Julian cleared his throat. “I wanted to express my condolences for your loss. Your aunt was a great woman.”
“Thank you,” Kalie managed to say. “How… how are you doing?”
Stupid, stupid question. She cursed the day she’d learned to speak; the words were too inadequate, too heartless to be the first thing she said to him since he got down on one knee. He’d spoken to her since—or at least, he’d spoken to Ariah, who’d pretended to be her because she couldn’t face him after she destroyed everything.
“Ah… well.” Julian scuffed his polished boot against the bronze tiles. “I’m well.”
Haeden glanced between the two of them like a genapi cub caught between two ranoraks. With a nervous laugh, he stepped away. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Kalie glowered at him.
“No, no, stay.” Julian waved a hand, tripping over himself in his rush to back away. “I was just leaving. It… it was good to see you again, Your Majesty.”
“Wait.”
The soft melody filling the hall reached a crescendo of heart-aching emotion.
She couldn’t leave it like this, with him calling herYour Majestyand her pretending they were nothing more than Duchissa and courtier.
Julian turned back. Flickering lights shone on his pained face.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she couldn’t think. There wasn’t anything she could say to make it better.
“You can still call me Kalie,” she whispered.
He gave her a ghastly smile and sketched a bow. “Your Majesty.”
It stung.
And then he was gone.
“Glad that’s over.” Haeden was clearly trying for nonchalance, but he couldn’t stop tugging at the spiky black studs posted through his ears. “Can’t say I was looking forward to the long-awaited reunion of the Quartet?—”
He broke off abruptly, all traces of humor vanishing.
Kalie’s knees nearly crumpled.
The crackle of waterfalls and fountains softened, and the flower basket swinging from a strand of fairy lights stilled. The air seemed to grow heavier as an aching hollow spread through her chest.
Haeden fidgeted with the cuffs of his purple sleeves. “I’m so sorry about Ariah.”
“Yeah.” Kalie swallowed, trying to dispel the lump rising in her throat. A lone violinist took center stage and strummed a slow tune. “I am too. She always cared about you.”
Pressing a hand to his nose, Haeden sniffed.
Tall, dark, and handsome, Ariah had called him. Her first, and as she’d gushed so long ago, her forever. That hadn’t lasted more than amonth before the breakup, which was followed by Haeden’s halting explanation at one of their forest bonfires that he preferred men. Ariah had gotten over it quickly, and they’d remained the best of friends after the messy fallout of Julian’s attempted proposal.
But none of them had ever really known Ariah. She’d always appeared to them in her disguise as an illegitimate cousin. Julian and Haeden had never known the truth about her birth.
“What do you say we celebrate her memory the way she’d want to be celebrated?”
“Here?” Kalie asked, her brows drawing together.
Though it hurt like blades shredding her heart, Uncle Jerran had been right when he’d pulled her aside before the ball and told her there could be no grand funeral for Ariah. They couldn’t risk drawing curious minds in the wrong direction. Gene editing was highly illegal, and their ancestors had kept their genetically-modified doubles a secret for generations.
With a small smile, Haeden produced an engraved silver flask from his pocket, twisted off the lid, and held it up between them.
Kalie frowned. “There’s champagne over there.”
