Page 112 of The Sovereign: Part One
“Come on.”He steered me back toward Lourdes’s floating platform.“Let’s not borrow the ending before the story’s had its say.”
We returned to find her still in motion, conducting the gala with the focus of a symphony conductor, smiling and greeting while fine-tuning the tempo of the evening.It was awe-inspiring, really.Her precision.Her ease.Her stamina.I felt exhausted just watching her.
Another hour had passed before she allowed herself to retreat with us to a table tucked into the back garden.The crowd’s energy fell into the background, replaced by the hush of wind sweeping through sculpted trees and the murmur of water from a nearby fountain.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said, half in admiration, half in disbelief.
“She lives for this,” Leopold replied before she could, beaming at her like she’d spun the stars herself.“There’s nothing I love more than seeing her like this—composed, commanding, absolutely radiant.She takes the room in her hands and shapes it like clay.My darling captain.”
Lourdes leaned into him, her exhaustion tempered by affection.She looked past me then, eyes narrowing as she straightened in her seat.“There you are.”
Roan appeared from the shadows, his tie crooked, shirt collar open.He dropped into the seat beside her, not so much sitting as collapsing.His shoulders slumped forward, his gaze unfocused, distant.The party spun on around us—music, laughter, movement—but Roan was frozen, numb.
He looked like a man standing on the edge of triumph or ruin.
Lourdes glanced at him, then at Leopold, her annoyance barely concealed as she leaned in to whisper something sharp and swift.
From across the table, I stared at Roan, heart already aching—for him, for Bellam, for whatever came next.Top of Form “Did you find her?”Bottom of Form
“I did,” Roan said, deflated.
“Is she okay?”
“Bellam left?”Lourdes asked.She glared at Roan.“You were warned.I should’ve known, with you moping around the estate, and then suddenly you were full of energy and smiling again.It was obvious, but I was too distracted with the gala to see it.It’s impossible, Roan.It’s good that you understand that now.”
“Roan,” I said again, more gently this time.“Is she all right?”
He exhaled, staring down at the table as if the answer might be carved into the wood.
“Well?”Lourdes pressed, her voice taut.
“She says she will be,” Roan choked out.
Lourdes leaned back, arms crossed, clearly simmering.“I told you to let go of this fantasy.She has, what—how long before Veritas?”
“One hundred days,” Roan said flatly, without bothering to look up.
“Fourteen weeks,” she snapped.“What did you think was going to happen?”
I reached across the table toward him, my palm flat against the grain of one of the only oak furnishings in Hyperion Proper, my movement a subtle yet poignant show that someone at the table supported him.“Your sister is just worried.We all are.”
Maxim’s hand slid to my shoulder in reassurance.
“Roan,” I said, turning toward him.“Look at me.Are you okay?”
“Spectacular,” he muttered.
Lourdes threw up her hands.“Isara, please.Enlighten me.”
“It’s not my place,” I said, careful not to meet her full glare.“Just… maybe don’t be so hard on him.No one meant for this to happen.”
Roan glanced at me then, grateful.
“What, exactly, has happened?”Lourdes demanded, eyes narrowing.
A Hiven interrupted, tray in hand.“Could I offer you some refreshments.Maybe a small plate from the galley?”
Roan brightened.“Actually, yes.What do you…?”
