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Confusion barely flickered over Alie’s face; she gave Lore a subtle nod, responding, “Oh, thank you, the cramps are so terrible. A cup of Brigitte’s tea would be just the thing, if you happen to have some with you.”
“Always.” Lore felt like a particularly untalented mummer putting on a morality play at a market festival, but another quick glance over her shoulder said the inelegant ploy had done its job. A look of faint distaste bent the bloodcoat’s mouth, and when she and Alie moved back to the stairs, he didn’t follow quite as close behind.
“Gods,” Alie said under her breath. “Anyone who doesn’t bleed acts like it’s catching.” She gave Lore an unreadable look. “Bastian’s orders?”
“Minutes ago, apparently.”
“Hmm.” If Alie had any insight, she didn’t offer it.
The bloodcoat followed them back up the first flight of stairs, down the hallway to Alie’s door—rather than potted ferns, like Bastian’s, Alie’s door was instead bordered with a climbing pothos vine, growing riotously in the light through the window across the hall.
“Won’t be a moment.” Lore followed Alie inside and shut the door behind her. They both paused, staring at the handle to see if it would turn. It didn’t; apparently, the bloodcoat was content to wait outside while they discussed the matter of monthly bleeding.
Alie’s apartments were much smaller than Bastian’s, on par with the rooms Lore and Gabe had stayed in while she pretended to be Eldelore Remaut, though much more finely decorated and maintained. The door opened on a small sitting room with a white marble fireplace and a whole wall of windows looking out on the northern Citadel green. A propped-open door at the back of the room showed a sliver of plush, unmade bed, and an open archway led to a small study, housing a velvet-upholstered chair and a desk scattered with books and letters.
But Lore didn’t have much chance to study the apartment. Alie whirled to her. “What,” she said, clipped and hard, “in all the myriad hells are you doing, Lore?”
Lore’s mouth opened, closed again. She hadn’t been prepared to be interrogated. But Alie was looking at her almost like an enemy, her copper-brown cheeks flushed and her eyes sparking, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
One near-white brow rose over Alie’s eye, her gaze going pointedly to the ring on Lore’s finger.
Ah, Lore thought again. So Bastian had done this without speaking to anyone first. One more important decision he’d undertaken completely on his own.
She let out a shaky breath and twisted the diamond into her palm, like she could hide it. “That’s the thing,” she said. “I don’t really know.”
Alie sighed, her shoulders slumping, arms loosening. “Well, that makes two of us.” She crossed to her couch; Lore followed, the both of them sitting down in a whump of chiffon and silk. “Did he ask you about it? Before he did it, I mean?”
“No.” Lore barked a weak laugh. “I had no idea. We’ve never talked about anything like that before.”
But was that true, really? Bastian had said over and over how he would keep her safe. Keep her close. In his mind, maybe this had been a natural progression.
Alie was looking at her like she had three heads. “And you just went along with it? Even though you’d never discussed marriage to an Arceneaux King? That’s not something to take lightly.”
“What exactly was I supposed to do, Alie? Just say thanks but no thanks in the middle of a royal ball, with the fucking Kirytheans watching? They’re reporting everything back to Jax—that’s the entire reason Bastian invited them. Word of the Sainted King’s deathwitch turning down his marriage proposal isn’t going to make us seem like paragons of stability.”
Another deep sigh from Alie. “You’re right.” She rubbed at her forehead. “Malcolm and I were completely blindsided, but we assumed he’d at least spoken to you. Did he tell you why?”
They all knew this wasn’t just because he cared for her. It stung, a little. Lore shrugged. “To keep me safe, he said. To show the Kirytheans that I’m a permanent fixture, that I’m not going anywhere.”
To see who I chose. But she kept that part to herself.
“Seems more like he put a target on your back,” Alie muttered.
“Thus the guard, I think.”
“Still. I don’t understand…” Alie trailed off before finishing, but it wasn’t a statement that needed an end. Neither of them really understood. It was becoming the common thread when it came to Bastian’s actions. And what could they do about it? He was the King.
“Something is wrong,” Lore said finally, quietly. She didn’t realize she was gripping her hands to fists until she felt the ring digging into the meat of her palm; she rotated it back around, slow and deliberate, and stared at it as she spoke. “Inviting the Kirytheans, proposing to me, channeling so much magic. He’s being irrational.”
Alie’s lips pressed flat. “Probably just the stress of becoming King, though Bastian and rationality have never shared close quarters, especially when it comes to things he wants.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“How well do you know him, Lore?” Alie turned to face her, chin lifted and expression stoic. “I know you have this… this magic connection, but the fact is that you’ve only known Bastian for a few months. You aren’t exactly the best person to be making judgments on what’s normal for him or not. This isn’t outside the realm of what we expected, when Bastian became King. He’s always put more stock in his own opinion than anyone else’s.”
Lore stared at her, wanting to defend Bastian but unable to completely disregard the sentiment. If she was selfish, so was Bastian. Both of them had rejected what Anton and August wanted that night. Both of them had told the greater good to go hang. “Then what are we supposed to do about it?”
Alie stood, crossed to the teapot on her marble hearth. She stuck a poker with a gilded handle in the fire, stirred up the embers, hung the teapot over the first flickers of the fire. It was too hot for such a thing; she fanned herself with her hand, billowing the white curls of her hair. “You,” she said finally, “don’t need to do anything.”
