Finally we’d like to thank our family for putting up with us, particularly our partners, Neill and Nick. Dinner’s on us.
Katharine and Elizabeth Corr
Katharine and Elizabeth Corr are sisters, originally from Essex, now living in Surrey. When they both decided to write novels – on account of fictional people being much easier to deal with than real ones – it was obvious they should do it together. They can sometimes be found in one of their local coffee shops, arguing over which character to kill off next. Katharine and Elizabeth are authors of the spellbinding series The Witch’s Kiss.
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PROLOGUE
Winter has caged my kingdom in ice.
For the last month the snow has been relentless: an endless fall of frozen feathers, too thick to fly through. The glass-panelled octagon of the great hall creaks with the white weight of it. But this evening, at least temporarily, the clouds have dispersed, and beneath the cold gaze of the stars the inhabitants of the Silver Citadel are celebrating the midwinter feast of the Deep Dark, the first Solstice of my reign. Pine logs crackle in the fireplaces. The scented smoke mingles with the aroma of the delicacies heaped upon the tables. Roasted venison, still sizzling from the spit; winter roots tossed in spiced flour and fried in salted butter; sugar-iced plum cake and thirty or more other dishes. A thousand candles blaze in ornate crystal chandeliers in an attempt to dispel the darkness of this long, frostbitten night
Dressed in a cloth-of-gold gown, with a gold and diamond circlet set in my dark hair, I’m dancing with Aron, my cousin and co-ruler. My husband, at least in name. I’m surrounded by servants and courtiers, all of whom have sworn loyalty to me. Many of whom claim to love me. But in this glittering throng, my thoughts and feelings are focused entirely on one man. A man who has been ignoring me, and flirting with others for the last three hours.
With every laugh, with every look – Lucien Rookwood drives another dagger into my heart.
Aron takes advantage of a pause in the music to lean forward and whisper to me: ‘You look tired.’
‘I didn’t sleep well.’ It’s true. I have many reasons to lie awake, and I haven’t slept well for weeks. The violence of this winter is bringing sickness and fear of famine to my people. I’m tired of being cooped up by bad weather, unable to take to the sky. And I’m tired of the protectors and the nobles through whom I rule. Of their stubborn resistance to the reforms Aron and I want to introduce that would grant greater protection to our flightless population. Of their blind insistence that Siegfried and Tallis, the Oloryan half-siblings who nearly succeeded in seizing the throne, are no longer a threat, merely because they seem to have vanished from the kingdom. I cannot forget for a single day Tallis’s promise: that she and her brother would return to exact revenge upon Aron and me, and that the whole of Solanum would pay the price for our defiance …
I have many reasons to worry.
But tonight, at least, every other concern is consumed by my misery over Lucien.
My feet take me through the steps and turns of the minuet while I concentrate on not allowing myself to look at the man who was – so briefly – my lover. Three months have passed, but my heart fractures a little further whenever I think about the one night we spent together, about our last meeting. Whenever I silently murmur his name. Lucien left court straight after my coronation. He came back only a week ago, and that only because of the Solstice. Because I specifically invited him to the celebration. Insisted, in fact, that he should come.
‘Aderyn?’ Aron has raised one white-blond eyebrow; the dance has ended and he’s waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear.
He sighs. ‘I said, do you want to dance again, or rest?’
I become aware of the flightless musicians, bows poised above strings, waiting for me to decide whether I wish to continue. Of the dazzlingly clothed nobles observing me. ‘I’ll rest.’
‘As you wish.’ Aron kisses my hand as I leave the floor. He walks over to his sister, Odette, and leads her back into the dance. As the music resumes, I return to my seat on the dais and let my eyes stray towards Lucien. His dark hair – the same iridescent blue-black as the raven into which he can transform – is a little longer now; it curls against the edge of his collar. But otherwise he’s little altered. He’s still handsome and broad-shouldered. He’s even wearing the same sleeveless grey silk tunic he wore on the night we first arrived here – less than six months ago, though it seems like another lifetime. A life in which I was merely the Protector of the Dominion of Atratys, hoping to find answers about my mother’s murder, hoping to survive the intrigues of my uncle’s court. A life in which Lucien was merely my clerk.
But now … Now I am the Queen of Solanum. And Lucien seems more remote than ever.
Another dance begins. Aron is still with Odette, so I take a sip from the goblet of mulled wine a servant has placed at my elbow, grip my courage between my teeth and rise, making my way down the room to where Lucien is standing, chatting to his dance partner. Courtiers part and bow as I pass. The heavily armoured Dark Guards patrolling the edge of the room stand to attention, and household servants – now clad in the blue and silver of my house, Cygnus Atratys – drop their gaze. Yet Lucien does not appear to notice my approach. He is talking and laughing loudly, and doesn’t stop until the woman he is with bows and backs away.
‘Your Majesty.’ He ducks his head. His expression is calm, but his dark eyes are hard, glittering too brightly. ‘May the Creator grant you safe passage through the dark season.’
A well-worn expression. His first words to me since he told me to leave his room, after I revealed my marriage to Aron. They are appropriate to the time of year. Still, I’d hoped for something more, given what we had been to each other. I swallow my disappointment and force a smile.
‘I’m glad to see you back at court, Lord Lucien. Will you do me the honour of being my partner in the next dance?’
His face flushes – whether with surprise or vexation, I’m not sure – but he cannot refuse my request. I place my hand on the bare skin of the arm he has offered me, try to ignore the surge of desire in my belly as he leads me back to the centre of the hall.
While the orchestra tunes up and we wait for the other dancers to assemble I make conversation, asking about news from home – his estate of Hatchlands lies within Atratys – about the health of his mother, his father, his brother. About anyone I can think of who is connected to him, since I cannot ask the questions to which I actually want the answers: how he is, and whether he has forgiven me.
The brevity of his responses, the cool tone of his voice, tell me more than his words. Anger sparks inside me as we begin to dance. I want to shake him, to ask what choice he thinks I really had. To remind him that I married Aron to save the kingdom. To save Lucien himself. But I don’t. Instead, I focus on my steps, wishing that I hadn’t forced Lucien to come back to court.
Aron, I know, is watching us.
Finally the dance ends. I sweep away from Lucien before he has finished bowing, making for the full-length windows that lead out onto the terrace. I need some air – clean, cold air, not stuffy with woodsmoke and the scent of wax. But before I reach the windows the heavy doors at the far end of the great hall are flung open. There are cries coming from the entrance hall. The Dark Guards stationed at the edges of the room swarm towards the source of the commotion.