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Rhys’s features suffused to an outraged shade of red. Scarlet came to mind.
“Prove it,” he demanded.
“Disprove it,” I volleyed.
No means existed to verify this. The Seasons relied on physical similarities and the divine acknowledgment of a monarch. To that, Mother chimed in and vouched for Nicu’s parentage, now that she’d just become his sovereign.
That aside, Poet’s actions proved he’d sired Nicu, as did their striking green irises. In fact, it boggled me that the Crown hadn’t suspected as much.
“All that they arepertains to a fool’s mind and body,” Rhys fumed.
“Their body is their blood. Their blood is their family,” I translated. “In and of itself, that’s an irrefutable fact. Show me how it doesn’t apply to families.”
“That’s not what the Decree says!”
“But that’s how it reads.”
“She’s right,” Fatima admitted after a moment’s deliberation.
The monarchs looked dazed, chagrined to have missed this. It seemed even the most powerful could be foolish.
“We’ll need to reword the amendment,” Basil muttered. “We must accomplish that today. We can’t have the relatives of fools swapped across the Seasons. This isn’t about them.”
Precisely why I’d had the Royals include that citation in my negotiation with Summer. They would make whatever changes they needed to the Decree, but the signed and dated trade document between us would still apply to Poet.
A princess should wait to be excused by her predecessors.
As the Royals turned to stare at me, I curtsied. “Your Majesties.”
Before Rhys thought of burning it, I grabbed the scroll and strutted away in a circle of silver. As I did, my straight face lifted into a smirk.
37
Briar
Whispers invaded my sleep. I flopped over and yelped as three faces poked between the draperies of my canopy. Vale, Posy, and Cadence.
The latter female idled the furthest away, her evergreen green hair knitted in a lazy updo that nonetheless managed to look refined.
Vale sang, “Wakey, wakey.”
“Your Highness,” Posy finished.
Morning rays dragged through the room. Stunned, I hauled myself upright as the ladies swished aside the bed curtains, dropped onto the mattress, and banded around me. They wore airy dressing gowns in varying patterns of flora and fauna.
Cautious, I held the duvet to my chest. According to the brushfire of news spreading through the lands, I had lost my sense and virtue. I’d become a sympathizer. I stole Poet from the masses. The court mightn’t worship him the same way anymore, but that didn’t mean it celebrated his impending departure from sinful Spring.
Who knew what these ladies thought of me now?
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“We have your clothes for today,” Posy said.
“The perfect roughspun,” Vale added, gesturing to a faded ensemble the color of kindling, along with a circlet of weeds.
Lark’s Night. The sunset carnival.
But no. The king and queen certainly wouldn’t let me attend that event.
