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“I’m sorry, son.” He reached for me, as though an embrace now might heal years of absence and the knowledge of his sickening behavior.
I brushed him off and returned to my chamber.
“Look at you, at what you’ve become.” He followed. “This is not the way we conduct ourselves. We are creatures of light and hope. I hardly know you anymore, my son, my prince. I barely recognize the anger you harbor—”
My laugh startled him back a few steps. “It’s too late, Father. All of it, everything we do is too late. You killed Mother, with your wretched desires and selfishness. You let our court rot around you. You let the enemy in and all you care for is pennywort and what girl you can fuck next. Get out. I cannot bear the sight of you.”
“I have failed you, son.”
I waved away his pathetic attempts to garner forgiveness, waited for him to stagger out, and slammed the door behind him.
Finally alone, I fell against the closed door and blinked at the floor.
My father was the least of my concerns. Prince Razak had arrived, unannounced. In all likelihood, he’d come to witness how far we had fallen and to retrieve his disobedient spy. I knew one thing—Lark could not go back to that world. He did not belong among them. I’d free him, whatever the price. I had to… for all our sakes.
Tonight, Razak would see how Love wasn’t yet on its knees, despite his best efforts to put us there. We were not his pawns. “This night, everything changes.”
* * *
Flowers and paperstreamers decked the feasting hall. Bright blooms sprouted from enormous vases, ivy climbed marble columns, and sweet peas draped from glistening chandeliers. The guests too, lords and ladies wrapped in silk, were a riot of colors.
And Lark moved among them, startling in his black and white attire.
He’d painted half his face black, half white, and half his hair was painted white too, then plaited down his back. He wore one black and one white glove. The black tailed suit fit him perfectly, and the white shirt gleamed. He swept from guest to guest, dazzling them with card tricks or by pickpocketing their sparkling jewelry, only to pluck their rings from behind their ears or their bracelets from between their breasts, in the case of many women.
I tried not to stare, not to watch him, but in truth, he was too much of a delight to ignore, and on a normal night, I’d have been planning all the ways I’d have him in my bed later. But not this night. This night, we had a guest. The Prince of Pain.
Razak entered the feasting hall late in the evening. He wore black and purple, the colors of his court. He’d slicked back his short, black hair, leaving it ruffled on top. Small silver studs gleamed at his ears, and silver rings sparkled at his fingers. His eyes drank in the color we’d splashed around the dining tables—like a crow admiring shining things it might later steal—and his smile seemed to say he enjoyed it, but that smile was a thin lie. I knew because I’d been wearing the same smile for four years, since he and I had last met.
“Prince Arin,” he greeted, bowing and taking my hand for a kiss. “A pleasure.”
He took the seat beside mine, graceful and refined. He behaved just like the rest of us, but where a soul should reside behind his eyes, there was only darkness.
Four years felt like four days.
It had been four years since Razak’s last visit, during which he’d killed a man—a friend—in front of me. He’d drawn his blade across my last court jester’s throat and promised it was just the beginning. He’d thought me weak, he’d believed I’d let him spill the blood of my people in my palace and wouldn’t retaliate. His dagger, the same one I had up my sleeve now, he’d left as a gift. Nobody knew about the threat, and the promise. Only he and I.
A few weeks later, the entrancing entertainer Lark had arrived and woven his purple threads of deceit through my court… and my heart.
Four years ago, everything had changed. And this night, everything would change again.
Four years of preparation.
Four years, planning for revenge.
Four years of staring into a mirror and changing who stared back. Four years watching Lark run circles around us all, of learning to lie, and of waiting for Razak’s return.
“My dear Prince of Love.” Razak leaned closer, his shoulder almost against mine. He was older by a few years. We likely made a startling pair, him in his black and purple, and me in white and gold. “You seem a little… tense. Won’t you forgive my unannounced arrival? I do so hate the fanfare. It’s far easier just to walk in, without the parade.”
“We are a court of forgiveness.”
“And such a beautiful court, so… bright. You must be very proud.”
“Naturally.” I had been, once. But not for a long time.
“Lords, ladies, nobility…” The band ceased playing, the crowd’s dancing and twittering stopped, and my father rose from his seat to my right. He wore the golden, pearl-encrusted crown of Love, as was customary during another court’s visit. “Please join me in welcoming our esteemed guest, Prince Razak.”
Applause filled the hall, so like thunder that it was no wonder Razak smiled to hear it. I scanned the crowd for Lark, but his black and white attire wasn’t among the colorful meadow of guests. My heart fluttered. He’d be close by. He wasalwaysclose by. I hadn’t spoken with him since he’d fled my rooms. Not even the maid, Ellyn, could find him for me. But nothing had changed between us. He’d want to be here, and he had no choice.
