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The mirror taunts me.
Sharp and gleaming, it forces my gaze to the bruises beneath my eyes, the hollows in my cheeks, the thinness of my frame that grows with each passing second. I look even worse than usual, the white washing out my skin and highlighting my dark points. But it’s nothing makeup can’t fix.
I tap the glass with a sigh. To look powerful is to be powerful, and I look anything but. Not when the aisle creeps nearer and nearer, a contract signed in blood and empty, broken dreams.
Not this again. Mother grunts, and I feel it in my bones. Stop being dramatic.
The crown still sits on its cushion, slightly askew and far too heavy. Nonsense. I was born to bear its weight, to hold myself high as the king I am. Still, I can’t help but grimace as it slides on my head. This is who I am. This is who I was made for.
You are. Mother curls her claws. Stop whining about it.
“Your Majesty.” Samson steps into the light, hair far too slick and sickly for my taste. “The aisle awaits.”
I stare, cool. My embroidered cape swishes behind me, ten feet long and just as wide. “Did I invite you, cousin?”
He bites his lip, clearly holding back a sneer. “Lady Laurentia sent me.” The words are cold, detached. “The wait is growing long, Your Majesty.”
“Is that so.” I turn, sighing. “Apologies. I wanted to be sure I looked my best.”
If he catches the lie, it doesn’t show.
“You look stunning, Your Majesty.” Larentia curtsies, her butterflies opening and closing their wings as one. “Red and white suits you.”
I almost laugh. Instead, I smile. “Likewise.” My head tilts. “No snakes today?”
“I thought them too plain for such an occasion.” She chuckles, soft and lethal. “I wear them every day, after all.”
Around us, nobles take their seats, all Nortan and aching for blood I will be quick to provide. Quick to squash any resistance, leaving just enough fuel to keep court trapped in fear. The red of my suit burns brighter than ever. It reminds me of Mare’s blood.
If I didn’t know better, I’d drink to get through the day.
“Your Majesty.” The Lakeland judge bows, hair dark and fluid as siltwater. The rest of her nation sits outside the gates, due to filter in within a few minutes. “I was just about to pray.”
I have to fight back a sneer. “Hmm.” There’s no reason to provoke her. No reason to let my disdain show. But something in me is snapping. Something in me that doesn’t want to be here. “What do your gods do, exactly? If we can’t even see them.”
Her robes flutter in the breeze, and she sighs. “They created us. They curse us. They bless us with ability, and challenge us with the Guard.”
“Of course.” I don’t bother hiding my dismissal, the condescension dripping from my every inch. “Why would they ever be helpful.”
She draws back, startled. “Your Majesty.” Her words are strained, but still measured. “To provoke them is unwise.”
The To provoke us lies unspoken, but Mother hisses it anyway. I cock my head. “Well, in that case, I suppose I’ve done so all my life.”
Her lips purse. I’m reminded of Iris and her perfect poise, the mask I am determined to break. We haven’t spoken since the treaty, so keen I was to avoid her. She’s no Evangeline, but she’s not Mare either. And if I have to hear one more word about her gods, I’ll scream.
The judge turns away, finding her place at the altar. I’ll have to join her soon, the aisle closing in all around me, but for now, I stare at my glass.
Far away, I hear Mother calling my name
I see her before Iris.
A strange feat, given the princess’ train, the glaring white against black tile. She makes a radiant bride, all plucked brows and high cheekbones, gliding with a grace reserved for only the most talented silks. But Court-polished beauty has never been my type, not when I always know what lies beneath.
I try not to let my gaze wander, to make it plain who I wish was at my side. She makes a poor bridesmaid, I’m sure, and would make an even poorer bride, but strength and power, I’m learning, are all too useless to me. But they are all I have, and so I turn away, catching only a flicker of her brilliant red silk. It matches mine. It matches mine, yet we couldn’t be more different.
The hour slips by like sand through my fingers, my words monotonous, but passionate enough to fool any bystander. The Lakeland judge eyes me as she begins a prayer. I bite back a sneer in turn.
The clouds above threaten to pour down on us, House Nolle doing well to keep them at bay. Or perhaps it’s House Sielle, their storms unparalleled, our new army already proving to be well worth the cost.
What cost? Mother sneers. She was never going to be yours.
My final words pour out like ashes in a grave. “From this day until my last day, I pledge myself to you, Iris of House Cygnet, princess of the Lakelands.”
And then my lips brush hers, deader than a corpse, a final snip of thread from my ever-cursed nostalgia. In my mind, I reach for Mare.
She doesn’t reach for me.
I don’t see her eyes, but I feel them all the same, the Red Queen that never was and never will be. She loved me, once. Before I let us crumble to ash. Before I set fire to my own dreams so Mother could be happy.
I did it for you, she whispers. Crowns last. Lovers don’t.
Iris shows no expression as she pulls away, but I know Mare would’ve. Would’ve given me glimpse enough to hurt, a show of contempt for me and me alone. It’s an odd comfort, the pain she brings, like a bruising, bloody kiss. I close my eyes, the briefest of respites.
And then applause rings through the square.
I smile, boy-king that I am, raising my arms as if to toast to victory. The sky rumbles in turn, a strange challenge to our barrier, and my smile falters. No matter. It’s lost in the echo of footsteps, in the Sentinels closing in as Mare flinches. It makes sense. They may not be Arvens, but they’re guards all the same. Her eyes stay trained on the floor. Her fingers clench on Iris’ train.
The sound isn’t stopping.
I glance over my shoulder at Mare, at the lightning girl with storms brewing beneath her chains. They’re still there. They have to be. But something in me stirs at the idea of her freedom, at the thought of her unleashing what’s built up for half a year.
It scares me. But it thrills me too. Idiocy. It nearly jolts me out of the fact that Iris is on my arm, ever-steady, a curse I bear with a gentle smile.
But then Mare stops, tearing away from Iris like I’ve burned her. Her hands fly to her ears as she cowers for the first time in months. I raise a brow. What’s wrong? I almost whisper.
The sky answers soon enough.
Black clouds rumble through the square, unnaturally fast, ink blotting out what little sun there was. Sparks ripple through the canopy, white, green, and blue, strengthening to bolts as my blood runs cold.
It’s not Mare’s. It can’t be. But my heart pounds all the same. Someone is coming to save her. Someone is coming to take her from me.
My mind goes white, flames almost sparking at my fingertips. Train. We have to get to the train. Sentinels press around me, a strongarm tossing the nearest courtier several feet back. My composure fractures into a million sparkling pieces as I search for her. It would be so easy for someone to slit her throat in the chaos. For Evangeline to take her and call it an accident.
Good. Mother pounds through my skull again, vicious as only a mother can be. Rats are better stepped on than cherished.
My throat catches as the lightning intensifies, no doubt the work of another Newblood. Mare. They’re looking for Mare.
And I won’t let them take her.
“Mare!” The words leave my mouth beyond all sense, beyond all hope to keep my obsession under wraps. “Mare, get over here!”
She’s mine. Mine. My sentinels force me back, and I almost snarl, the heat of the air affecting all but me. Iris is the one who finally kicks me down.
The one who throws her hands to block the blue bolt.
Light floods the square as water arcs above us, a sizzle of lightning matched by the fiercest of shields. Iris doesn’t flinch, expressionless as she holds it steady. She just saved my life.
I still find it in me to hate her.
The water curls into a snake as it settles on her back, swirling as it grows with each passing second. I’ve never seen a nymph so powerful. Never seen a bolt so fierce. She glances over her shoulder. “Are you just going to stand there?”
I boil, hissing through my teeth. “Of course not.” My hands spark with flame again, sputtering and dying in the breeze. “Where’s the train?”
In the corner of my eye, Evangeline shouts, chaos growing as black figures move through the crowd. It’s hard to see through the flashes of light, but if I squint, I can catch a glimpse of red scarves. The Scarlet Guard.
Iris grabs my wrist, and I yank away, storming past her to the train not too far away. They won’t take her. They can’t. I have two armies, two nations, two dozen houses buckling beneath my heel.
Still, I almost fold when Thomas flashes before me, the choke of smoke and ash. It takes all I have not to fall to my knees. To beg her to stay as I did in the bath.
I say nothing. Nothing as we board the train, as we wait for the others to board, as it fills and fills and fills without her. Nothing as I hear news of Samos, defected and deadly, running through our forces and thinning them best they can. My teeth grind.
I lost her.
Every part of me twists inside out, my throat closing as Iris eyes me across the aisle. I don’t look at her, the queen I’ve caged myself to, the queen who is not Mare and Will Never Be Mare. No matter how much I ache for it. No matter how empty my hands feel, tightening around my wrist as they never could her hand.
No. It takes a second to realize what I’m doing. How my nails have started scratching, desperate for pain to mask the kind inside. Not in front of everyone.
Mother has always had more sense than I did. More sense than any schoolboy crush, this obsession that eats at my every crevice. It’s good that I lost her.
Good. Good. Good.
In my head, I scream into the night.
In my head, I dash a plate against a wall.
And the next morning, I actually do it.
The ceramic shatters into a million ivory silvers, coating the floor as I crush them beneath my heel. It’s dangerous, I know, but I find I don’t care, slamming another dish against the floor as I try my best not to shriek.
I pant. It’s a fitting tribute, if a maddening one. It won’t bring her back. Nothing can. But it brings some kind of deranged relief, more than even my scratching could offer. It almost drowns out Mother. But nothing truly does.
Stop this.
I hurl another plate against the wall. Shut up.
I should’ve grabbed her myself. Should’ve told her Arvens to back off before the bolt hit, dragged her into my circle no matter the protests. She’s too valuable , I’d say. Now shut up and do your job.
The door creaks, and I snarl, almost tossing a plate its direction. But I don’t. Not here. Not now. I straighten, all business. “I’m not taking visitors.”
“I gathered.” Iris’ voice is steady as ever, moreso as heat rises in my wake. “It’s been hours, husband. Our kingdom needs you.”
Do they? I almost whisper. Or do you want to expose me at my lowest?
I turn around, glass falling from my open palm. It cracks, the sound ringing through the room, my barren chambers of gray solitude. My eyes bore into hers, a soft, slow whisper. “Get out of my sight.”
Her eyes widen, ever slight, and I almost laugh. She’s finally learning to fear me. I step closer. “And never enter my chambers again.”
She jerks away, composure cracked at last, biting her lip as she edges towards the door. “Duly noted.” Good. “Stay away from mine.”
“Of course.” I wave a hand. “We’re not friends, wife.” I flash my teeth. “Do your best to remember that.”
Iris shakes her head, one foot out the door as my sentinels bow before her. My lip curls. Lakelander. Cygnet. Nymph. An enemy then, an enemy now. I close my eyes with a jagged sigh.
And I break the last plate with my bare hands.