But murder, just the same.
“No,” I say abruptly. “I’m no assassin.”
Adaia leans down, her face resting on my shoulder. “Perhaps not. But he’d never expect it. Not from you, with your soft heart and those pretty eyes. And perhaps you should consider your people. The Kingdom of Asturia has been at war with Evernight for centuries. Whilst this treaty sparks a fragile truce, it doesn’t mean anything. We could end this war with a single strike. We would own Mistmere, perhaps more….”
I push away from her, the hem of my silk wrap brushing against my calves. “Murder, Mother. I’m the first person they’ll point the finger at. And you were the one who taught me strategy. Who do you think they’ll blame? If I kill the prince, then his people will execute me immediately, and their armies will rise against you.”
“Not if it’s self-defense,” she points out.
So now I’m to frame an assassination as an assault by the prince. My head is spinning.
“Thiago has no heir,” she continues. “Without him, his generals will fight for control of his armies. It will be chaos, and I will crush them.”
I notice she doesn’t address the part where I lose my head.
“Take the dagger.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I pick it up, feeling the weight of it. Accepting it doesn’t mean I have to go through with anything.
“I’ll consider it,” I say as my hand closes over the hilt of the blade. I catch a glimpse of my mother’s dangerous smile in the reflection as the queen backs away. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made this bargain with this end in mind.
“You have an hour. Get dressed and meet us in the courtyard. We ride for the Hallow. Wear the red.”
Then she’s gone, her metal skirts rasping over the marble.
Leaving me trembling.
I can’t believe she gave me no warning. Or maybe that was deliberate: With a hint of what was to come, I might have been able to flee or outmaneuver this treaty. Now, I don’t have a choice. I can hear the stamp of the guard’s feet as they settle outside my door, and my mother expects me in the courtyard within an hour.
This isn’t merely hesitating to strike a killing blow against a monster.
This is politics, and she will brook no refusal.
But who would I rather face? My mother in a rage or a volatile, dangerous prince who might think me a plaything?
My resolve firms. If he thinks he’s getting a trinket to toy with, then he had best think again.
The prince of the Kingdom of Evernight is Unseelie to his bones, despite the fact he claims to be Seelie. I can’t afford to show him even a hint of my weak underbelly.
And curse my mother, but I’ll be damned to the Underworld if I’ll let her think me her puppet.
I fling the wardrobe open, both the red and the white gowns tumbling in a frothy mess to the floor. Inside the wardrobe, right at the back, is the dress.
It’s like a piece of pure midnight was carved from the sky, diamond stars glittering down its silken length. I don’t know what urged me to have it made. Mother’s right: vibrant colors suit me best. And yet, I’d been unable to think of anything else the moment I saw the material.
Red would be a sign of groveling.
The white is probably what she intended me to wear all along.
But this…. Time to show her I refuse to bow to her whims. This princess has claws. And she’s not afraid to use them.
3
Enormous bonfires dot the hillsides as I make my way across the grassy plains toward the Queensmoot, where the Seelie Alliance will meet for the Lammastide rites.
In the distance, the bonfires glow like a necklet of starfire gems draped around the throat of the nearby mountains. An unbroken chain of Lammastide fires to ward against the thinning of the Veil and protect the realm from the Others who occasionally slip through the portals from the Underworld that open when both worlds pass each other so closely.
All the guards are on edge as we take the portal to the nearby Hallow. It’s the only one in the area, which means every queen—and prince—will be using it. Despite their vigilance, there’s no sign of danger as we step through the circle of standing stones that guards the portal. Power hums through the ley line it’s set upon, setting my teeth on edge, but the night is quiet and dark.
And probably full of surprises.
Andraste waits for us in the circle of lintel stones that guards the portal to the Queensmoot.
She wears black leather from head to toe, with a ruff of raven’s feathers around her throat. That moonlight hair is braided back fiercely, and silver moons drip from her ears. No dress for her. She’s a warrior princess, prepared to hold a sword at someone’s throat if needed. I’m the one dressed up like a gift, though the black silk cape I wear hides my starlight dress. I’m not quite prepared to reveal it just yet.
Curse it. I feel like a peacock, displayed on a platter on the dining table.
“You didn’t tell her.”
My sister doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even move her eyes.
And a thought occurs. “You knew.”
Andraste didn’t need to tell mother about my failure. She’s already won. I’m to be sent as tribute, a sacrifice to peace. The path to being named heir is clear for her without so much as a hint of bloodshed.
It’s so well done, I’d almost clap, if I wasn’t about to be sacrificed.
“It’s not like that,” she finally says. “I—”
“It sounds exactly like that,” I point out with a tight smile. “You’ve won. You barely had to even lift a finger. All that talk about finding another court….”
“Vi—”
“Don’t.” We both know anything that comes from her mouth next is insincere. She can afford to be gracious. “You’re Mother’s heir. That’s all that matters.”
My mouth tastes like ash. What am I going to do? When I return in three months’ time—if I return—what am I coming back to?
It’s unwise for a princess of the blood to remain in another’s court. It creates too many opportunities for politicking nobles. Too many pathways to dissent. I’ll always be a knife held to my sister’s throat unless….
Unless I disappear.
“There are things you don’t know.” She finally looks at me.
More cursed secrets. I’m starting to realize how peripheral I am to Mother’s court. Andraste’s always at her side, whispering in her ear.
“All these little secrets,” I murmur, twitching at my cloak. “It’s starting to make the skin between my shoulder blades tickle.”
Almost as if someone’s already planted a knife there.
“You’ll understand, one day.”
“Oh, I think I understand now.”
Andraste’s gaze drops to the hem of my skirt, and her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You’re not wearing the dress Mother had made for you.”
My fingers brush against the midnight-dark silk that caresses my legs. Tiny pinprick diamonds are woven throughout the fabric, so it seems as though a cloak of pure night clings to my body. “I thought the white lace seemed a touch too virgin sacrifice. This suits me better.”