“Not if I can help it,” Tibe replied. “Sitting for paintings might be the most boring act in the kingdom.”
Coriane angled a glance at him. “A small price to pay, though. For a crown.”
“Well said, Lady Jacos, well said.” Robert laughed, tossing back his hair. “Step lightly around this one, my boy. Though it seems you’ve already forgotten your manners?”
“Of course, of course,” Tibe said, and waved his hand, gesturing for Coriane to come closer. “Uncle Robert, this is Coriane of House Jacos, daughter of Lord Harrus, Governor of Aderonack. And Coriane, this is Prince Robert of House Iral, Sworn Consort of His Royal Majesty, King Tiberias the Fifth.”
Her curtsy had improved in the past months, but not by much. Still, she attempted, only to have Robert pull her into an embrace. He smelled of lavender and—baked bread? “A pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. For once, Coriane did not feel as if she was being examined. There didn’t seem to be an unkind bone in Robert’s body, and he smiled warmly at her. “Come now, they should be starting momentarily.”
As Tibe did before, Robert took her arm, patting her hand like a doting grandfather.
“You must sit by me, of course.”
Something tightened in Coriane’s chest, an unfamiliar sensation. Was it . . . happiness? She thought so.
Grinning as widely as she could, she looked over her shoulder to see Tibe following, his eyes on hers, his smile both joyous and relieved.
The next day, Tibe left with his father to review troops at a fort in Delphie, leaving Coriane free to visit Sara. House Skonos had an opulent town house on the slopes of West Archeon, but they also enjoyed apartments in Whitefire Palace itself, should the royal family have need of a skilled skin healer at any moment. Sara met her at the gates unaccompanied, her smile perfect for the guards, but a warning to Coriane.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” she whispered as soon as they reached the gardens outside the Skonos chambers.
Sara drew them farther into the trees, until they were inches from an ivy-draped garden wall, with immense rosebushes on either side, obstructing them both from view. A thrum of panic went through Coriane. Has something happened? To Sara’s parents? Was Julian wrong—would Sara leave them for the war? Coriane selfishly hoped that was not the case. She loved Sara as well as Julian did, but was not so willing to see her go, even for her own aspirations. Already the thought filled her with dread, and she felt tears prick her eyes.
“Sara, are you—are you going to—?” she began, stammering, but Sara waved her off.
“Oh, Cori, this has nothing to do with me. Don’t you dare cry,” she added, forcing a small laugh while she hugged Coriane. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to upset you. I just didn’t want to be overheard.”
Relief flooded through Coriane. “Thank my colors,” she mumbled. “So what requires such secrecy? Is your grandmother asking you to lift her eyebrows again?”
“I certainly hope not.”
“Then what?”
“You met Prince Robert.”
Coriane scoffed. “And? This is court, everyone’s met Robert—”
“Everyone knows him, but they don’t have private audiences with the king’s paramour. In fact, he is not at all well liked.”
“Can’t imagine why. He’s probably the kindest person here.”
“Jealousy mostly, and a few of the more traditional houses think it’s wrong to elevate him so high. ‘Crowned prostitute’ is the term most used, I think.”
Coriane flushed, both with anger and embarrassment on Robert’s behalf. “Well, if it’s a scandal to meet him and like him, I don’t mind in the least. Neither did Jessamine, actually, she was quite excited when I explained—”
“Because Robert isn’t the scandal, Coriane.” Sara took her hands, and Coriane felt a bit of her friend’s ability seep into her skin. A cool touch that meant her paper cut from yesterday would be gone in a blink. “It’s you and the crown prince, your closeness. Everyone knows how tightly knit the royal family is, particularly where Robert is concerned. They value him and protect him above everything. If Tiberias wanted you two to meet then—”
Despite the pleasant sensation, Coriane dropped Sara’s hands. “We’re friends. That’s all this ever can be.” She forced a giggle that was quite unlike herself. “You can’t seriously think Tibe sees me as anything more, that he wants or even can want anything more from me?”
She expected her friend to laugh with her, to wave it all off as a joke. Instead, Sara had never looked so grave. “All signs point to yes, Coriane.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m not—he wouldn’t—and besides, there’s Queenstrial to think of. It must be soon, he’s of age, and no one would ever choose me.”
Again, Sara took Coriane’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I think he would.”
“Don’t say that to me,” Coriane whispered. She looked to the roses, but it was Tibe’s face she saw. It was familiar now, after months of friendship. She knew his nose, his lips, his jaw, his eyes most of all. They stirred something in her, a connection she did not know she could make with another person. She saw herself in them, her own pain, her own joy. We are the same, she thought. Searching for something to keep us anchored, both alone in a crowded room. “It’s impossible. And telling me this, giving me any kind of hope where he is concerned . . .” She sighed and bit her lip. “I don’t need that heartache along with everything else. He’s my friend, and I’m his. Nothing more.”
Sara was not one for fancies or daydreaming. She cared more for mending broken bones than broken hearts. So Coriane could not help but believe her when she spoke, even against her own misgivings.
“Friend or not, Tibe favors you. And for that alone, you must be careful. He’s just painted a target on your back, and every girl at court knows it.”
“Every girl at court hardly knows who I am, Sara.”
But still, she returned home vigilant.
And that night, she dreamed of knives in silk, cutting her apart.
There would be no Queenstrial.
Two months passed at the Hall of the Sun, and with every dawn the court waited for some announcement. Lords and ladies pestered the king, asking when his son would choose a bride from their daughters. He was not moved by anyone’s petition, meeting all with his beautiful, stoic eyes. Queen Anabel was quite the same, giving no indication as to when her son would undertake his most important duty. Only Prince Robert had the boldness to smile, knowing precisely what storm gathered on the horizon. The whispers rose as days passed. They wondered if Tiberias was like his father, preferring men to women—but even then, he was bound to choose a queen to bear him sons of his own. Others were more astute, picking up the trail of carefully laid bread crumbs Robert had left for them. They were meant to be gentle, helpful signposts. The prince has made his choice clear, and no arena will change his mind.
Coriane Jacos dined with Robert regularly, as well as Queen Anabel. Both were quick to praise the young girl, so much so that the gossips wondered if House Jacos was as weak as they appeared. “A trick?” they said. “A poor mask to hide a powerful face?” The cynics among them found other explanations. “She’s a singer, a manipulator. She looked into the prince’s eyes and made him love her. It would not be the first time someone broke our laws for a crown.”