Liar

Enemy Earned

Iris

It's truly unsettling to observe the throne room, what with the thousands of cameras staring at us. And the throne itself, gray and forbidding with its blocks of Silent Stone. While it is the aura of the room that vexes me, Mare Barrow is still dumbstruck at her recent recollection of how it felt to have a Merandus in her head.

My discomfort increases multifold when a certain blue-eyed king approaches, his gaze fixed on me.

"I would be happy to give you a tour, Iris," Maven says. "Your father is settling into his apartments, but I'm sure he won't mind if we get to know each other better."

I almost scoff. Why not save that until after we're married?

Smothering the thought, I say, "I would like that very much." Bowing does not come easily to me, though I know I have to. In the end, I settle for a dip of my head. "I was just remarking to Miss Barrow about your"-ostentations, trinkets-"decorations."

Maven offers a tight smile. "A precaution. My father was assassinated, and attempts have been made on me as well."

"Could a chair of Silent Stone have saved your father?" I ask innocently, reveling in his poorly-hidden aggravation. A current of heat pulses through the air. Maven's slipped up and he knows it.

Not that it's clear enough how the old king died.

"No, my brother decided that cutting his head off was his best option," he says bluntly. "Not much defense against that."

I notice Mare's fists clench, her face contorted with fury.

"How horrible," I murmur, feigning sympathy.

"Yes, wasn't it, Mare?"

He takes Mare's hand so suddenly that my own fingers twitch. Mare glares at him sidelong. "Yes." She speaks through gritted teeth, as though the word tastes bitter. "Horrible."

Maven nods in agreement, clenching his jaw, the action causing the bones of his face to tighten.

"Well, before I take you through my home, there's someone else who would like to meet my future bride. Sentinel Nornus, if you would?" Maven gestures over his soldier. At his command, the Sentinel in question blurs into a blaze of red and orange, racing to the entrance and back again in a blistering second. A swift. In his robes, he seems a fireball.

Figures follow in his wake, their house colors dark and gloomy.

"Princess Iris, this is the ruling lord of House Samos, and his family," Maven says, waving a hand between me and the tall, violent-looking girl. His new betrothed and the old one.

I say violent-looking partly because of her expression, and partly because of the molten, metal liquid hugging every curve of her body like glistening tar. She wears silver chains at her neck, wrists, and ears, fine as thread and studded with diamonds.

The boy, her brother I assume, matches their father in black velvet and a sparkling silver chain. At the side of the Samos lord is a woman with angular black eyes and flawless porcelain skin. Though her dainty figure makes her seem small and weak, I can't help but note the viciousness in her eyes.

Not to mention the snakes she wears.

On her wrists, around her neck. Thin, black, and moving slowly, their scales gleaming like spilled oil. A wave of disgust jolts through me at their gleaming scales that look a little too much like spilled oil.

Animos, I recall.

"Lord Volo; his wife, Larentia of House Viper; their son, Ptolemus; and their daughter, Evangeline. Well-regarded and valuable members of my court," Maven explains, gesturing to each in turn. He smiles openly, as if he's not introducing a family that most likely wishes him dead.

"I'm sorry we were not able to properly meet you sooner." Volo steps forward to take my outstretched hand.

When your daughter stormed out in the middle of a diplomatic meeting for the dramatics?

I try not to recoil as he brushes a kiss to my bare knuckles. Luckily, I've had years of practice. Ti and I had a running joke of who could react with the least amount of disgust at parties. The thought of my sister forms a knot in my chest, filling me with longing. "We were called away to attend matters in our own lands."

I dip my brow and speak mindlessly. "No apology is required, my lord."

Maven looks at Mare, quirking his eyebrow in amusement. I want to kill him. This introduction was decidedly his idea. My future-husband, it turns out, has an extra-twisted sense of humor.

The girl- Evangeline not-so-subtly looks back-and-forth between me and Mare, who takes a step away from me.

Wise girl.

"And you were betrothed to the king?" A tiny smirk creeps up on my face, and I hope it's not noticeable.

"For a time, yes," Evangeline says with murder in her eyes. "And his brother before him."

"Well, I'm glad you've returned to court. We will require a good amount of help in organizing our wedding." Nothing like pouring salt into ages old wounds.

Maven turns his head to hide a sneer. Serves him right.

One of the snakes hisses, a low, droning sound impossible to mistake. But Larentia quickly curtsies, sweeping out the fabric of her shimmering gown.

"We are at your disposal, Your Highness," she says. Her voice is deep, rich as syrup. As we watch, the thickest snake, around her neck, nuzzles up past her ear and into her hair. Revolting. "It would be an honor to aid you however we can."

Of course it would.