She’s Asturian.
It’s a fist within my chest. A knot of discordant emotion.
She’s fucking Asturian. My promise, my hopes, my dreams…. They’re all turning into a nightmare.
Because Adaia will never allow me to touch one of her precious daughters.
The daemon within me laughs. Did you think it would be that easy?
“Out?” Thalia repeats, as if she’s never heard the word before. She sets her hands on her hips. “Did you just tell me to get out of your tents?”
I wasn’t thinking. “Please,” I add. “I need to bathe.”
Oh, it’s too late for that. Her eyes narrow. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you were just punched in the sternum. Eris?”
She looks to Eris, who is pouring a glass of wine.
For breakfast.
“What is going on here?” Thalia demands.
“Thanks,” I mutter, as Eris turns with the wine.
She merely arches her brow at me. “Who said it was for you?”
And then she drains it.
I pour my own.
“It was the woman, wasn’t it?” Thalia’s apparently scented blood, and she’s smart enough to put it all together. “The way you went after her—”
“It’s her,” I tell her.
There’s a moment where she doesn’t understand, and then the color bleeds from her cheeks. “Her? The one you saw all those years ago?”
I nod.
She clasps her hands over her mouth. “Mother of Night.” Thoughts race through her eyes. “Clearly, things went well between you…. And you’ve finally found her. I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“The problem is,” Eris says to Thalia, “that she’s fucking Asturian. Adaia’s youngest daughter, by the look of her. Finn was supposed to watch Thiago’s back last night, and I traded in with him sometime after three so he could get some sleep.” She jacks her thumb toward me. “I didn’t realize who our prince was cuddling up with until this morning, when it was too late. Or I would have put a halt to it.”
“Asturian?” Thalia whispers in horror.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “I didn’t know who she was either, until I saw the tattoo down her back.”
“You didn’t think to ask?” she demands.
“She lied. She said her name was Vi. For Violet.” It’s a troubling thought, because surely Vi didn’t know who I was. She would never have lain with me if she did.
But why lie about it?
Is it because her mother wouldn’t approve?
She was a virgin. She couldn’t hide that.
She also couldn’t hide the fact she’d been fairly determined to get rid of her innocence, because I was content to wait. I’ve spent all these years waiting for her to enter my life, and I’d wanted to make sure she was comfortable with me first. She was the one who stripped her cursed dress of, and any hint of restraint went right out the window.
This is a nightmare.
If Adaia catches wind of this, she’ll have me murdered.
“Maybe you can use this,” Eris points out. “You were talking about kidnapping the younger princess, after all.”
I shoot her a glare. That was before I realized she’s the woman I’ve been searching for all my life.
“Or not,” Thalia says swiftly.
I tug the mask from my pocket, rubbing my fingers over the sequins. “Can you please—the both of you—just give me a moment alone?”
Eris slams the goblet down, bows her head and then vanishes.
Thalia, however, pauses before me, her eyes on the mask. “This doesn’t mean it’s the end of everything,” she whispers. “I know how much she means to you.”
“She means nothing.” My voice is raw. “Because she’s a stranger.”
Thalia kisses me cheek. “You’ve spent five hundred years wishing her to life. Don’t give up now, just because we’ve faced a brief setback.”
“We?” I can barely say the words. “I thought you were all for the alliance with Ravenal?”
Thalia sighs. “Fuck Ravenal. It was a good plan. But this is forever, Thi.” She steps away from me a little wistfully. “You don’t throw the god’s gifts in their face.”
“Even if they’re your enemy’s daughter?”
She bites her lip. “Maybe it’s time for peace? Maybe this is how we finally win it?”
I tap the mask against my lips, breathing in the scent of Vi. She’s all night-blooming Sorrow flowers and sweetness; moonlight and roses. “Maybe.”
6
ISKVIEN
Exhilaration buzzes over my skin as I head for my mother’s tent, my wet hair knotted at the base of my skull. I washed and dressed before the summons came, but the fact remains that something irrefutable changed within me last night.
Before I kissed a stranger, I was Iskvien, a caged princess facing a marriage she despises.
Now there’s a throbbing beat of defiance in my chest. No, no, no, it says, in time with my heartbeat. I know the cost of defiance. To deny this contract with Etan will earn me untold punishment, but the wildness within me can’t be tamed.
I don’t know what to do.
Last night was just a dream, a mirage, but it feels like a jolt of magic injected straight into my veins. It was more than I ever expected it to be, and now that I’ve known the touch of another man, I can’t help thinking that I could never submit to Etan.
I can still feel my stranger’s hands on my skin. I can taste his mouth. The imprint of his cock between my thighs.
I am worth more than this. I will not have my future stolen, simply because my mother will score some political points.
Now I just have to tell her.
Sounds echo from within Mother’s tent as I approach.
Something strikes flesh with a whistling grace, and a harsh grunt fills the air.
I know that sound. Mother’s got her whip in hand. I’ve felt the bite of it once or twice, but the worst part is when she coils it around her hand, length by length, her eyes locking upon you as she advances.
My body refuses to move another inch and a cold sweat breaks out down my spine. She can’t know what happened last night. We managed to lose the ever-present guard who follows me at all times. But what if… she found out?
What if my handsome stranger knew who I was?
What if he said something to someone and they told Mother?
It’s ridiculous. The amount of coincidences to achieve such a thing are too great.
But my feet itch to turn around and vanish back into the tent city.
So much for defiance. One flick of the whip and you’re already looking for ways to submerge into the Old Iskvien.
I force a slow breath through my lungs. It’s chilling how easy it would be to let defiance smolder to ashes. Be brave, be brave, be brave.
Besides, it’s too late. The guards are looking at me and one of them draws the canvas flap back, ushering me inside.
If I make her wait, she’ll only have me dragged before her.
I duck into the gloom of the tent.
There’s a stranger on his knees, his brown hair sweat-drenched and bloody, and his shirt clinging to him in strips. Raw flesh encircles his wrists—a sure sign of weeks worth of manacles, if not months.