Whereas Luna had always considered herself a natural at coaxing people to open up, her father was awkward with her at best. But perhaps, more than anything, the fault lay in the nature of their relationship—after all, he was the King of Ibreseos, and she was . . . an accident.
Together, they exited her workshop, their footsteps tracking dust into the hallway. Her father nodded in acknowledgment to the six guards waiting outside—two for her, and the rest for the king.
“Has Ibreseos been to your liking so far?” her father asked as they strolled down the corridor. The walls were constructed of thick slabs of cold gray stone. In fact, the entire stronghold was hewn from the same stone, sprawling over three squat hills and likely double the size of the palace of Axaria. Here, the turrets rose short and thick, lacking the splendid elegance of the Axarian palace with its graceful parapets and silver-spun arches.
“Very much, Father,” Luna replied.
Jakob’s face tightened, and she could see his discomfort written all over it. She ignored the twinge in her chest, the reminder that she had been unwanted, might still be unwanted. She’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t take it to heart.
But to her surprise, he swallowed and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad. The stronghold can be intimidating.”
She snorted at that. Intimidating was a severe understatement. The Axarian palace might have had the Wall—but here, the only way into the castle was via the colossal drawbridge connecting its entrance to the rest of the capital. Barbaric steel spikes lined the pit below, glinting like black fangs after dusk. The drawbridge was opened twice a day at preordained times, depending on the day of the week or if a guest was to be expected, and only King Jakob had the authority to command the bridge to be lowered otherwise. Civilians and nobles alike waited across the pit all day to enter the stronghold, but even then they sometimes still had to answer to a multitude of security inspections, and even then some got turned away after hours of waiting. No one ever protested, however—all the guards had to do was point at the pit and the trespasser would sullenly return to the safety of the city.
“By the way,” King Jakob added absentmindedly as they turned a corner, “I’ve assigned you three personal bodyguards. A royal entourage, if it pleases you. They’re extraordinarily competent, but above all they should keep you in good company. Adrianna pointed out to me that you seem rather . . . lonely.”
Luna’s face warmed. He made it sound like a weakness. “Not exactly. It’s just . . .” She trailed off, her throat tight.
“I understand,” her father said, although she didn’t think he did. “In any case, they’re returning from Nyälkastle, in the north.” It took her a moment to pinpoint the city in her head. She was slowly but surely familiarizing herself with her father’s kingdom. “I expect that they’ll arrive within the day, but I have some other errands I need them to run in the west, so you can make their acquaintance at the end of the week.”
They drew to a halt in front of the chamber where Adrianna awaited.
“Well.” Her father shifted and gestured toward the door awkwardly. “Enjoy.”
Luna watched him leave, chewing her lip. The King of Ibreseos, she thought to herself. Skittish as a horse toward me, of all people. But then again, she wasn’t just anyone anymore. Illegitimate or not, she was his daughter.
A king’s daughter.
Luna smiled to herself as she nodded at her guards to open the door.
And Princess Luna Evovich of Ibreseos sounded pretty damn good to her.
Sometimes, Luna just really wanted to strangle her aunt.
Rivulets of sweat cut down her neck as she struggled to wrestle her illusion-affinity under obedience. Two hours in, and her legs were already wobbling. The hearth roared at her back. The stifling heat had forced her to strip down to her undershirt because she was too daunted to complain. On a day like this, she failed at best. At worst, she would be rewarded with throbbing migraines for the rest of the afternoon.
“Control it,” Adrianna barked at her for the hundredth time as one of three disgruntled white doves flickered into visibility before them. Somehow, her aunt was surviving beneath her royal Ibresean long coat, a flamboyant purple affair of finespun wool and silk worn by all the nobles and highest-ranking officials in the court, complete with gold embellishments running from collar to cuff and an intimidating swoop of a tail at the back. “As its master, your magic is your ally. Yield, and it will one day ruin you.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” Luna snarled through clenched teeth, squinting hard at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the opposite wall as if will alone would help drive the dove out of sight. Not a speck of dust graced the books’ surfaces, but their pages were yellow with age and disuse. The titles ranged from The Legends of the Immortals to 101 Needlepoint Techniques for the Stitching Enthusiast. “Auntie,” she couldn’t resist adding.
The younger sister of Priscilla Montcroix and now fiancée of King Jakob of Ibreseos let out a snort and drummed her manicured fingernails atop one of the many gilded cages filled with cooing doves beneath the window. The bronze waves of her hair gleamed like burnished copper in the noon light streaming through the glass. She kept her dusky blue eyes pinned on the shelves, tracking Luna’s progress.“I find it hilarious that you seem to be under the impression that calling me auntie bothers me, Princess Luna.”
“Well—”
“Save your snark for teatime,” her mentor cut in. “Or if you finally manage to succeed.”
The comment stung, but Adrianna was right. Even now, after so much tireless training, a telltale, glassy, marbled texture gave away the doves’ locations. Of course, Luna could cheat if she really wanted to. It would be too easy—rather than trying to conceal each flapping dove individually, she could just conjure a facade of the bookshelf in front of them and hide them entirely. But that wasn’t the point of the exercise. Adrianna had taken charge of helping Luna hone her relatively new powers, and no way in hell was she going to squander it in laziness.
All of this had started a few days after Luna had arrived in Ibreseos, during their first dinner together in King Jakob’s private dining hall. Rather than dining in Mess Hall with the “rabble,” as the king coined his court, her father preferred the company of a few select guests. On that particular night, “a few” meant a mere two: his fiancée and his bastard daughter.
It took four courses for Luna to finally blurt out the desire that had been plaguing her ever since Fairfest Eve—since her own mother had tried to kill her. Since Asterin had failed to save her. Worse still, since Luna had failed to save herself.
“A mentor?” her father had repeated, his knife pausing midslice. “For magic?”
“What a charming idea,” Adrianna had murmured, her eyes sparkling.