Baron stiffened, though the comment was friendly. Why did hetake every interaction as an attack? He realized he’d raised an idle hand to his witch’s mark, so he lowered it, interlacing his fingers across his lap.
While attending other events, the twins were either regarded with concern, ignored, or, at best, begrudgingly accepted. No one else bothered to learn their names. No one else smiled when they fought.
Baron surveyed the kitchen, though he was truly watching the girl in the corner of his eye.
“No one calls me Guillaume.” He said it too abruptly, like an attack of his own.
If she heard it that way, she did not return the hostility. Rather, her voice seemed as soft as her eyelids. “Yes, I noticed even your brothers do not.”
“Friends and family call me Baron. It’s unorthodox, I’m aware. Especially now. But ... you’re welcome to use it if you like.”
He was on a foolish streak. As if royalty would ever indulge what Lord Bennett repeatedly called a disgraceful nickname. At best, it was improper, and at worst, she would remark on some insult to the court, some degradation of titles, especially now that he no longer possessed one.
“If I do,” she said, “does it make us friends?”
The words were like lightning down his spine. He sat more rigidly, but when he looked at her, he realized in the scarce moment after speaking, she’d nodded off. Her eyes had slipped closed, and her breathing had evened, though her fingers twitched restlessly in her lap.
Baron frowned.
The princess looked exhausted. Her black hair—while styled to perfection, pinned up and fastened with a net of tiny citrine gems—carried a dull, unhealthy look, and once she relaxed in sleep, there was an obvious sallowness to her cheeks. The skinbeneath her eyes appeared puffy, and the few times she’d met his gaze, he’d noticed the red strain around her brown irises.
Baron had far too many problems of his own to wonder what might plague a princess. Nevertheless, as she continued twitching in her sleep, he found himself debating the most foolish action possible.
Given the day’s events, one more madness seemed only natural.
“Corvin,” Baron called out softly as the boy passed. When his brother looked up, Baron nodded to the bowl of water he carried. “Ladle some of that into a cup, would you?”
Corvin’s eyebrows shot up into his dark fringe, but he nodded. A few moments later, he scrambled back with a wooden cup, careful not to tip it. The moment it passed into Baron’s hands, he felt Cook’s eyes on him, but she made no comment. Clearly she respected the princess’s word as binding.
Even through the dense barrier of the cup, Baron felt the liquid humming within, the silent music that sang to whatever power rested inside him. With reverence, he gently traced his fingertip around the cup’s smooth rim. The liquid briefly turned gold, glowing like captured sunlight. A few servants paused to watch, wide-eyed, but for once, the stares didn’t bother Baron. Nothing could bother him in the moment he held magic, the moment when his lungs breathed deeper and his vision sharpened, opening within him a connection to all the unseen parts of the world at once.
Then it passed. The light in the cup faded, leaving behind not water, but an amber-tinted liquid, gently steaming.
Cook barked a command, and everything that had paused in the kitchen snapped back into action.
Baron felt the twins shooting him glances, asking silent questions. It wasn’t too late to change his mind. He could make the liquid vanish entirely. Forget the whole notion.
Instead, he reached out and gave the princess the barest of nudges on the shoulder.
It had hardly been more than a feather’s touch, but she sat upright at once, drawing in a deep, desperate breath. For an instant, her brown eyes shone with raw fear. Then she blinked, and it vanished, in the same way as Baron’s magic.
“Forgive me.” She cleared her throat. “The hour must be growing late, I ... I should return to the ball.”
“Of course.” Baron extended the cup. “Something to ease your tiredness. If you’d like.”
Princess Aria stared at the cup of tea. A hint of that raw fear flashed through her eyes again, replaced by hardness.
Baron noted the unsteadiness of his hand, and he tightened his hold. Since he wore the brand, it was no crime for him to do magic, but offering it to royalty was another thing. Perhaps she would take it as an insult, an attack. Perhaps—
Just as he began to withdraw his hand, she took the cup.
The entire kitchen, Baron included, held its breath.
After her first hesitant sip, her eyes widened, and she drained the entire cup.
Baron winced; the tea would have been hot. “I tried to make it invigorating.” He could think of nothing better to say.
Slowly, she lowered the cup, pressing her fingers to her lips. Her brown eyes brightened with alertness, then with a sheen of tears. One drop slipped onto her cheek, and Baron’s heart lurched. He reached for her face, stopping himself just in time. One gloved thumb barely grazed her skin.
