The Archshade

Seventeen

Despite my protests, Prince Daynar summons Aria to help ready me for the day's festivities. I try to sit still as she artfully paints my face and clips jewelry onto me, but my hands wring together as my toes wriggle inside my soft shoes.

I mull over the ruling prince's vague threats, attempting to decode them, but when my thoughts press almost to the edge of understanding, my brow furrows and Aria politely asks me to smooth it out again so she can continue. Trying to expose the hidden meanings in these political exchanges feels like I'm losing a game—a very difficult game with princes and nobles as pawns and their kingdom as the prize. Something much larger is going on behind all these pleasantries, and in my chest, there's a growing need to unravel it. A growing urgency to uncover the edges of the web.

"All finished." Aria's voice breaks through my thoughts. "And if it's not too bold to say, you look lovely."

I give her a teasing smile. "You have to say that."

"But I don't have to mean it." Daring to step out of formality, she gives me a playful wink. "You may dismiss me now, my lady."

I nod, feeling strange again to be the one doing the dismissing instead of the one being dismissed. "Oh... uh... very well," I tell her, clumsily. "Thank you."

Aria bows low then hurries from the Archshade's chambers as I rise from my chair and glance in the mirror. She chose a silver silk lehenga choli with a scoop neck revealing the curve of my collar bone—and the scars along my chest. The edges of the fabric are embroidered with curling Arcadian designs in shades of blue.

I step out of the bedchamber, and Prince Daynar looks up from the book in his hands. He's dressed in a long, embroidered tunic with a lavish black cloak pinned at his shoulders. His golden mask is secure over his face, but beneath it, he blinks as an odd expression settles in his eyes. He quickly rises to his feet. It's the polite gesture many courtly gentlemen practice when a lady enters the room, but Prince Daynar does it with much more eagerness. I rub my arm, suddenly feeling very exposed.

"I know. It's a bit different, but Aria thought—"

"Not at all." He clears his throat. "On the contrary, it is exquisite."

I manage a soft: "Thank you."

He stares.

I look away.

Prince Daynar clears his throat again. "We should be on our way." He walks to the chamber door and holds it open for me. "This tournament is sure to be engaging, to say the least."

Staggering a little from the weight of my skirts, I move over the threshold and follow his lead down the corridor. The moment we leave his chambers, the ease of his manner disappears, and the silence stretches on between us, broken only by the sound of our footsteps. Like a string pulled tight until it finally snaps, whatever connection I might have imagined is gone, and the weight of its absence crushes what little comfort I had.

"Is... Prince Darcron a... talented fighter?" I stammer, grasping for any source of sound, even my own voice.

"Talented?" Daynar nods. "Yes, he is talented. In the war against Syurgan, he stood alone against many adversaries. It was Darcron's strength in battle which proved him worthy of kingship in the eyes of our father."

"And you? Did you fight in the war?"

Prince Daynar shakes his head. "No. Though I was trained, my responsibilities were... elsewhere. My frequent illnesses also make for a poor general."