“So, how exactly did this happen, again?”
I look up from where I’m perched on the edge of the bed, struggling to slip my shoes on. She’s staring at the door currently occupying the floor before her, wine-red hair falling into her eyes. And when that skeptical, honey gaze flicks up to mine, thin brows quirk above it.
“There was…” I scramble to come up with a convincing string of words. “An emergency. Of sorts.”
“I see,” she muses, placing a hand on the belt of tools around her waist. “Well, the door should be back on its hinges before you get back from dinner.”
I smile, relieved. “Thank you, Andy.”
Ellie scurries about the room behind me, gathering the scattered clothing that litters the floor. It had taken us an unbearably long time to pick something out for my dinner with the king. In truth, the outrageous amount of nerves fluttering in my stomach had me stalling in the form of sudden pickiness over my appearance.
I stand at the thought, smoothing out the green fabric clinging to me. The dress is flowy and laced up the back in a way that makes it rather difficult to suck in a full breath. Attempting to avoid that concerning thought, I make my way over to where Andy now crouches beside the doorframe.
I watch her fiddle with the loose hinges, twisting various tools around the bolts. She lets me observe, fully knowing I should be halfway to the throne room by now to dine with her cousin. Instead, I ask, “Do you enjoy doing this? Being a Handy around the castle?”
She tucks a strand of wine-colored hair behind an ear. “I can’t imagine doing anything else. It’s… rewarding, in a way.” She flashes a smile over her shoulder. “Fixing something that was broken.”
I hum quietly, the sound unsure. The silver ring hugging her nose glints as she turns to give me a questioning look. “What? Does that surprise you?”
“No.” I shrug. “It’s just… you have so much power.” My eyes flick to her hair, remembering every burgundy creature I’ve witnessed her transform into. “And yet, you’re content with…”
“Being a lowly Handy?” she finishes with a laugh. “Most people are shocked. Then again, most people don’t realize there is more to life than power.”
My scoff is weak. “Is there?”
She tilts her head, the mannerism so like her dark-haired cousin. “I figured you of all people would understand that.”
I shake my head, smile sad. “For you, there is more to life than power. That is because you have it.” My eyes drift up the walls while her own remain pinned on me. “But for me… my life has always been about power. And trying to survive without it.”
When my gaze finds its way back to her, I catch the slight nod she offers. “Well, you sure had all of us fooled.” She offers a wry smile. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” A weak laugh falls from my scarlet-stained lips. “I was only trying to make it out of the Trials. And now I’m back in them.”
She stands, inspecting the other set of hinges. “You’ll be fine. Survive these Trials…” Her amber eyes meet mine, mischievous. “And you’ll get your power. You’ll be queen of Ilya.”
I study her, searching for any kind of distrust or bitterness lingering after those words. But I see nothing except factual indifference painting the sharp planes of her face. It’s relieving, looking at someone and not seeing hatred staring back.
I nod a thanks I can’t seem to voice before my feet find their way past her and into the hall. “It’s good to see you again, Andy.”
“You too.” She’s searching for another tool on her belt when I turn away. “Oh, Paedyn?” I whip around, dress swishing against my ankles. Her brows lower slightly over suddenly stern eyes. “Don’t hurt him. He can’t afford to break again.”
I swallow. Nod slowly. “I’m not planning on it.”
She seems satisfied with this answer, turning away with a small smile. I do the same and head down the hallway, my chest tight beneath the confines of this dress. I smooth a hand down the wavy hair curling around my ear, steps quick across the plush carpet.
A familiar head of red hair rounds the corner before easily stepping in time beside me. I barely glance at the masked Imperial. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding a certain murderer?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “so you can’t murder her.”
My eyes find his. “Well, she’s alone right now.”
“But you’re not.”
I turn down another long hall. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
He presses a palm to his chest, putting on a show of offense. “Am I not allowed to visit you, Princess? I missed you dearly.” I give him a look that forces the truth from his mouth. “All right, so I had to take a piss. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have come and found you.”
I halfheartedly fight my smile. “Well, I’m on my way to dine with the king, so no need to worry about any murders from me tonight.”
“How reassuring,” he says dryly. “And don’t you mean dinner with your betrothed?”
“Right,” I mumble. “I forget what a happy couple we are.”
“Play nice, Princess,” he warns, leading me toward the towering doors of the throne room. “You’re not his queen yet.”
I smooth the skirt of my dress with hands that refuse to still. “And I may never be.” We slow beside the doors, and before he can convince me all will be fine, I pull him into a hug. He only hesitates for a moment, then folds his arms tightly around me. “I’ll see you after the Trial,” I whisper, if only to convince myself of that fact.
After several long seconds, I step out of his embrace. And at my nod to the awaiting guards, the doors swing open.
The throne rooms stretches out before me, outlined with the same white pillars I’ve been paraded between more than once. I lift my chin, walking alone toward the large table at the center of the room.
For once, I am here of my own free will, and there is power in choice.
The king takes a seat at the end of the sprawling table, blond hair tousled and green eyes smudged with fatigue. He offers a small smile as I approach. “Good evening, Paedyn.”
“Good evening,” I return, eyes drifting to the spread of parchment he shuffles into a pile beside his plate. “Am I pulling you away from your work?”
“No, it’s nothing pressing,” he answers dismissively. I watch him hand the stack of paper to a nearby servant who scurries away. “I came from a meeting with the Scholars.”
“Scholars?” I stop before the yawning table. “I’m sure they are aching to advise you on how this kingdom should be run.”
“They certainly are,” the king scoffs.
I can’t help but take a moment to admire his resilience in the face of those who mock it. Kitt has changed since I tore his life at the seams. Now, selfishly, I’m hoping he will allow me back into this carefully mended one.
My gaze falls to the food laid before us. The plate awaiting me sits at the opposite end of the table, shoving several feet of distance between us.
I must have let the confusion spill into my expression because Kitt sighs, “This is how royal meals are typically conducted.”
Nothing about his tone implies he wishes things to be any different. And that realization has my chest tightening. I don’t want our lives to be distant conversations and avoidant glances. If we are meant to rebuild the kingdom a tyrant king destroyed, I want us to do so together, not begrudgingly.
“This is ridiculous,” I say simply before picking up my chair and carrying it over to him. His expression shifts slightly, enough to portray a shade of unsurety.
I made us this way. I marred the relationship he meticulously cultivated. So it is I who will meekly extend an olive branch, raise a white flag between us.
When I’ve reached the space beside him, I let the wooden legs of my chair hit the marble floor with an echoing thump.
Kitt raises a brow. “What are you doing?”
“That”—I gesture to the opposite end of the table—“was how things used to be done. But we are changing things, yes?”
“We are.” Impressively, Kitt changes the subject with a gesture toward the piles of food before us. “Please, help me eat some of this.”
I blow out a breath.
He is not going to make this easy for me.
When the king reaches for a spoon partially buried within the bowl of green beans, a servant scurries from the wall to assist me. I hadn’t even noticed the several pairs of eyes lining the room until he politely waves her off.
Having left my plate and utensils on the other side of this absurdly long table, I stand to retrieve them before a servant beats me to it. She resets my spot without a word, offering a slight nod in response to my gratitude.
“Thank you, Mandy,” Kitt murmurs. “We will serve ourselves for the rest of the evening.”
The sound of her name rolling so easily from his tongue has my chest tightening. I had forgotten how well he knew the staff, how much he cared for every servant within the castle. Sitting beside him, I can almost see the friend I once knew. The one I betrayed.
I attempt a casual lightness that is now foreign to my voice. “This looks delicious.”
It seems I’m incapable of carrying on a conversation with substance.
Kitt scoops a generous portion of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Gail knows this is my favorite food and has been making it for weeks.” He takes a bite that is quickly followed by a pleased nod of his head. “But I’m definitely not complaining.”
I pick at my own food, even while my eyes are stubbornly set on him. “She must have been so worried about you,” I say quietly. “I heard you were… not doing well.” When he meets my gaze, I hurry to add, “Which is completely understandable and most definitely my fault, but—”
His laugh cuts through my words.
He’s laughing.
It’s not quite a positive sound, but rather, one that is made at another’s expense. This is nothing like the laugh I witnessed between him and Kai. The sound quiets with a slight cough. “Take a breath, Paedyn. I’ve put it behind me.”
I still my fidgeting hands. “But you don’t forgive me.”
Silence swells between us.
His fork clatters against porcelain. I straighten at the sound, watching the king brace elbows atop the table that have him leaning closer. “I want this to work,” he finally murmurs, gaze pinned on the sparkling diamond. “This needs to work—for Ilya. For everyone. But that doesn’t mean we need to be anything more to one another than what we are now.”
My resolve hardens in the face of his disregard for this stagnant relationship. “No. No, I won’t accept that.” His brow quirks as I continue with a defiant, “I want to fix this. Us. We used to be… close. And I know it’s my fault we no longer are, but if we’re to spend the rest of our lives together, we might as well try to enjoy it.”
Kitt sits back in his chair, stretching the embarrassing silence further with a long swig from his glass. Finally, he deigns to mutter a chilling string of words. “You already have Kai. Why bother deepening our relationship?”
My heart thuds against a constricted chest. Silently cursing this damn dress, I manage a breathy, “Kai is not who I’m marrying.”
“But he wishes you were.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. “Is that what this is about? Whatever… closeness you believe me to have with Kai?”
“I know him, Paedyn.” Kitt’s words are clipped. “Better than I have ever known anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed his smothered feelings for you. Even after everything.”
There is a bitterness in his voice that makes me pause. It’s the type that typically accompanies jealousy and quiet longing.
The king’s gaze travels over me, and my throat goes dry.
Thoughts swirl around my head, each one more absurd than the last. Kitt couldn’t still have feelings for me. Not after what I’ve done. But his words, his piercing look that strips me bare, say differently.
“Is that why you push me away?” I breathe. “For Kai?”
He almost laughs again. “Something like that.”
“You don’t want to hurt him by… being with me.” With a shake of my head, I scramble to gather the pieces of this dangerous game Kai and I pretend to play. “But there is no need to worry, Kitt. Whatever was between the Enforcer and me ended when he dragged me back here. On your orders.”
The king takes a breath at that, perhaps relieved by the reminder of an obeyed command. “Yes, I can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised when he brought you back to me.” His green gaze grows pointed. “He was yours, entirely.”
I swallow. “Not anymore.”
Pretend.
Pretend that the Enforcer hadn’t tried to free me before our trek to the castle. Pretend our time spent together didn’t bring us impossibly closer. Pretend he isn’t the fate I foolishly hoped to earn.
Kitt smiles, more freely than he has since my arrival. “Time will tell.”
“I want to earn your forgiveness. Your trust.” My hand finds his, surprising the both of us. I hadn’t planned the movement, but here I was, fingers splayed across his skin. “Let me try to do that.”
His eyes are still on our linked hands when he nods. “I suppose it’s only fair I give you the chance.”
“Thank you,” I sigh out.
With a small smile, he returns his gaze to the plate of cooling food in front of me. “Now eat. Please. You need all the energy you can get for your Trial tomorrow.”
Relieved to be speaking less formally, I groan while shoveling a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. “Don’t remind me.”
“Everything will be fine.” He takes a bite of ham. “Ilya will be wowed.”
I snort. “Only if I die. Perhaps they will even clap.”
“Even if you did, no one would be there to clap for it.”
The fork hovers in front of my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Just like the Purging Trials, these ones won’t take place in the Bowl,” he offers graciously. “Well, not all of them, at least.”
“Really?” My stomach twists into knots. “Will there be Sights dragging at my heels?”
He lifts a glass of wine to his lips. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Well, if the court came up with these Trials for me, I can’t imagine they’d be anything short of perilous.”
Those green eyes roam over my face, and when I finally meet them, it’s a contradicting mixture of emotions I see within. “The two landmarks you haven’t yet had a Trial at,” he finally says. “That is where you will be.”
My gaze falls to his chest, where I know Ilya’s crest lies inked into the skin beneath his collared shirt. The sideways diamond represents the four landmarks surrounding us—two of which I have already survived in the Purging Trials. That leaves—
“The Scorches and the Shallows.”
He nods slowly. “The desert and the sea.”
“Great,” I say cheerily. “I barely survived the Scorches the first time.”
Crossing lean arms over his chest, Kitt adds, “This first Trial is all about bravery. And fears come in many different forms.”
I study his stoic expression. Then, a hurried question surprises my tongue. “What fear would test you in this Trial of bravery?”
“That is a bit personal.” He says this accusingly despite his expression being tinged with amusement.
“That’s the point,” I counter.
“Failure,” he says finally, simply. “Insignificance.”
I don’t tell him that this makes perfect sense considering the way he was raised. Instead, I extend that olive branch in the form of understanding. “That is an admirable fear to have.”
Kitt huffs, and I think it might have been a laugh in disguise. “And yours?”
I shrug. “Too many to count.”
“It doesn’t seem that way.” He takes a sip of wine. “Not even when you were in the Purging Trials.”
“I’m good at pretending.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
Words spill from my mouth in response to his own. “But I’m not pretending to be your friend. I’ve never had to. Not even when I needed to find that tunnel. And I will keep trying to prove that until you tell me you believe it.”
There is a long pause. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat sternly.
He cracks a smile. I smile back.
I feel young. Hopeful. Anew.
In this moment, I see the future we could have—a glimpse of the boy who threw chocolates into my mouth and helped clean each one I missed off the floor.
I see a friendship, not love.
No, love is what I see when I look at his brother.
I run my fork through the pile of mashed potatoes on my plate. “Is this a horrible time to tell you that I’ve never much liked your favorite food?” His raised eyebrows have me attempting to amend with a weak, “It’s a texture thing.”
He leans back, head shaking. “You’re not helping your case, Paedyn.”
I don’t stifle my laugh in time. “Oh, so my dislike for mashed potatoes is what’s unforgivable?”
“I’m afraid so.”
With a shake of my head, I lift a forkful of potatoes between us. “Fine. To my dislike for mashed potatoes. May it be our biggest problem.”
This earns me a slight smile. He clinks his fork against mine and echoes, “May it be our biggest problem.”
