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The servant led us through an antechamber lined with portraits of various elemental kings and queens. Some I recognized, others had faded from my memory in favor of fighting maneuvers. The next boasted an exquisite stained-glass window depicting the elemental powers—water, ice, wind, fire, and weather.
I was torn between the impulse to roll my eyes at the grandeur and just staring outright at the beauty. I’d seen so little of the palace, I realized uncomfortably—given that I was its queen.
I glanced to Arran, silent and scowling at my side. He wore as many weapons as I imagined he did into battle. Not that I was much better, my knives in their scabbards a comforting weight on my hips. But at least I was decked out in jewels and silk. Arran looked more likely to kill our host than talk to her.
“You could smile,” I said quietly.
“I said I would accompany you. I didn’t say I’d play nice.”
“Well, one of us has to.”
“Go ahead, Princess. I’d pay good gold to see it.” He flashed his canines and my traitorous knees went weak.
Which, of course, meant that was the moment we rounded a corner and Roksana appeared. She stood in the middle of a richly adorned living room. The furniture was old but well maintained, clustered in little groups around tables to encourage conversation, the favorite currency of the elemental court. A tall wingback chair upholstered in gold velvet caught my eye. A lovely, luxurious thing I wanted to drop myself into with a goblet of wine.
It was very carefully set in a corner, as if it was just another piece of furniture. While Esa would have had it front and center, would have stood before it to imply her own power, Roksana was a thousand times subtler. She was grand and important. This trot through her suite was meant to convey that clearly. But as she lowered her head, she sent the other message as well—she was loyal.
“Your Majesty.” Roksana dropped into a curtsey, graceful despite her eight hundred years. “I did not anticipate the honor of your presence as well, Your Highness.”
Arran offered no excuse. Because why would he? He was the Brutal Prince, the Terrestrial Heir. Roksana was an ancient and wise member of my royal council, but she was still a rival. The smile she offered, the respectful inclination of her head—she knew it as well as he.
Fuck, I was already so, so over this whole endeavor.
I shrugged irreverently, pretending to ignore Arran. When in reality, every movement of his body spoke directly to mine.
“I suppose I shall have to get used to having him at my side,” I said casually, looking past Roksana’s shoulder to where a grand table awaited, already set for dinner and filled with covered dishes of food.
“Please, let us eat. I’ve invited you for dinner, not scheming,” Roksana said, motioning us through.
I did roll my eyes then.
Arran’s beast growled a warning.Guard your face.
Behave, or I’ll put you on a leash, my eyes shot back.
Roksana had a surprise of her own—Elora waited just beyond the table, hovering near the window holding a frost-chilled glass. I wondered if it was an intentional use of magic, to chill the wine, or an extension of Elora’s passionate nature.
I’d never seen an elemental with as little control of her emotions as Elora. I found it endearing, honestly. As much as I could, for someone who sat on my royal council and was a suspect in my brother’s murder.
I knew I ought to hate her. I did hate the others—Esa, Teo, Noros.
But Roksana and Elora… I wanted to trust them, even if I knew better.
I hoped this dinner would give me some direction, something more than a guess. The skepticism etched unapologetically in Arran’s face told me exactly whathethought.
“Good evening, Elora,” I said to her dark braids as she bowed.
Like Arran, she was a soldier, a commander of the small army kept by the elemental kingdom. But that was where the similarities ended.
I sat, then Arran, followed by Roksana and finally Elora.
Proprietybe damned. I was a half breath from issuing a royal decree banning all the ceremonial bullshit when the servant who’d shown us in stepped forward and started revealing the dishes beneath the silver covers.
Long, delicate noodles in creamy sauce, sprinkled with spring peas and thin, crispy slices of meat. Pomegranate and plum, swirled with buttery cheese and drizzled in honey beside toasty slices of baguette. Layered squash in an aromatic red sauce whose sharp acidity cut through the air.
My stomach gave a very un-queenlike growl of appreciation.
“I sent down to the kitchens and asked that they prepare all of your favorites,” Roksana said with a gracious smile.
