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She nodded. “The suitors will be here within a week. If the king has his way, my new husband and I will set off for the northern continent by the year’s end,” she said bitterly.
“If I hadmyway, you’d be the lead among my dancers, and that king would have no more say over your life than he does any of his subjects,” the mistress of the theater huffed. “Which suitors?”
“Kenter, Kostos, and Erduria.”
Her face blanched, but she forced a smile. “Well, come now. Surely there are worse ways to spend one’s time than in the company of a bunch of handsome royals. You may not want to marry any of them, but enjoy the north’s finest stock while you have the chance. Perhaps I’ll even steal one for myself.” She shook her head. “If only you’d been born a man. Even with royal blood, you’d have the choice of marrying, joining the council, or serving in the military. Although I can’t say I’d rather see you follow Prince Killian into the Tranquil Sea than marry an Erdurian.”
“Some fates are worse than death.”
“Yes, but I know you better than you think, my dear. Even in Erduria, you would find a way to carve out a place for yourself. You’d have them wrapped around your finger before they even realized what had happened.” A tender expression swept across the woman’s face, and she crossed the stage to clasp Riona’s hands. “I only had the pleasure of meeting your mother a few times, but even in those short encounters, she struck me as a remarkable woman. I see her strength in you. Even if the worst comes to pass, Erduria will not break you.”
“No, they will not,” Riona said, resolve hardening her voice. “Nor will I give them the opportunity to try.”
ChapterEight
The Liar
Walther was waiting at the southern port when Hyperion, Drystan, and Auberon arrived, the dawn tingeing the eastern sky a rosy pink. After exchanging warm greetings with the Emperor and Crown Prince, he led their small party toward the huge carrack that would carry them to Rivosa. Sailors and fisherman paused to gawk at the royals as they passed—and then they caught sight of the huge man at their fore, thenot-quite-rightnessof the spy sending them skittering on their way with a whispered prayer.
When they reached the gangplank, Hyperion turned to Auberon. “Now, remember, should anyone ask why you are accompanying Drystan to Innislee, you simply wish to attend the negotiations and make contacts in the Rivosi court. If you can, convince the king to promise his niece to Drystan. It will go a long way in securing peace and ending the war.”
“I know. I won’t disappoint you.”
“I have no doubt of that. Be safe, my son.” Hyperion clasped his shoulder with a warm smile, and then gestured for Drystan to follow him onto the ship to speak with the captain.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Walther turned to Auberon, a knowing grin on his lips. “Are you ready for the voyage? Think you can handle a week at sea?”
“Of course. I have the memory of last night’s victories to cheer me up when I’m feeling ill.” He smirked and patted the coin purse in his pocket. They’d challenged some strangers to a game of Seven Deadly Kings and played for hours, quickly drawing a crowd. They had played hand after hand, the purse of a hundred gold regents—a small fortune—passing back and forth among the players. Auberon had eventually won the pot, but by then, he’d already spent twice as much buying drinks for the tavern patrons.
“Cheater.”
“Sore loser.”
Walther rolled his eyes, then clapped a hand on Auberon’s back. “Good luck, my friend. I’ll see you in a few weeks with Prince Drystan and his blushing new bride in tow. Who knows, maybe while you’re gone, you’ll find whatever it is you’ve been searching for all this time.”
A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. He had always been careful not to speak of his discontent to anyone—even Walther—but last night, the thought of spending weeks in the court of his empire’s enemies had loosened his tongue more than was wise. “Maybe,” he replied, doubtful.
He climbed the gangplank, trying to focus on anything but the way the ship rocked beneath his feet. A bird diving into the waves to snatch a fish. A fisherman swearing loudly as he attempted to untangle a caught net. The double-headed eagle crest proudly emblazoned on the sails, one head wearing the Imperial Crown, the other holding a bundle of arrows in its beak. Even so, his stomach lurched as he crossed the deck. There was nothing he loathed more than sailing. Except perhaps mushrooms.
Hyperion bade farewell to the captain and returned to the dock, joining Walther by the water’s edge. Pride shone on his face as the crew finished loading the ship and preparing to set sail, masking whatever fear he felt at sending them into the heart of Rivosa. Once the last crate of supplies had been stowed and secured, the ship hands pulled the gangplank, spread the sails, and cast off.
* * *
Auberon stood at the railing, watching the coast of Erduria steadily grow smaller. The capital city sat nestled against the bay, the sparkling sands giving way to twisting cobblestone roads. The buildings were all made of the same pale stone, but every single one was decorated with bright splashes of paint, murals that sometimes spanned multiple buildings. Only the palace was a pristine, regal white. Auberon surveyed the scene, admiring the way the reds and oranges of dawn played across the palace’s gilded domes. The last time he saw this beautiful sight, he’d been fourteen years old, exhausted from his long journey from Kenter. Seasick and shaking, he had vowed that day that he would never set foot on a ship again. And yet, there he stood, not a decade later.
The things I do for my country…
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to find Drystan approaching from across the ship. The Crown Prince was a year and a half older than Auberon, with the same dark hair and lean build as the Emperor. They even shared the same quiet, powerful grace of a born ruler. Auberon, on the other hand… Well, his personality was the complete opposite of Drystan’s, but the differences in their appearances were subtle enough to be negligible: Auberon’s hair was more auburn than brown, and his eyes more blue than Drystan’s slate gray.
“Brooding again?” Drystan asked as he leaned against the railing. “Walther’s right. You seem to have developed a habit.”
“Just preparing for the Rivosi court,” Auberon responded with a roguish grin, unabashedly stealing Walther’s joke from the night before. “Youmay be competing for Lady Riona’s hand, but fortunately, I am not. So, while you’re off charming the king and council, I’ll be spending my time in the arms and beds of the loveliest ladies the kingdom has to offer.”
“You wish. Father would have your hide for abandoning the assignment he gave you.”
“I know, but a man can dream, can’t he?” He let out a mock long-suffering sigh. “I am far too dedicated to our country, which is why I will deny my roguish instincts and keep my hands to myself.”
“What a sacrifice you’re making.”
