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Riot can hear them because his armor is spelled.
He’s a Hunter.
Iclench and unclench my fists, trying to relax while Riot gives me an official tour. It takes great effort to pretend his presence isn’t a threat to my life and while I feel like I’m doing a terrible job Riot remains oblivious. We walk through the castle and he makes careful effort to point out all the places I’m not supposed to go.
The library.
The painting room.
Bash’s study.
The war room.
Each lady’s quarters.
All of which are down the hall from my room. As for the third floor, I couldn’t even look at the staircase without two guards mean-mugging me. They grip the hilt of their broadswords, silently begging me to brighten their day while following me with their eyes until Riot and I turn the corner.
The main floor isn’t nearly as exciting. It’s open to all the Crown’s guests and almost every room we pass buzzes with life. It shocks me how easily the noblemen have forgotten why they’re here. They act as if last night never happened, like they’ve been invited to celebrate the Culling and aren’t prisoners until the radicals responsible for the murders are found.
If they’re ever found. I still suspect the Crown is behind what happened. I just can’tfind a motive.
Why invite nobles from every corner of Arcane to witness your son choose his brides just to kill them?
Why allow girls, some from well-to-do families and others, not peasants but not of stature, to enter?
Why let me, a Cerise, someone Lady Vidya knew wasn’t invited, to be presented?
Nothing about last night adds up.
Sutherland’s shimmering black blazer catches my eye as Riot and I pass the sunroom. He holds a glass of wine, engrossed in animated conversation with a dark-haired woman who looks to be half his age. She giggles and touches his arm, welcoming his attention.
I’m tempted to walk over, just to see his reaction to my existence. I don’t know if Bash told my uncle I’m alive. I hope so. His blatant lack of mourning would sting, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if Sutherland felt relief. He never wanted me or the burden of caring for a Cerise. If I died, he could live his life freely, drowning his manor in debt and burning what’s left of our family’s legacy to the ground.
I can’t help but stare at them as Riot and I cross to the next section of the hall. Sutherland notices us and tips his glass in my direction. The acknowledgment is almost non-existent, but it’s something.
We pass the drawing room and the saloon, then a green drawing room, and another colorless space he calls the blue room. I’m not sure why the rooms are named that way. There isn’t a spec of blue or green to be seen. I asked why they were called that and Riot shrugged, “I don’t know. They just are.”
Beyond the green room is the chapel, which marks the end of the castle’s east wing, and finally the atrium. Out of every room we’ve passed, this one is my favorite. Thick glass walls enclose the area, creating a square within the castle’s U-shaped structure. Despite the winter chill, the atrium is warm, adorned with lush greenery and cozy blankets on strategically placed seats so observers can enjoy the comfortable ambiance.
A small red velvet settee near the stained glass window.
Two iron chairs and a coffee table under the bougainvillea-covered arch.
A permanently placed blanket with a basket of cushions under a large crab apple tree.
None of the flowers that fill the atrium are in season, and yet every plant is in bloom.
Bash and Andra sit on a metal bench, just big enough for two, near the third pond Riot and I pass. Unlike the water features in the atrium, this one has a small waterfall made from cascading rocks at one end and is surrounded by large, smooth stones and potted gardenias. If Bash wanted to whisk Andra away on a romantic escape, he’s succeeding. Andra leans close, twisting a pink carnation between her fingers, and they share a moment that makes me feel... off.
Not quite jealous but I don’t like the attention Bash gives her, which is stupid because I don’t care what the prince does. Bash is free to flirt and to do whatever he wants with the ladies. We’ve already established I won’t be his bride and, most importantly, I don’t care.
As if he can sense me, Bash’s blue eyes lift from the spell he’s casting on Andra and effortlessly find mine. His gaze flicks to his date and then to me again. Something that looks like an apology passes over his face, but I have no use for unspoken reparations. Andra notices the change in Bash’s demeanor and turns.
I don’t wait to see the daggers in her eyes, so I look up at Riot, who’s distracted himself with a bush of white roses, and ask, “Can we go outside?”
“No one is allowed out without a guard.”
“That’s what I have you for.”
