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‘Queen Reyna has outdone herself,’ Jasira declared as they stepped inside.
‘Princess Jasira of Harenth,’ a herald announced. ‘And her honoured guest, Guardian Althea Zoltaire of Thezmarr.’
Thea tensed under the scrutiny that was immediately upon them, not failing to notice how the public acknowledgement of her title caused no flutter of pride in her chest. Once, she had dreamt of such a thing, and now, she felt nothing.
‘Come, Thea.’ Jasira pulled at her arm. ‘Let’s do a lap of the vendors.’
Thea startled. Lining the walls of the ballroom were countless stalls decorated with frost-kissed wreaths and snowflake ornaments. It was as though Queen Reyna had brought the very best of the midrealms’ markets indoors,offering the most premium wares in a vibrant tapestry within her halls.
‘It it normal to have merchants like this at a ball?’ Thea asked.
‘In Aveum it is. Queen Reyna usually invites the most exceptional vendors from all over the midrealms. She prides herself on offering her guests the best of everything – plus, it’s good for the kingdom. There are more than usual tonight, though. I think it’s because people believe the Moonfire Eclipse will bless their wares and bring good fortune.’
Thea’s brows knitted together. ‘There seems to be a lot riding on this eclipse…’
With a gentle touch to her arm, Jasira chided her quietly, ‘People find hope where they can.’
Thea’s cheeks burned, but Jasira didn’t let the point linger. Instead, she led them down the first row, where each stall offered a treasure trove of delights. Roasted chestnuts, miniature cakes with thick icing, spiced cider and toffee apples, exotic winter flowers preserved in glass domes, vibrant frosted jewels… Everything was artisan-made and beautifully presented, and the vendors themselves were draped in luxurious winter garments for the occasion, each trying to capture the princess’ attention.
The fanfare and beauty felt rotten to Thea. For beneath these opulent rooms was an ice cell full of children, and another containing the most noble of Thezmarr’s Warswords. The riches, the smiles, the decadence – it was all a farce, and Thea would see it ended.
Jasira’s arm tightened around hers and Thea followed her gaze across the room. What little food she’d eaten curdled in her gut as she saw who the princess was making eyes at.
‘He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?’ Jasira’s cheeks flushed as Sebastos Barlowe, apprentice to Vernich Warner, offered her a charming smile.
So, he recovered from Wilder’s blows after all… Pity.Though Thea noted with no small sense of satisfaction that the once-straight line of Seb’s nose was now permanently crooked, thanks to the punch she’d landed before the battle of Notos.
Thea struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Jasira, I can safely say that he’s a festering fucking prick of a —’
She cut herself off, face flaming at the coarse language that had flown from her mouth in the presence of —
‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I wasn’t…’
But Jasira was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Is hereally?’
Thea shuddered, recalling the moments where Seb’s existence had threatened her own and that of her friends, where his cruelty and malice had gone beyond reason. She thought of how he’d mistreated Malik and old embers of rage instantly flared to life anew.
‘If you catapulted him beyond the Veil, he still wouldn’t be far enough away.’
Jasira tilted her head. ‘You two… You have a history?’
Thea tore her eyes away from the bastard and realised what the princess was asking. ‘Furies, no, not like that. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole unless it was to beat him senseless with it.’ The words flew out of Thea’s mouth before she could stop them. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
Thankfully, the princess simply laughed. ‘Don’t be. It’s good to know not to trust a pretty face.’
Thea bit back another nasty remark about Seb being anything but pretty. He was as much a monster as the wraiths that cursed the midrealms, in her eyes. She could feel his gaze on them still, boring holes in them, likely already scheming about how he could turn the princess against her.
But Jasira’s attention on him had been fleeting. She seemed to have a particular stall in mind, and she bypassed several eager tradesfolk and led Thea to the farthest corner of the ballroom.
‘Ah, I was hoping he’d be here!’ she said, tugging Thea towards her intended stall.
Thea’s brow furrowed. She recognised that man.
‘Marise!’ Princess Jasira waved.
It was the wine merchant from Harenth to whom Wilder had once introduced Thea.
Marise, who was surrounded by a small crowd of people with several bottles of wine open in front of him, beamed at the princess. ‘Your Highness! What a sight for sore eyes you are. Everyone, move! You sorry lot of drunks. Make way for the princess.’
