“I know what you mean,” Eden says. “I wish she was too, but I’m also glad she’s gotten as far from this life as possible. It’s what she wanted more than anything.”
I sigh again and sink deeper into my seat. My sister Ava never wanted the life of a royal, and I’ve tried my best to ensure she doesn’t have to live that life. She endured too much in the past few months; now she deserves whatever her heart desires and she’s getting that with her beloved Gentry. Still, I miss her. We used to talk just about every day and now we talk once a week.
Eden starts to say something and stops in mid-sentence with a loud gasp. The Farthing castle has just come into view, and it is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The grandeur is out of this world, the turrets and columns sweeping up to the sky and standing proudly. The entirety of the Safrin castle could fit into the east wing.
“Holy shit,” I mutter. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
Luka sits up taller. “Only what we were born to do,” he says. “Don’t forget that, brother. Don’t let this opulence intimidate you. They are mere flesh and blood, just like us. Only without the human decency,” he adds under his breath.
The car pulls around the circular drive and Quincie steps out to open our door.
“Looking good, Quincie,” I tell him and he nods.
“You too, King,” he says. Man of few words.
I look up and up and up, taking in the architectural masterpiece. I may not like anything about the way this king has run his empire, but I can appreciate the beauty in his palace. And a palace it is. There is no detail left undone. We walk along the gold carpet and photographers snap pictures. I’m surprised by the photographers but relieved that no journalists line the carpet. It feels a bit more personal that way, but the journalists might also be waiting inside.
I see the king ahead and next to him stands a tall, good-looking younger man. He could be close to thirty, but it’s hard to tell. When we get nearer, King Farthing steps forward and reaches out both hands.
“I’m honored to have your Lordships both grace my abode at once. Welcome, King Safrin.” He bows deeply and I bow in return. “Welcome, King Catano.” He bows toward Luka. And then his eyes widen when he sees Eden. “Queen Eden, songs are sung about your beauty. Now I know why.” He kisses her hand and she lowers her head in respect.
We’re introduced to Caulder, and his expression isn’t as warm as the king’s, but he smiles and has friendly pleasantries to offer, nothing of note. I get a slide of unease down my spine when he looks my way and I vow to get to the bottom of that…another time. While I’m a guest in their home I must behave as one.
We’re ushered inside and I look around for Delilah but don’t see her anywhere. The ballroom is as exquisite as the rest of the place and it’s a lot to take in. We’re led to a table that seats eight and Eden sits down while Luka and I stand behind her waiting for the king to enter. Most of the ballroom is full already.
Alex comes over a few minutes later, the newly-appointed king of Yuman since the death of his father. He whistles under his breath as he shakes my hand and then Luka’s.
“What do you suppose this is all about?” he asks.
“No idea,” Luka says. “Some sort of dick check most likely. I stand corrected, if we’re going by castle size alone, he’s the clear winner.” Luka and Alex laugh and Eden rolls her eyes then glares at Luka. His laugh immediately dies down and he wipes a hand over his mouth. “My wife doesn’t appreciate dick jokes.”
“If you can at least hold the jokes until we’re out of the Farthing ballroom, that would be greatly appreciated,” she snaps, and he holds both hands up, pressing his lips together.
“Noted,” he says. He looks at me and winks and I get a glare of my own from Eden when I start laughing.
“Don’t you start too,” she pleads. “Why can’t you be more like King Alban over there?”
We all look over at King Alban, who is at least eighty years old and his chin is nearly touching his chest as he drifts to sleep.
“Dead, you mean?” Luka asks, his voice cracking with laughter. Eden shoots another look at him and I jab him in the side.
“If you don’t want to be murdered in the enemy territory by your wife, I’d cut the jokes for now,” I tell him through my teeth. My stomach is clenched as tight as a trap to avoid laughing, but I know my sister. She’s nervous, and when she’s nervous and angry, her temper comes out ahead.
“Finally, someone with sense,” Eden says.
I grin at her and Luka groans.
But then I’m the one groaning next when the room titters with excitement. I feel the rush in my chest before I’ve even seen her and turn, knowing she’s entered the room.
And oh my God, that woman. She is a work of art. Everything in me sparks to life when I see her.
Delilah.
Chapter Eight
Delilah
Last night, my dad switched things up on me. I’d spent a few days getting alterations done on the dress I chose, and right before bed, he knocked on my door and was carrying a long dress bag.
“You don’t have to wear this. I know you’ve decided on something, but I was looking at this and it seemed like it would fit like it was made for you. Your mother’s,” he added.
When he unzipped the bag, my eyes widened. “It’s her engagement gown.”
He smiled at me fondly, proud that I remembered. I used to look at their old pictures all the time when she first died. It’s been a while, but this dress isn’t something I could ever forget.
“You really think it would fit me?”
He nodded and held it out for me to take. “Think about it. There is no pressure to wear it, but I know your mother would be honored if she were here.”
I stared at it before bed, but I didn’t feel comfortable trying it on. I wanted to wait until this morning when Papa said he’d have someone who could help me put it on, so I didn’t rip any of the beading.
When someone knocks on my door and I open it to find a woman, I’m shocked.
“I’m Darcy.” She lowers her head and curtsies.
“Nice to meet you. Please come in.”
Even though I wouldn’t expect a man to help me in my dress, it’s still unusual to see a woman. Since my mother died, I’ve been the only woman in the house. I let her in, and she stops abruptly when she sees the gown hanging in the window.
“Your mother’s gown,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with tears. “She was a vision in that dress. You will wear it tonight?”
“Did you know my mother?” I hear the hope in my voice, the yearning that never goes away to know more about my mother.
“No, but I remember the pictures. You look so much like her.”
“Thank you.” I tuck away the disappointment and focus on the dress. “I need your help putting it on. Do you really think—” I put my fingers on the sheer fabric that would fall between my breasts, the beads the only thing covering up anything.
“Yes,” she interrupts. “You must wear it. It is a great honor. This is the future queen’s—”