I wiped my cheeks with the back of a shaky hand and moved my gaze to my uncle, King Challen, ruler of Sevón, and his children, sixteen-year-old Prince Roth Charmaine and fourteen-year-old Princess Farrah Charmaine.
King Challen was a big man, one of the strongest I’d ever seen, with dark hair and green eyes. He and his family rarely traveled here, and I couldn’t blame them. How many times had my father made a play to take over their kingdom? Only recently had the two realms reached an accord.
The king evinced no emotion, but he kept his head down to show his respect.
The royal siblings did, too, their ability to stand still impressive. They’d brought a friend and bodyguard along with them. Sixteen-year-old Saxon Skylair, a winged avian prince who’d been exiled from the Avian Mountains for reasons unknown.
The moment my gaze landed on him, my damaged heart pounded a little too hard, a silky whisper drifting through my mind. Go to him. Take comfort.
Um...what? Take comfort from a boy? A stranger? Besides, I doubted I could be comforted by anyone. Though I was fascinated by him. I’d always been fascinated by the avian.
So little was known about them. The details found in history books were always contradictory; I never knew what was truth or fabrication.
This exiled prince had hair the color of jet, flawless brown skin, and eyes like a moonlit sky: deep, rich amber with pinpricks of black. Massive blue wings arched over his shoulders and flanked his sides, somehow both beautiful and menacing.
Once I’d asked Momma if I could touch an avian’s wings, and she’d turned bright red before escorting me to my bedroom to tell me that I absolutely could not, should not, ever, ever, ever ask to touch an avian’s wings. It was considered an “unwanted advance.” Whatever that meant. Momma had refused to explain.
Saxon’s image blurred. How I missed my mother. Because of Queen Charlotte, I’d known deep, abiding love. I wouldn’t trade our days together for anything, especially not a lessening of this pain. This pain said she’d lived a good life. This pain said she would be remembered.
This pain said I’d known life’s greatest gift—love.
Had Prince Saxon ever known that kind of love from his family?
I blinked and moved my attention to his mother and only sister—Queen Raven and Princess Tempest, who had come to pay their respects. They stood across from him, but they never looked his way or acknowledged his presence.
Why had they kicked him from his home as a child? Did they see him as my father saw me? Lacking? Or had he committed some kind of unforgivable crime?
How many times had my father complained about the avian and their tendency to address even the smallest offense with a severe punishment? Hurt an avian once, and they’d hurt you back—twice.
Over the years, I’d learned to be an excellent observer. I caught Prince Saxon casting a glance at his family, his expression flashing from impassive to longing to furious. Whatever had happened, he missed his loved ones, and my chest squeezed with sympathy.
My reaction to him did not go unnoticed. He must have sensed me. He dragged his gaze my way, and our eyes met. The fury faded, and he offered me a sad half smile. He was so beautiful. Like one of the statues has come to life.
Out of habit, I reached up to stroke the ring that hung around my neck. A gift from Momma, and my most cherished possession. The band was made of metal, with a rose etched into the center.
The prince’s smile slowly faded into a frown. He narrowed his eyes, staring where my fingers wove through the chain. Fury pulsed from him anew, but this time, it wasn’t softened with longing. He balled his fists.
Tremors rushed through me. My father planted his hands on my shoulders, bent down and hissed, “Be still or be gone.”
I flinched, and he released me from his too-tight grip.
As the minutes ticked by, I tried to avoid glancing at Prince Saxon, I really did. But I had to know if the avian was still glaring at me or not. I must have been mistaken.
Oh, no. No mistake. He was glaring. But, but...why? What had I done to deserve such animosity, today of all days?
An hour ago, we’d exchanged a grand total of ten words. He’d looked at me strangely, as if he knew me but couldn’t quite place me, and said, “May you always find gold.” A common greeting in Sevón.
I’d curtsied and replied with the Fleuridian equivalent, “May your roses forever bloom.”
Still he glared.
As the heat from the coffin intensified, warmth throbbed in my cheeks and my insides melted into a nice Ashleigh stew. My lungs protested strongly, and I hunched over to ease my breathing. The new position did no good, however. Panic sprouted, parts of me icing.
Don’t you dare pass out. Not here, not now. Inhale. Exhale.
Behind me, fingers snapped, and I knew my father had summoned a guard to carry me back to the palace. To my room. To my bed. Where I would be forced to while away the day...the months...the years alone, without the kindness and caring of my beautiful mother.
A sob bubbled out, and there was no stopping it. “Please, Father. Don’t make me leave—”
“Be quiet.” He squeezed my shoulders with more force. “You will return to the palace, and that’s that.”
Abandon my mother before the funeral ended? Hardly. I wanted to be here until the last flame was extinguished. The guard would have to drag me kicking and screaming—
The guard picked me up and marched away, my frail body clutched to his chest. He did it with no resistance from me. I was too weak to fight.
Fighting fresh tears, I looked back. My gaze collided with Prince Saxon’s. Still he glared, watching me from beneath those narrowed lids, his long, black lashes nearly fused together.
As soon as the guard cleared the garden, he muttered, “Why must I be the one to care for the Glass Princess? I’m not lazy or behind in my training. I’m good at my job. One of the best.”
Humiliation singed me. Who would dare to speak to my father in such a way, or use a nickname that implied he was so weak he would shatter at any moment? “I’m able to walk,” I gritted out. “Put me down. I’ll finish the journey on my own.”
He ignored me, because I was beneath his notice. Nothing but a helpless doll. A worthless trinket without a voice.
I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Except I cared and it mattered. But one day I would ensure the world saw value in me. I would be strong, a queen of battle, my feats the stuff of legend. I would be shielded by golden armor, and I would wield the most powerful weapons ever created, because I would design every piece myself.
Over the years, I’d watched more than my mother’s gardening from my window. I’d witnessed countless military training sessions, awed by the ferocious warriors and their gear. I couldn’t imagine anyone trying to harm a soldier, much less naysay one. Everyone listened when they spoke, even the king. Everyone noticed their presence and respected their opinions. They had great value.