Page 37
“It’s the one night the nobles can’t pull rank when they misbehave,” Rhea said, a sharp spark in her eye. She set her glass down, her fingers twitching as a subtle hum of magic flickered over her skin. “Speaking of misbehavior... watch this.”
A soft, green ripple of light passed over her face. In a quick flash of minor glamour, her sharp features shifted. Her braid dissolved into a dark copper, her skin paled to match my complexion, and her posture stiffened.
“Oh, look at me,” Rhea said, imitating my tight, guarded expression, her voice dropping into a sharp tone that made Dax burst out laughing. “I am Princess Tauriel. I read ancient books in the dark and suffer dramatically while two massive males fight over who gets to stand closest to me.”
“That is a completely inaccurate impression,” I said, though I couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching.
“It’s entirely accurate,” Dax laughed. He drained his cup, snapping his fingers as a golden glamour swept over his rugged frame. His short hair lengthened into shoulder-length golden locks, his features smoothing into a smug expression. He leaned back against the stone pillar, perfectly capturing my brother’s easy royal posture. “Please, little sister, your terrible manners are ruining the ambiance of my festival. Guard! Bring me a larger goblet and someone to entertain me.”
Soren let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he set his cup down. A subtle hum of magic stirred around his hands. “If we’re creating a mockery, neither of you has the right level of arrogance.”
Soren closed his eyes. A refined silver glamour rippled across his frame with practiced ease. His sandy hair lightened into Caspian’s thick, golden-tinted locks. His warm brown eyes shifted into cold, icy shards of glacial blue. He even recreated the tiny, jagged white scar hidden right beneath Caspian’s jawline, the illusion so detailed it caught my breath.
Soren folded his broad arms over his chest, dropping his voice into a low, gravelly rasp.
“You are completely impossible, Trouble,” Soren growled, deadpan, locking his blue eyes onto mine. “Absolute, total trouble. If you look at that floor map for another second, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here myself. Now fix your left shoulder before I lose my temper.”
Dax and Rhea lost it, their laughter echoing off the high stone arches.
“A remarkable impression, Captain.”
A voice like grinding ice cut cleanly through the room.
The temperature in the library plunged instantly, the light of the minor glamours dying out in mid-air. Caspian stood at the edge of the candlelight. He didn’t yell, but the heavy weight of his presence killed the laughter immediately.
Soren didn’t panic. He let the glamour fade with an easy smile, his own features returning as he leaned back. “Relax, Cas. You used to have a better sense of humor when we were younger.”
Caspian stepped fully into the light, his jaw tight. “The outer guard is rotating, the solstice is tomorrow, and the four of you are sitting in the dark playing with party tricks.”
“We used to spend half our nights doing this exact same thing in the lower orchards of Ilasari,” Soren reminded him smoothly. “Before your father sent you off for training, you were the one who taught me how to hold the jawline on a high glamour.”
I froze, my hand stopping halfway to my silver goblet. My focus sharpened instantly, reading the body language between them. I noticed the sudden, guarded stillness that came over Caspian’s face.
“What do you mean, Soren?” I asked, my voice dropping. “High glamours and provincial secrets are restricted to royal households and high-born lines.”
Soren turned to me, his brow furrowing as he caught the confusion in my eyes. He looked back at Caspian, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.
“You didn’t know, Tauriel?” Soren asked softly, the humor leaving his tone.
“Don’t,” Caspian said. The single word was flat and final.
Soren looked between us, then continued anyway. “Caspian isn’t just an officer, Tauriel. He’s the trueborn son of the Lord of Ilasari. He’s the heir to the western province.”
The words landed heavily. Another secret kept in the dark. Another massive detail hidden from me while I was kept on the outer edges of this court. I turned my glare straight to Caspian, my knuckles white against the table.
“Why the hell didn’t you mention that?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “You’ve been lecturing me about court politics for weeks, and you failed to mention you hold a provincial seat?”
Caspian met my glare with an unbothered tilt of his head, his blue eyes holding mine in the quiet library.
“It wasn’t important,” he said flatly.
But it was. If he held a provincial seat, that meant he carried a bloodline gift. What on earth was House Ilasari’s gift?
“Wait, but your family name is Nyxaris… not Ilasari…”
“Nyxaris is my mother’s family name,” he said, his voice dropping into a cold cadence. “The king gave it to me as a permanent reminder of my place—at least, until I inherit my father’s seat.”
Forsworn son. Forsworn for what?
