Liar

Home Sweet Home

Iris

The journey to the Nortan capital is endless, partly because of the distance, partly because of the herd of Lakelander courtiers, soldiers, and servants trailing behind us, but mostly because of the company. My father, his expression unreadable as ever, the lightning girl, Mare Barrow, with her wide eyes, wishing death upon everyone around her, and the King of Norta.

Maven Calore.

My betrothed.

And in two months, my husband.

He doesn't speak, but I feel his eyes on me. Staring me down, head to toe. It's not lust that elicits this action, though I almost wish it were. At least, then I'd know he was like every other man in the world: arrogant, oblivious, insatiable.

But no.

Maven Calore is not like any other man, and it would be more than foolish to assume otherwise. As he studies me, no doubt assessing any weaknesses he could use against me, physical or otherwise, I resist the impulse screaming at me to shift under his gaze. I'm not stupid enough to want to seem like a threat, but I can't seem like too much like a pushover either. It's a delicate line I'll have to walk for the rest of my life.

Well, unless...

No. Mother doesn't approve of the idea, and neither does Ti.

But it would work so per—

The train of thought is cut off as Whitefire Palace approaches, its walls both regal and taunting. I briefly wonder what it'd look like if it were flooded, then shake off the thought. It's my new home. I probably shouldn't be thinking about drowning it.

As we walk into the palace, I let Maven forge ahead of me, not because I'm inferior, or afraid, but so that he can't hear me when I talk to the lightning girl— Mare.

"Happy to be home?"

She's startled at being addressed directly. Her legs twitch slightly, as though she's battling the urge to bow, while her spine remains straight. Her guards come to a stop, all silences, no doubt.

"Princess." The corners of her mouth turn down as she speaks through gritted teeth. I maintain a careful mask of blankness on my own face, lest she see something I don't want her to.

"No, I would think not," I push on. "Walk with me?"

Mare is shocked, but she doesn't think to argue. The guards follow us, blue and white alike, as we walk through the entrance hall.

"Despite the name, Whitefire seems a cold place." I look up at the ceiling. The chandeliers are so bright they almost blind me. "I would not want to be imprisoned here."

Mare makes a sound that is too close to a scoff for comfort. I have a feeling I know why.

If only to threaten her, I ask, "Something funny, Mare Barrow?"

"Nothing, Your Highness."

I fix her with a sharp look, taking in the long sleeves hiding her manacles. I slowly put a hand to one and inhale. The feeling of silence is anything but pleasant.

"My father keeps pets as well. Perhaps it's something kings do."

Mare just shrugs. "I haven't met enough kings to know."

I almost smile. "Three kings for a Red girl born to poor nothings. One must wonder if the gods love you or hate you."

"There are no gods."

"Not in Norta. Not for you." I pause, before glancing over my shoulder at the milling courtiers and nobles. They ogle shamelessly, and I feel a sense of unease deep within. "I wonder if they can hear me in a godless place like this. There isn't even a temple. I mustask Maven to build me one."

My tone turned bitter at the word 'ask', though Mare didn't notice. She was too busy trying to figure me out. Still is.

"Are you memorizing my face?" I ask quietly, enjoying the curiosity and confusion in her gaze. "Or simply trying to steal a few more moments outside a locked room? If the latter, I do not blame you. If the former, I have a feeling you'll be seeing a great deal of me, and I of you.

"Take me to the throne room." I make sure to sound polite enough, in case I ever need to bargain with her in the future.

Mare Barrow is a creature of pride, difficult to scare, impossible to buy.

"Fine," she mutters, leading the way. It's eerie to see her grin at the irritation of her guards, though, I suppose, when you're imprisoned by a cruel, obsessive, and borderline unstable boy-king, you take the small pleasures life has to offer.

"You are an odd sort of prisoner, Miss Barrow. I did not realize that, while Maven paints you as a lady in his broadcasts, he requires you to be one at all times."

"I'm just a well-dressed and tightly leashed lapdog."

"What a peculiar king to keep you as he does. You're an enemy of the state, a valuable piece of propaganda, and somehow treated as near royalty.But then boys are so strange with their toys. Especially those accustomed to losing things. They hold on more tightly than the rest." The thought is almost amusing. The King of Norta, Flame of the North, a broken boy holding on to the lightning girl as a child would a teddy bear.

"And what would you do with me?" she answers back. As queen, I could hold her life in my hands, and she knows it. "If you were in his position?"

I don't know how to answer her question, so I don't. "I won't ever make the mistake of trying to put myself in his head. That is not a place any sane person should be."I laugh as a realization crosses my mind. "I assume his mother spent a good amount of timethere."

"You're lucky you never had to meet her."

"And I thank you for that," I reply. "Though I hope you don't keep up the tradition of killing queens. Even lapdogs bite." I blink at her, my amusement well-hidden. "Will you?"

She's smart enough not to respond. No would be a naked lie. Yes could land her yet another royal enemy. I can't help but smirk at her dilemma.

We're going to get along well.