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Rain blusters against the woody walls of the tower as a summer storm drenches the capital and turns my robes dark gray. I receive a decent number of patrons despite the weather. A few seem optimistic about Lady Raya, but most are as doom-and-gloom as the weather.
Some ask how we’ll know the prophecy is broken, and I tell them, “You’ll know it when you see it,” which isn’t completely drivel. You can’t call something a miracle if you can explain it before it happens.
I want answers, too. I’m receiving more omens, but I’m building a puzzle with no picture.
The rain clears early enough for a brilliant sunset, burnt orange darkening into deep blue as night engulfs the sky. Clock tower tolls grow in number.
Raya hasn’t shown up.
I eat my supper by the hearth, a hearty meal of chicken and roasted vegetables, and light incense to mask the smell of it. Garlic is the only thing more stubborn than I am.
I wait some more, flicking off pillars of ash from the incense stubs. I could check for Raya at the palace—I heard she’s staying there until the wedding—but I don’t know if she’s moved in yet.
Finally, just after the clock tower tolls seven times, a knock.
I leap to the door with a huff and open it. “Lady Raya, you arela—not Raya. Hi.”
“Hi,” says Cyrus. He’s almost flawless in composure, except for a hitch in his breath when I’d spoken, giving him away.
His loose shirt barely covers a jagged new scar on his collarbone. Glimmering edges of glamour crisscross his face; he’d been scratched badly by the beast. I can imagine why he chose to hide the scars—because they’re ugly and shocking, or they show that he was foolish, or they show that he was brave. But I wonder exactly which reason it was.
We stare at each other. We both sound witless, but at least I have an excuse: What do I say to a prince who kissed me, then told me to get the hell out of his kingdom, then protected me from a beast, before getting engaged overnight?
“What do you want?” I ask, clipped in tone. An implicit offer to go back to normalcy. To pretend like our kiss never happened.
“I’ve…thought long about the future.” Cyrus clears his throat. Tweaks the gold buttons on his cuff. “My future and Auveny’s future. I’m not optimistic that Raya is the one in the prophecy, but a bride is better than none. I’d like to try to fall in love with her.”
“Good.” I ignore a new feeling in my heart that feels like something is burrowing straight through it. It might be jealousy, but that’d be stupid. “Good that you finally listened to me.”
Hedoesn’t look happy about that. He’s looks like he’s holding something back. His gaze lowers to the gash along my jawline, and he frowns. Reaching up, his fingertips skim the stitches. I should be numb to this routine—his softnessis one of convenience—but a treacherous part of me pangs. I flinch away.
“You…remain a distraction.” Cyrus sighs, retracting his hand. He makes it sound like it’smyfault. “I won’t make you leave Auveny, but you should leave the capital after you’ve finished your work here. We’ll negotiate for the return of the Seer from Verdant.”
So nothing’s changed. Well, my answer to that hasn’t changed either. “No.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Camilla: If you stay here, we’ll always be at odds.”
“No.”
“People get moved around all the time.” His voice is placating, a dribble of honey over venom that sloughs over my ears. “Fidare was booted off to the borderlands when he was seventeen, just because Father disliked the favor he was currying. He loves governing the Tenth Dominion now. It isn’t as dire as you think. I could handle your accommodations. Set you up in a furnished manor—”
“Alone, in some strange land. This isn’t agift.” Fury curdles in the back of my throat: he’s determined to talk about me like I’m a business transaction. “I’m not leaving for feelingsyou’reashamed of.”
His eyes flutter shut. “For a Seer, you don’t see the outcomes very clearly. What will happen when others find out there’s something more between us?”
“Just because you used tongue doesn’t make it commitment, Princey. It wasonce.”
“I still have no place for a Seer who is an opportunistfirst.”
“Like that ever mattered.” I surge past the doorway, stabbing a finger into his chest; Cyrus sucks in a breath. It was just like this, how we kissed that night. “I’ve stayed out of your way, haven’t I? I’ve been pretending—like you have—that the night of the ball never happened, letting you plan your little wedding—”
He grabs my wrist, and I am close enough to see the dull blue tint bruising his eyes. “And how long will that last? We fall into old habits.”
I scoff, but the truth of it silences me. Already, my heart is pounding, my dream of him rising to mind. We can negotiate all we like, but the fact is, Cyrus is staring at my mouth like he wants to claim it again, and the part of me that falls asleep thinking of him wants him to.
“You can’t make me—just because—” Only when the stuttered words tumble out of my lips do I realize they sound like a plead.“This isn’t fair.”
“I’m sorry.”
