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But.
My throat constricted at the mere idea of standing in front of Agnivale’s court, addressing people who would no doubt hang on to every word just so they could criticize it minutes later. I imagined myself stuttering and stumbling, embarrassing not only myself but the Summerstream name, and agony gripped my chest.
“Mother…” I tried again, but one curt shake of her head cut off my protest.
“You are Zoei Highblade’s equal, Olympia. You will address her court this evening as the future Queen of Vetri. I will hear no complaints, no whining, and certainly no mithering. Get it done.”
She punctuated those words with a sharp turn of her heel and a lift of her dimpled chin. She left my side with an aura of discontent, and I was glad to see her go.
Wind cascaded from the mountains, tugging curls across my face and ash particles into my hair.
For a moment, I resisted the urge to turn to the banked pyre to stuff the pages of the speech between the layers of burnt debris.
But that would accomplish nothing more than stoking mother’s ire.
Instead, I glanced down at the boldly written scrawl just as sunlight cracked over the horizon, illuminating the pages in yellow and gold. The cluster of papers were so hefty that the makeshift spine cracked in the silence of dawn.
My fingers rasped against the indents of the heavy-handed writing, following the etched dips and loops in the paper.
I extend my support to the newly appointed King of Agnivale, someone I am proud to call a friend…
The words stared back at me, calling me a liar in many irrefutable ways.
Zoei and I were not friends. Our connection had been severed two decades ago, along with the treaties that held peace in our fragile realm. I couldnotclaim to know her, even for the sake of a long-awaited public appearance.
I had tidied away the memories, locked up the moments in an icy cage, wound tight with a padlock. It was my fervent hope that returning to Highblade Palace wouldn’t hack away at the shards of ice, paring down the protective layer to reveal the little locked box of childhood follies and regret.
With a swift shake of my head, I silenced the voice that insisted I knew Zoei Highblade in ways that truly mattered—her flaws, her hopes, her dreams, and the way her heart beat wildly against my own after a game of catch.
Those were the memories of a child long forgotten—an imprudent range of emotions that would serve no purpose.
Get it done.
Mother’s words echoed in my head, and I felt my shoulders droop again.
Duties beckoned—ledgers to be checked and council members to meet before the journey to Agnivale commenced. Yet I found myself staring at the rising sun, wishing for its rays to cleanse me of trepidation and disquiet.
Chapter Two
Olympia
“Try it with more gusto this time.”
Gusto, gusto, gusto.
I was beginning to hate the word, even when it was voiced by my betrothed in the privacy of my study. The old velvet armchair protested under my weight as I sat up from my window-side sprawl.
Cryssa glanced over at me from her perch on the corner of the sprawling teak desk. Between her fingers was a report on the latest trade agreement with Nestia. Her thumb was flat across the spine, holding it open for her perusal.
She had been laboring over this for weeks, detailing each word to ensure that the contract was ironclad.
Fixing the price of Nestian steel was one of the council’s most important tasks—the prices were only reviewed once per decade to account for the impact of inflation—and our blacksmiths relied on the treaty to craft milling equipment and other necessary parts for farmers to process the produce exports that Vetri was known for.
To Cryssa, this was more than just a task that upheld the status quo for our people. It was a matter of pride. At thirty-eight, she was the youngest member ever elected to the council, and she had a lot to prove in order to hush up the squawking of the older, more seasoned associates.
Most of them questioned her every move, insinuating that she was unworthy of the role because of her sire’s influence. Although Cryssa was the first-born omega of our current Minister of Agriculture, she had never once turned to him for undue support. I believed her last name could only get her so far. In other respects, she was very much self-made—and she had the attitude to prove it.
Cryssa’s pink-tinted spectacles had slid down while she scoured the report, and as she waited for me to restart the speechwith gusto, she pushed them back up with a scrunch of her nose.
