“I wish I could go home,” she says, her eyes finding the star once more. Her voice comes out a whisper, but the words echo in her ears long after they leave her lips. The brandy finally takes hold, making her mind blurry and finally—finally—sleepy. More than sleepy, she feels drained, like every bit of energy, every thought, every feeling has been sapped from her. She closes the book, even that small movement a struggle, and leaves it on the chaise before climbing back into bed and falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Sophronia wears her new violet riding habit to meet Leopold in the stables. It’s a gorgeous creation of sumptuous velvet with shiny gold buttons, yet she can’t help but hear her mother’s voice in her mind, telling her she looks like a grape. But when Leopold greets her with a broad grin and a quick kiss on the lips and tells her she looks beautiful, her mother’s voice gets a little bit quieter. Despite herself, a flutter goes through her and she has to give herself a mental shake.
“How was your hunting trip?” she asks, forcing herself to think about the village Leopold razed to build his new lodge. According to reports from her mother’s spies, the villagers were turned out of their homes without even the reimbursement necessary to relocate.
“Excellent, though I was sorry to abandon you so soon after our wedding,” he says. “I thought you might like to explore the grounds, since you’ve been cooped up in the castle so long.”
“You thought right,” Sophronia says. “I don’t think I ever realized how exhausting teas and luncheons could be.”
“You were with my mother and her friends,” he points out. “I think exhausting might be an understatement.”
Sophronia laughs. The groom retrieves a stool for Sophronia to use to mount the horse, but Leopold waves him away, moving to stand behind her.
“Here, allow me,” he murmurs in her ear, bracing his hands on her waist and lifting her up and into the saddle.
Sophronia feels herself flush—a trait her mother has long lamented her inability to control. As Leopold gets situated on his own horse, Sophronia’s thoughts linger on her mother and the message she sent. She isn’t surprised that her mother managed to rope the great Sir Diapollio into her plots, but she wonders if it has anything to do with Beatriz. Perhaps the singer will have word of her sister to share as well as whatever ominous gift he carries from the empress.
“Are you excited to see Sir Diapollio tonight?” she asks Leopold as they begin to walk their horses down the path, side by side.
He shrugs, giving her a bashful sideways glance. “His appeal is lost on me. He visits court to perform a few times a year, and I know most people—most women, I suppose—are enamored with him, but I don’t understand why. He’s a fine singer, I’ll admit, but…” He trails off.
“I’ve heard he’s quite handsome,” Sophronia says, and Leopold laughs.
“Careful—there are those who would consider such faint praise a grievous insult to his beauty,” he tells her. “Truth be told, I invite him for my mother. Hearing him sing in Cellarian brings her great comfort.”
Sophronia nods, wondering if this is part of her mother’s gift—another weapon to use to undermine Eugenia. A weak one, if so. Everyone loves Sir Diapollio, Eugenia isn’t alone in that. “Your mother has been very kind to me,” Sophronia tells Leopold. “I know that she had a…difficult time when she arrived. She’s determined that my experience will be better.”
“Has it been?”
She gives a dramatic sigh. “Well, the palace is beautiful, and everyone I’ve met has been pleasant enough to me, and I’m told I have a handsome husband around here somewhere, though I must say I haven’t seen much of him.”
Leopold laughs. “Fair enough,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “I might have to leave again soon. There have been some…skirmishes on the Cellarian border—nothing major, nothing sanctioned by me or my uncle Cesare. Our truce holds officially, but…”
“But the people on the border need reminding?” Sophronia guesses, her thoughts turning. The skirmishes are news to her, but they are hardly surprising. It’s possible her mother even had a hand in them, though just as likely they came about organically. Tensions between Cellaria and Temarin haven’t disappeared since the war’s end, and especially near the border they tend to run a little higher. At least once a year, her mother’s spies sent word that Temarinians had crossed into Cellaria to illegally sell stardust, or that Cellarians had crossed into Temarin to try to murder a local empyrea.
Leopold nods. “Nothing that would constitute breaking the truce with my uncle, but we’ll parade the bulk of our armies along the border—call it a celebration of Temarinian strength, a reminder to our people that they have my protection.”
“But it won’t just be a reminder to Temarin,” Sophronia says, understanding. “It’ll serve to remind the Cellarians that you aren’t to be trifled with.”
“That we aren’t to be trifled with,” Leopold corrects with a crooked smile. “King Cesare got lucky in the Celestian War. He took my father by surprise and used the advantage he had by attacking by sea. We were unprepared—an embarrassing oversight, and my father spent years building up our naval forces to ensure that it wouldn’t happen again. Should Cesare decide to test his luck, he’ll be disappointed. But I’d rather it didn’t come to that. I’d like to protect the alliance my parents created through me, not watch my uncle ruin it.”
Sophronia knows about the Celestian War, how King Cesare sought to rid not just Cellaria but the entire continent of the empyreas and stardust he viewed as abominations, how he believed it to be his stars-blessed mission as king. She also knows how Leopold’s father, King Carlisle, eventually agreed to a truce, arranged by Sophronia’s father, that included Carlisle’s marriage to Eugenia, Cesare’s sister.
“They say Cesare’s mad,” Sophronia says. “Are you certain relying on his sense is the best course of action?”
Leopold shrugs. “My mother says it’s our only course of action, apart from another war, which I don’t want. She offered to go to Cellaria to reason with her brother, but given her personal connection, it didn’t seem a wise idea.” He winces. “It’s a bit of a mess, really. Like trying to play chess with a toddler and just hoping he doesn’t overturn the board in a tantrum. I’m sure my father would have known what to do, but I haven’t the slightest idea.”
Sophronia bites her lip. “Your father died suddenly, Leo. You became the youngest king in Temarin’s history.” She pauses, realizing he’s given her the perfect opportunity. “Perhaps I could help,” she adds. “I’ve never even set foot in Cellaria, and I’ve been studying my whole life to be queen of Temarin—I’m sure your mother is more than ready to enjoy a life of leisure as dowager queen.”