He finally looks at her, his attention moving over her with brief assessment before returning to the bowl. He lifts another spoonful, almost absently. “She hates this, you know,” he says.“It is her least favorite.” He takes the bite anyway, unhurried, as though the observation requires no further response.
“Would you like some? I can have the kitchen prepare more.”
Her nose wrinkles before she can stop it. “No, Your Highness.”
He does not seem to care. He sets the spoon down and claps once, the sound carrying sharply through the room, and at once the attendants move forward, bringing additional dresses, richer fabrics, more elaborate designs, each one laid out with care as though the act itself carries meaning.
Nox lets her attention move over them slowly. “What are these for? Have you found others?”
“There are others,” he says. “Their dresses have already been chosen.”
Interesting.
She tilts her head slightly. “Then these are for?”
“For her.”
The answer comes without hesitation. “She may yet still be alive,” he continues, his tone even in a way that suggests the thought has been turned over many times already. “And when she is found, she will require new garments in her new location.”
Nox arches a brow. “New location?”
“Yes,” he says, as though it is obvious. “She will need to be sequestered somewhere safe.”
Safe. Sequestered. The words move through her mind with quiet clarity. Morrath brushes the edge of the thought before she lets it go. Surely even he would not be so reckless.
Then again. She studies him a moment longer, the faintest smile touching her lips.If Asharin is alive, she will not be for long. You will never have her back, Majesty.
He exhales, impatient now. “Lady Brinette, I am sure you have much to do. Let us make this swift.”
At that exact moment a knock sounds at the door.
Sevrin’s irritation is immediate. “Come in.”
The attendant who enters does not carry himself well. There is tension in his shoulders, in the way he bows too quickly, as though he would rather be anywhere else.
“I have received the daily update, Majesty.”
Sevrin’s expression hardens. “Well?”
“There are no signs of her.”
The room does not have time to absorb the words. Sevrin moves in the same instant, his hand striking the bowl with enough force to send it across the room. It shatters against the far wall, porcelain breaking apart as the white contents spread across the stone in a slow wet smear.
The attendant flinches. The others freeze.
Nox lets her body react a fraction too late, her breath catching as she draws back slightly before recovering herself. Then she steps forward, her attention moving to the fabrics as though nothing of consequence has just happened. Her fingers brush a length of blue silk, lifting it just enough to catch the light.
“This would be perfect for an intimate dinner, Majesty,” she says smoothly.
He does not answer, and she does not wait. Nox inclines her head, turns, and leaves the chamber without another word.
The hallway feels cleaner. Larkin falls into step beside her as he always does, his presence immediate and unspoken.
“He is absolutely unhinged,” she says under her breath. “Unhinged and distracted, which makes this the best time to move. Besides, I cannot wear this bore’s skin much longer.” She exhales softly, irritation threading through it. “Do you know she does not have a single cruel thought? Not one. Not even a useful one. How did she ever manage to exist?”
Larkin lets out a quiet laugh. “I have created a list.”
“I am not surprised.”
