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“He’s not making a mockery of the Order,” I realized aloud. “He’s making a mockery of the Crown.”
Gerarda studied me with crossed brows. My neck tensed as her gaze trailed down my body and back to my face. “Careful, Keera,” she warned coolly. “Your drinking may be clouding your judgment more than you realize.”
“My drinking is not an issue.” I rubbed my temple, rolling my eyes under the cover of my hand.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Her voice was gentle. My brows stitched together. Gerarda was anything but gentle. “But the initiate I trained with would’ve never been shocked by what I said. She would’ve been the first to figure it out.” She walked down the hall leaving me wanting nothing more than a drink.
I moved swiftly across the castle, taking the servant passageways between the royal wing on the west side and the Arsenal quarters on the east to avoid unpleasant encounters. The few servants I crossed paths with simply avoided my gaze and moved out of the way. They knew better than to address a member of the king’s Arsenal, and those who didn’t often found themselves without a tongue.
My chambers were on the side of the castle closest to the sea that bordered Koratha. From my balcony one could just make out the edges of an identical castle in miniature perched on an island off the coast. The Order. I had spent my childhood staring out of its windows, wondering what my life would be like as a Shade in Elverath. Now, whenever I found myself at the palace, I was forced to stare back at my past. No wonder I needed to drink.
I had just climbed the three flights of stairs when he appeared at my side, pretending to cough as if I didn’t know he was there. Prince Damien had somehow crossed the castle quicker than I did.
Two women were standing at his side, ogling him, and giggling behind their silk fans. I didn’t recognize either of them, but that wasn’t unusual. Damien had a reputation for interchanging his women regularly. One had tightly coiled hair that floated above her ears. To anyone else, she appeared Mortal, perhaps a newcomer from the northern Mortal realms, but with my heightened senses I noticed the slightest pinch at the crest of her ear. She was part Elvish.
I looked away from her ear and met her gaze behind the fan. Her eyes were wide and the hand fanning her face quivered slightly. I could hear her heartbeat race. For her to be walking and laughing as she was meant that the prince did not know her secret. I would not be the one to let him know she was a Halfling.
“Did I forget something earlier, Your Highness?” I asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the brief exchange between me and his escort.
His mouth lifted at one side before he signaled for the women to leave us. I watched them walk down the hall, both looking back at the prince. I couldn’t help but notice their dresses, which were identical apart from color. They had appeared typical from the front. Full skirts and sleeves, leaving an acceptable amount of bust for a lady at court, but their backs were bare, completely open from the curve of their shoulders to the base of their back. It was beautiful but I also knew it was intentional.
“Lovely new fashion, isn’t it?” Damien said, raising a thick brow at me. “I expect all the women will be wearing them this season.”
“Then they will look even more beautiful than usual, sire,” I answered coolly, unsure of where this conversation was going. He wouldn’t forget what I witnessed in the throne room. Damien had all the king’s ruthlessness and none of his tact.
Damien lifted his arm and lightly traced a finger from my shoulders down my back. His touch was a knife of pure ice, slicing my skin once again. “I would love to see you in one.” His breath burned my ear.
I inched out of his grasp. “It would be inappropriate for the Blade to wear a dress, Your Highness. I am not expected to participate in the festivities of court.”
“No, but I could have you wear one for me in private.” His smirk had transformed into an evil grin. I felt my face flush at the suggestion, wondering if this was when he would cross that final line. He had spent decades threatening me with it.
I didn’t move but I met his gaze head-on. There was no warmth in his eyes. The black rim around them seemed to thicken with his grin. He liked playing his wicked, little games.
“Perhaps when you return from Cereliath I’ll have one waiting for you,” he whispered, so close to my ear I could feel the brush of his lips. It sent a cold shiver down my spine. I reached for my dagger on instinct, but the prince had already turned toward his ladies.
I strode toward my chambers with my fingers still wrapped around the hilt of my dagger. I was usually able to ignore Damien’s taunts, but lately it had become more difficult. Thankfully, the prince spent most of his time gallivanting across the kingdom from one lord or lady to another. A ceaseless trail of parties and women. He only came after me when he was home and bored.
My chambers looked the same as ever. A large four-poster bed sat in the middle of the bedroom bookended by two windows that faced the gardens below. The other wall was made entirely of glass, a window to the rolling waves along the beach. It magnified the view, so the water seemed to roll into the room. Koratha Palace was the only building in the kingdom with such features, thanks to the Light Fae who built it when their people ruled these lands. Some said the glass was imbued with magic; others believed it was a technology the Fae had developed. If that was true, the technology had been lost with their extinction however many centuries before.
The king had no interest in funding innovation. Instead, he ruled from the throne he built himself and forced those in his kingdom to farm and mine what was left of the magic. He traded with all the Mortal realms. The continents the humans had come from had no magic of their own, and they paid handsomely for just a taste of what Elverath had left.
The Light Fae had left a world of beauty behind, but that would not be the case for the king. If he ever died, if he was ever killed, his legacy would be one of death and destruction. Not that it mattered—the king believed he would live forever. At least, he said as much when in front of an audience. He claimed immortality like that of the Fae, but they needn’t dye their hair to hide the gray.
My bags were already sitting at the foot of my bed and my weapons were splayed across the dresser waiting to be polished. Gwyn must have been called away. She was the only chambermaid I allowed in my rooms, let alone touch my blades. I unsheathed the dagger from my thigh and unbuckled the holster. I placed the dagger gently beside the other weapons. The deep crimson of the blade stood out against the silver of all the others.
I got undressed, lazily throwing my clothes onto the bench at the end of my bed and walked into the bath. I turned the gold faucet to fill the large oval basin and sprinkled some essence of birch into the water. The room filled with the thick scent of wood and damp earth, the only thing that ever made me feel at home.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the looking glass that hung above the vanity. My dark brown hair was spilling from the braid I kept it in. My face was flecked with mud, the dark hue almost looked like freckles against my light brown skin. My eyes were still a striking silver—the color of blades and death—but all I noticed was the redness around them. Maybe Gerarda had been right. My endless nights of drinking were finally starting to show.
I hadn’t always been a drinker. When I first graduated from the Order, I took my duty and my oath seriously. I roamed through cities and villages searching for secrets in whispered conversations. I traipsed across the kingdom on horseback, on foot, by sail. Whatever was needed to get the job done. All without touching a drop of ale or wine.
Eventually it got harder, the killing and the scheming. The broken promises.
Most Shades were dead in ten years, killed by some enemy of the Crown. The ones who survived would last twenty more if they were lucky, before their Mortal blood made them slow and weak.
But I wasn’t like my sisters in the Order. For whatever reason, my Elvish blood ran stronger than theirs. My ears were long and pointed, unlike most Halflings, who had something between Mortal and Elf. I stood tall among the Mortals at court, even among the Halflings. As a child, I wished I could say that I got my eyes from my father or my hair from my mother, but I was a foundling. No parents and no memories of what kind of life I had lived before.
I had long ago accepted that I would never know my true lineage. The only reason I had been taken into the Order at all, the only proof I had of my Mortal lineage, was my blood. Its amber color was the sign of Halflings. The mixed breeds of Elves and men.
