Taking her wrist, I pull her hand from my face. “I see you haven’t changed much. My brother, turn you down finally?” The question stings us both, but she’ll recover.
“Don’t be like that.” She moves in, pulling herself to my lips, but she only meets my cheek. Her soft lips brush my skin. “Fine.” She pulls away and moves from my lap.
There is coughing that comes from the door and we both find Esha standing there uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Highness, but your father, the King, is requesting you meet him in the war room.”
Finishing my drink, I set it on the desk and stand. “Thank you, Esha. Tell him I’m on my way.” Esha bows and takes his leave.
Without a word or glance, I move past Thana.
“You will never find someone like me,” she calls after me, like it’s some kind of threat.
Turning to her, for a split second, I see the brilliant woman my heart once pranced for. But there is no prancing, no more critters that used to stir my stomach, or breaths that used to be caught with a simple look.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m awfully good at finding things.” The corners of her lips twitch upwards. “But you’re right. I won’t find someone like you because…I’m no longer looking for you.” And then her smile vanishes.
Before she can retort, I walk away and head to the war room, leaving her alone.
“There he is,” my father shouts from across the grand room, his echoes traveling to me.
The war room is always the chilliest place in the castle. The space is nearly the same size as our main ballroom and could hold a few hundred people if given the opportunity. But I’ve never seen more than twenty in here at a time; a mix of ambitious people, ready to offer their opinions to the King.
Vast statues occupy the spaces on the blackened stone walls. All are replicas of the rulers who once controlled Saden. My father has one nearest the large, round table, and I imagine Marcel will have one of his own when the time comes.
Approaching the table, I see Marcel, my father’s advisor Kinnry, and one of our army commanders, Devona.
Kinnry and Devona stand and bow before I take my seat. Both are dressed up tonight. Like everyone else, they came fora celebration and didn’t shy away from fine linens and gold jewelry.
Despite the numerous fireplaces burning, a dark ambiance fills in the room, and I think that’s what the designer intended. This isn’t a room for the weak.
Taking a seat, my father holds up a letter. The envelope on the table next to him is empty, the wax seal is a deep orange—a color closer to red. The symbol on it is that of a fox with a crown on its head. It’s not a seal we see often in this kingdom. It’s one that could get someone killed if they aren’t an active member of the King’s court. It is the seal of Haymel, and only those with official crown business are allowed to send and receive anything from the enemy territory.
“Queen Cayleen would like to arrange a truce between our kingdoms,” my father starts, and both Kinnry and Devona shift in their seats. “She has written in great detail what she requires and what she’s willing to give up if we agree to this truce.”
“Rich of her,” Devona says, under her breath before adjusting once again in her seat.
“She’s killed countless soldiers and citizens of ours and audaciously sends a letter demanding things of us?” Kinnry chimes in.
“We are kings and queens. We always make demands,” my father retorts. “Of course, this will open up conversation for us to make demands of our own. It will also provide opportunities for trade and allow for easier travel between the kingdoms.” Reading further he continues, “She has also extended an invitation to a ball hosted in our honor. She wishes me to be in attendance.”
Devona leans forward in her seat, shifting in a dress that was made to look like armor but is much easier to move about in during events like these. Her eyes are as clear as Lake Alma, an immense blue spreading throughout. “If you don’t mindme being forthright, Your Grace.” She waits for my father’s acknowledgment before continuing, “You, walking into Haymel after all these years, is a death trap. Surely, she will limit the number of guards we can send to protect you. She will have the advantage and Queen Cayleen will certainly use it.”
Leaning back in his chair, he props his elbows on the arms of his seat and folds his hands under his chin.
This opportunity is perfect for getting access to the flower. He can even use it as a bargaining chip in the truce. Giving Haymel access to trade and travel might allow us access to Farella Isle in return.
My father doesn’t speak, but I know that’s exactly what his mind is on. But I have to agree with Devona on this one. He would be walking into an ambush.
“Marcel,” he calls to my brother, whose gaze is caught in the silver swirls of the black wooden table. He wears clothes similar to our father—a cream-colored coat embroidered with gold to match the crowns on their heads. My father’s, of course, is bigger and carries stones far more precious than anything in the room. “What would you do? Make peace with our enemies in the west or continue the division to ensure protection?”
He’s testing him. Always has. Deean and I would get a few political lessons here and there but never to the extent Marcel has received from him. As future king, he is to know all things about our way of life, and I wonder just how much my father has shared with him about this upcoming expedition.
Marcel clears his throat and pulls his eyes away from the table. “I cherish and miss our grandfather dearly, but the war between our kingdoms started with him and Queen Cayleen’s father. Not even she had anything to do with it. Maybe it’s time to show our enemies redemption.” He struggles to find a word.
“Redemption?” Kinnry grumbles, clearly against the extended truce. “Surely that will be seen as a weakness on our end.”
Marcel only smiles.
Looking back at my father, I can’t tell if he agrees or not. While redemption is a route someone like me would take, it doesn’t feel right coming from Marcel. I know my brother, and letting things go is not something that comes easily to him.
