Her pace slowed the closer she got to the ballroom, and her palms began to sweat. The mask inside her cloak pocket seemed to increase in weight, like a heavy stone pulling her down.
She should go back, or she might end up swinging in the courtyard by a length of rope, like so many of her father’s loyal followers who’d overstepped their boundaries.
She slowed until she was barely moving. One more corner before the guards standing on either side of the ballroom doors would spot her, and she would have no choice but to go through with this stupid plan. This was her last chance to turn around.
She deliberated, wringing her hands in front of her.
And then she heard voices; one of the two belonged to her father. Avalon raised her chin and walked forward.
The king and the general were moving so swiftly, they nearly slammed into her as they rounded the corner. They stopped, assessed her. And then her father had the nerve to look irritated with her—as ifshehad tried sendinghimaway without so much as an explanation.
Avalon’s voice was barely a croak. “Father.”
He eyed her up like he would an unwanted cat curling around his ankles. “I told you to stay in your rooms.”
She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling and tried her best to ignore the watchful eye of the general as she spoke. “Hadrian has informed me that we are to leave this morning. Will you be joining us?” She already knew the answer, but she was testing him. Measuring his expression, the tone he would use when responding.
“The captain so kindly told me you snuck out last night,” the king said. “I left you here while I had business to attend to, and it has again been proven that you cannot be trusted.”
Avalon opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, his tone sharp. “You shouldn’t have to be watched like a child, Avalon. You’re eighteen, for the gods’ sakes. Not even Hadrian should be burdened with your inane behavior.” There was that word again:burden.
When Avalon spoke, she tried to control her tone. “You’re acting as though I’ve committed a crime. Am I not allowed to have a look around—”
“If you cannot learn to sit still while I attend to my men, then perhaps you aren’t fit to be princess.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, his eyes flashing to the bracelet she wore. The iron band had belonged to her mother—the only gift her father had ever given her. “Your mother was very much the same. Pity where she ended up.” Avalon flinched like he’d slapped her. Buried in the cold ground—that was where her mother had ended up.
The king and the general stepped around her, though the latter’s nostrils flared, as if he scented something on her.
“This is not open for debate,” the king said. “You are going back to Hilsian.” Before he and the general rounded the corner at the end of the hall, her father added over his shoulder, “I will not be pleased should you cause my men any more problems than you have already.”
For a while she stood there in the empty corridor, her arms wrapped around herself.
And continued to stand there as the clocks in the House began chiming.
~
Nocturne studied the paintings in the Great Hall as the sun began to rise. Today marked her third sleepless night. At least one good thing came from the lack of rest: She didn’t have to endure the gods-awful nightmares. With a sigh, she turned to face the hall.
The long room, with its glass tables, ice sculptures, and crystal chandeliers, was entirely empty—exactly how she liked it.
No matter how much she despised being here, she had to admit the interior of the House was stunning. Built from glass, pale stone, and ice, the castle was kept warm by magic. The glass floors were frosted, covered in parts by rugs of soft wool. Some of the walls were solid ice, while others were made of glass so thick, a person didn’t have a prayer of seeing through. The colors—lavender, robin’s egg blue, or blood red—were muted, and the chandeliers and crystal pillars placed throughout the labyrinth of corridors lit the way. Even the fireplaces were crafted from bricks of snow, but despite how hot the fires grew, they never melted.
Nocturne faced the line of paintings again, studying each as the minutes ticked by. Ten years ago, this castle had been home to the Sylvanas. And ten years ago, the king had marched an army of six thousand men into the North, claiming this realm and forcing the people here to surrender.
Ten years ago, someone should have stood up. Should’ve lopped off the king’s head before he saw it coming. If someone—justoneperson—had stood their ground, Nocturne’s family would still be alive.
Tears blurred her vision. One slipped down her cheek, warming her icy skin.
The general seemed to appear out of nowhere. One minute, Nocturne was alone, dashing away her tears. And the next, he was beside her, his arm brushing hers. Despite how startled she was, she managed to keep her body relaxed, though she died a thousand deaths when a squeak of alarm escaped her lips. She was an idiot for letting her guard down! It would be a miracle if he didn’t scold her for her lack of caution. Or for the tears she’d let slip.
Beneath her white cloak, her body was tense, her blood suddenly too warm in her veins. She stared at a chipped corner of a painting as she concentrated on regulating her breathing. A part of her dared to wonder if there was more to this man than what he allowed people to see, but the other part knew it couldn’t be true. He was the general of the northern army, and only monsters were at the top of the food chain here in Elderyn.
It took a long moment before he spoke, but when he did, his words came out soft—in a tone he seemed to reserve strictly for her. “I wouldn’t worry about what I said yesterday. You’ll get your Skin soon enough.” If this was his way of apologizing, it didn’t cut it. Not after what he’d said about her village, and the awful memories he’d dredged up from the blackest corner of her mind.
Nocturne crossed her arms. “I’d rather I didn’t get it at all.”
That she hadn’t claimed her Skin was a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other soldiers; they knew everything about each other, and Zenaide made no secret of Nocturne’s shortcomings. But she was in no hurry to give the general and the king what they wanted. In fact, she had plans to thwart the magic in her blood from awakening for as long as possible. Forever, if she could.
Nocturne could feel the general’s eyes on her face. It made her wish she had pulled the hood of her cloak up before he arrived. Now, she had nothing to hide behind; the most she could do was simply stare at the dust-covered painting in front of her and pretend he wasn’t there.
