Page 69 of Fate of the Sun King

Could I forge the same alliance with The Woodlands intended by my grandparents?

I wonder who carries the title of their Primary and make a mental note to ask. Cedar and Elswyth have no heirs, so is it someone else?

A knock sounds at the door, and I walk over to find Tristan waiting on the other side. We haven’t had a chance to discuss our conversation with the king and queen last night, but I’m sure he must be harboring many of the same questions.

“How are you?” he asks as I invite him in.

He looks so handsome in an outfit similar to mine, brown leggings and a green tunic with a brown leather vest, his dark hair hanging shaggy around his pointed ears. Like me, he’s lost that gaunt edge of hunger, filling out into the man he was always meant to be.

“What did you think about everything they said last night?” he asks.

I sit across from where he’s taken a seat, sliding my hands under my thighs. “I want to believe what they said about not knowing where we’d gone. They seemed genuinely remorseful.”

Tristan nods. “I agree. They did, and I’d like to believe them too.”

“But?”

“But we’re right to always be on our guard. There’s so much at stake here, and we don’t really know who our allies are.”

I nod at that, conceding he’s right. I wish we lived in a world where we could trust the people around us. But maybe being of royal blood means that was never an option.

“What he said about supporting me,” I say. “That felt like something one just doesn’t say unless they really mean it.”

“You’re probably right. But still, we can’t afford to go blindly into any of this.”

“I know.”

“Have you given any more thought to what Elswyth said about not finding our parents’ bodies?” Tristan asks, peering at me through his thick, dark lashes. I can read everything on his face, but I can’t let him wander down that perilous train of thought.

“Tris, no. If Mother were alive, I wouldn’t be the Primary, right? They took them or buried them or did something else I can’t even bear to think about,” I say. “Don’t do this to yourself. They’re gone.”

His jaw tics, and his gaze flicks to the window before it turns to me. I see the shine in his eyes, and I know how much he wants this. He remembers them better than either Willow or I do, but entertaining this hope will only lead to disappointment and even more heartbreak. I learned to live with their deaths once, and I don’t think I can do it again.

“If they were alive, they would have come for us,” I say with certainty. “Nothing would have stopped them.”

“What if they couldn’t?”

I shake my head. “They would have found a way.”

Tristan’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a whoosh of air. “I just thought…”

“I know. Trust me, I thought it too. But it’s impossible.”

I’m not as confident as I’m pretending to be, because I also want it to be true, but I won’t let him do this to himself. We spent enough years conjuring up fantasies of vengeance and what our futures would be like with only Willow to keep us in check. Free from the walls of Nostraza, we have to focus on what’s in front of us. We can’t afford to lose ourselves inside daydreams that will only serve to distract us.

Tristan looks down at the floor and waits for a moment before sitting back up. He slaps his thighs and stands, trying to put on what I know is a brave face. “Then I guess we have a party to get to.”

Still, his expression remains tight, the lines around his mouth and eyes tense, but he turns away before I can say anything else.

I get up to follow him, and we head through the Fort, directed by various palace servants. There are low fae everywhere I look, some working in positions of service, but many are also dressed for the party. I spy a pair of delicate-looking nymphs wearing green velvet dresses with golden antlers sprouting from their heads.

We enter a massive hall graced by a curved wooden ceiling that rises high over our heads with gold ribs running across its length. The walls and the floor are all made of various shades of wood inlaid with green enamel carved into leaves. Above us, hundreds of tiny golden lights zip about the room, and it takes me a moment to realize they’re actually lightning bugs. They bounce around, racing past the guests before they zoom away. The sight is beyond captivating.

A long table bisecting the room is covered with food, including a giant chocolate fountain and several ice sculptures shaved into various animal shapes—a deer, a bear, and an owl.

The wine flows and guests circulate around the food before they settle at rows of tables arranged along the walls.

We pass through the crowd, marveling at everything. When my gaze meets Tristan’s, we both share a moment of disbelief. It’s so hard to comprehend that a few months ago, we were both living deep in the bowels of a hellhole, and now we’re here, surrounded by music and laughter.