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I wonder that, if we had another child, Daein would step back a little and let me be more involved with the rearing. Less governesses and less nursemaids. More of me, the mother. No swordship, no training, no battles or bloodthirst. Just normalcy. One child for him, one for me.
Of course it wouldn’t be like that. The dokkalf blood (and litalf blood that I carry within me) would darken the child over time—and it would turn out a monster, like Ensley has done.
But for those first few years …
It might be nice.
It’s something to think about, I tell myself.
11
EMBER
With the door ajar, and the atrium silent except the faint footsteps of quiet slaves going about their business, I can hear the murmurs from inside the room snaking out through the gap.
I shouldn’t, but I strain to listen.
The voices are hums, as though the two princes speak on the furthest end of the room beyond the door. My ears sharpen to pick up any words shared between them, but the tones sound somewhat casual, as though nothing important is being spoken about.
It goes on like that for a few moments, maybe minutes that tick by me as I stand against the wall, my stomach writhing more and more, my skin heating against the flimsy black dress I wear. I ache to wipe away the beads of sweat I feel gathering at my hairline. It would be improper to sweat so much when I am being introduced to my new master. But with the sharp focus of the guards on me, I fear that any movements might trigger them to attack.
Silly, I know. Ridiculous, even.
I arrived under the guardianship of Prince Daein. And so, the guards would not touch me unless granted permission to. Yet, I do not forget what is around me. Dark fae. Brutal monstrous beasts.
And so I dare not move, not even when the voices beyond the door become clearer, like the morning fog on glass starting to ease away to the warmth of the rising sun, and I can start to make out some words the princes share.
It’s still difficult to tell exactly what they are saying. Though, I do recognise Prince Daein’s voice, and its dismissal of whatever Prince Elden says—something about April and the iilra and the litalf royals.
My eyes crease, as though that will somehow help me hear them better. The urge to inch closer to the door has me bolting my feet to the ground to stop myself from doing anything stupid.
I listen, hard.
Yes. April—the iilra, apparently, are concerned about her relations with the litalf royals. I understand that. She is quite close with Princess Skye and her brat of a daughter chases Prince Affay. Their personal relationships extend beyond the diplomatic ones that the dark fae royals seek.
For all of Prince Elden’s brutality and notorious reputation, he speaks reason to his disinterested brother.
Elden, I hear, challenges his brother, “You overstayed your assignment by a whole month.”
“She enjoys it there,” is Daein’s blank response, no emotion or fight in his tone. He cares little about what his brother is insinuating. “It makes for an easier life with her when we return home—for a time. And so I tolerate it for the sake of my marriage and evate. Something you might come to understand in due time.”
I hear the confused silence pass between them before Elden breaks it—
“I have no intentions to marry a litalf princess.”
Daein simply hums in answer. Then, he summons me with a click of the fingers and calling out of a simple command, “Come.”
I swallow hard before I push from the wall. Looking down at my dress, I see the wrinkles from the lengthy carriage ride marring it. Smoothing it out as best as I can, I finally take the moment to swat away the sweat-beads on my forehead, then pinch my cheeks rosy.
That’s all the time I can afford. Never wise to keep dark fae waiting, especially royal ones at that.
The creak of the door irks me as I slide through the gap, keeping my gaze tucked down. I watch the legs of chairs and tables as I manoeuvre my way around the furniture, feeling my way towards the black breeches ahead. I recognise the silver boots to be Prince Daein’s.
I stand by his side, hands behind my back, chin down along with my gaze.
I am silent.
Ready to be inspected and observed.
