’t know, without even a cloak on her shoulders.
She’d have to risk the trip back to her room to get the bag.
But it was easier said than done to tear herself away from her friend. A friend she would never see again. She caught his eyes. He saw the fear there and seemed to understand it, if not the reason for it.
In one last, insane rush, she reached down and took his hand. She squeezed it once, then again, a moment longer. His fingers were warm and strong as they squeezed back.
And then she left him, and she ran.
Chapter 3
Cats
Javarin Dormsher had served the Order of the Knights Devoted for nearly his entire life.
His earliest memories were of scampering through the halls of the black marble temples, chasing the many cats that thrived under Nefrana’s shielding light. The white ones had always been the easiest to catch, but his favorite had been a black, green-eyed one, whom he’d befriended over the years. Eventually, she’d broken his heart when he lost the sweet, cuddly girl to old age when he was fifteen.
Princess Iseris had always reminded him of that cat.
Partly because of the way her curls shifted as she dashed away from him now, more quickly than a proper lady should, like a shy feline skittering from an eager young child anxious to play. No matter how gracefully she moved, he always had the sense that she was running away. Skittering. Afraid.
And it was partly because those curls were dark like his cat’s had been, and her eyes were a similar lovely green. Her coloring did not resemble the queen’s, except perhaps Her Majesty’s blue eyes. And her looks didn’t share overmuch with the king’s either. He’d never, ever mention such an inconvenient thing, though, to her or anyone else. There was no benefit to pointing this out.
Iseris also reminded him of that cat because he’d always held the conviction—somewhat irrationally—that the princess would also someday break his heart.
He had a bad feeling as she fled from him toward her secret tunnel that it was happening right now, in fact, but he didn’t know how or why.
He just felt his heart reaching out of his chest, commanding him to follow her. Again. And in this moment, he listened.
He glanced back at the strange, upside-down projection of the king. This room was highly suspicious, probably used for spying or some similar treachery. He should report the existence of this place to the knight captain immediately. Who could have built it?
Not hands as soft as the ones that had just brushed his. And the stairs they’d come down were old, rotten. Not recently built, then. Whoever had devised this eavesdropping room was probably long dead. So there was no urgency in mentioning this to anyone.
Iseris’s steps, however, had had much urgency.
He rose as silently as he could and followed her, wincing at the slight chink of the chain mail. Iseris had managed to be perfectly quiet. She already had a significant lead. He had a feeling he knew where she was going, but if she got too far away, he could still lose her.
Truth be told, the idea that she would break his heart might not be so irrational. The troublesome fact of the matter was that he’d been in love with Princess Iseris for a very long time.
And Devoted Knights, no matter how loyal or well-regarded or heroic, did not marry princesses. He’d earned no accolades to speak of, had no special social rank or merit.
What had the king meant when he’d said Let’s be rid of her? Would they send her off to be married to the Akarian prince? The king hadn’t seemed interested in marrying her to either his enemies or his allies—but how else could he be rid of her?
Surely, he must have misunderstood. She’d soon be married off, and if he could find a way—if he could be so lucky—he would go with her, stay by her side as her protector.
Even that much would be a feat of both great luck and deft machinations on his part if he could pull it off. His own marriage to someone else? Irrelevant. Unthinkable. Unlikely.
The thought of losing her entirely seemed worse than watching her marry someone else, though. What was a burn wound compared to a lost limb?
He’d meditated many an hour asking for peace from Nefrana about all that. None had arrived yet.
