“This is the king’s chamber.” I’ve only seen it briefly, from the terrace that one night, and my focus was not on the furnishings. My eyes climb over the Baroque-esque sooty-black décor—everything from the walls to the carpet to the heavy drapery. Much like my room, the molding and trim are gilded.
I assumed Zander was walking me back to my suite, but we continued past my door to the next one. When he led me through the sitting room and directly into his bedroom, my mind started spinning various scenarios and thoughts that I should not be entertaining near him.
I’m hyperaware of the enormous king bed centered against the wall.
Zander disappears into another room, and a moment later, my ears catch the sound of bathwater running.
“You don’t have a Corrin to do that for you?”
“I have servants to ensure my things are washed and tidied and the lantern at the door is always lit,” he calls out. “But I prefer to do things on my own.”
“So do I.”
“I’ve noticed.”
On impulse, I reach out to test the softness of his mattress. Feathers like mine, surely. “But Corrin refuses to show me how to turn my bath on, and I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s annoying.”
“That’s because she still thinks you might use it as a weapon if you ever get your cuffs off.”
What could I do without these cuffs on? If I knew what to do with affinities to four elements and two different kinds of magic—caster and elven—hiding somewhere within me? “Seriously?”
“She’s not very trusting, if you haven’t yet noticed.”
“I feel like I’m breaking through with her, though.” Just like maybe I’m breaking through to Zander too.
The door to his dressing room sits open. I wander in and marvel at the countless jackets and other livery, illuminated beneath a candelabra overhead. It smells like him in here—a woodsy scent that appeals to me. Against the back wall is his suit of armor. I stop in front of it to study it closer. It’s what he was wearing the night I met him, when he nearly killed me where I stood. I drag my finger along a deep gouge in the breastplate. I hadn’t noticed it before.
“A battle-ax, during a war at the Great Rift, the last time your people tried to invade.” Zander is suddenly behind me.
I tense but force myself to relax. “I figured you’d want something like that repaired.”
“I should. It weakens my armor. But it also reminds me that I am not invincible.”
I watch him curiously as he picks through a stack of shirts, pulling out a white one. His golden-brown hair is damp from sweat and curls at the nape of his neck. He could pass for any other man who just finished a workout and is dressing for a day at the office.
Except he’s not human, and nothing about our situation is average.
“Did you enjoy your time in the market?” he asks casually, shifting to a section of pants, seemingly unfazed that I’m openly staring at him.
“I did. Yes.” I turn my attention back toward his jackets. “What was that about, with Atticus?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, feigning ignorance.
“You two are angry at each other about something.”
“A difference of opinion on whose army it is, the king’s or Atticus’s.” He scowls at a frayed seam on the pants he pulled out. “There have been more whispers of plans for attack in the city this week, given the flood of outsiders coming for the fair. Unsubstantiated and without cohesion, but there are enough that we cannot ignore them. Atticus took it upon himself to order more soldiers to camp outside our city walls.”
“Aren’t more soldiers good in case these rumors are true?”
He sighs heavily. “I suppose.”
“So, the issue is not the soldiers, it’s that Atticus made the call without asking you. And you decided to ridicule him publicly for it, even though you make it sound like the army is his to maneuver. I heard it just last night. Something about his swollen ego.”
“Are you always so blunt with your opinions?”
“You mean honest? I know that’s a foreign concept to people around here.” I smooth my fingers over the black-and-gold embroidered jacket. The hand-stitched detail is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The thread gleams as if spun with actual gold, and maybe it is. “This is nice. Have you ever worn it?”
He hangs his chosen outfit on a hook by the door. “Yes. To my parents’ funeral and for my coronation. It was made for our wedding. And as far as my brother is concerned, is there a particular reason you’re defending him?” His jaw tenses.
“Besides common decency?”
He yanks his soiled shirt over his head and tosses it into a basket in the corner, giving me an eyeful of curved, hard muscle. “Did you know that upon interrogating one of the lady maids, I found out that you two grew very acquainted with each other during his escort from the rift? Many late-night games of draughts. Some so intense, he was seen sneaking out of your tent just before dawn, and there was telltale blood found in your sheets. I do not recall any of my games of draughts ending like that.”
I peel my eyes away from his body to absorb what he’s insinuating. “Are you saying they slept together? That I”—I point at my body, because it’s this body I’ve inhabited that has done so many unspeakable things—“slept with your brother?” I feel the blood draining from my face. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I doubt that reaction would swell his ego.” Zander’s shoulders sink. “I apologize. This was my anger speaking. You shouldn’t have found out this way. Or at all.”
“No, I should have. Sooner, probably.” I glare at him. “If we were together, he’s likely the one who would want you dead.” A thought strikes me. “If you died, who would rule?”
“Atticus,” he admits. “And I might have believed that theory, if his tributary was not also dosed with this deliquesced merth intended for him. And one of your men shot him with a deadly arrow. But no, I do not believe Atticus conspired against me, especially if it meant slaughtering his entire family. He may want to be king, but he would not want to wear a crown drenched in blood. He has too much honor and too much love for Islor.” His attention skates over my lavender dress. “He simply couldn’t resist taking something that was mine.”
Princess Romeria’s virginity, apparently. I don’t know how much honor there is in that.
“Does he know that you know?”
“I don’t believe so, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
He disappears into the bathing room, leaving me with my hands pressed against my mouth to keep my scream from escaping. This place and its goddamn web of lies and secrets! And after today, I am quickly being pulled into its treacherous weave.
The running water cuts off, and I listen to the clank of a buckle, the rustling of boots being kicked off and pants being shed, and a moment later, a body sliding into water.
Despite the swirl of shock that grips me, a heady tension stirs in my lower belly at the mental image those sounds conjure.
“I don’t have much time. Abarrane is likely cursing me. What did you need to tell me in private, Romeria?”