Page 11 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
The Protectorate maze spread out behind them, the perfectly-trimmed hedges guarding the olive tree at its center–and the entrance to the castle terrace, the most beautiful part of the island, reserved only for the First Family.
My parents and I had spent many nights in the maze and on that terrace, as my father pointed to each star and told its story.
Now, when I stood on my own bedroom balcony, I looked at those same stars, asking for guidance.
But nobody needed to know that.
“Well?” Dax turned to me, somehow sounding eager and concerned all at once. He’d worn the same shade of blue on his coat as my father, but the silver lapels made his dark skin glow in a way Alaric could never hope to achieve.
His blue eyes–the ones people said he stole from the sky itself when he’d come into this world–tracked me until I stopped between him and his twin sister, Dara. Clara stood next to her, one hand holding tight onto a glass of sweet wine, the other playing with her golden hair.
I splayed my hands on the stone banister, looking down at the dozens of guests which had already sat down in their glittering best. One man’s green velvet cape was so long, he took up three seats with it. And gods help whoever would be standing behind the woman who’d braided her hair in a tall helmet similar to the ones worn by the Protectorate sentinels marching on top of the castle walls.
Everyone and their great-aunt from the Protectorate and Serpent Clans had gathered here today. Wouldn’t want to miss the first inter-Clan wedding in almost a century, now would they?
“The wedding will go on,” I muttered, not meeting my cousins’ curious gazes.
Dax swore. Dara, in her endless patience, only sighed.
Clara set down her own glass of perfumed wine and handed me one, the golden bracelets on her arms clinking. “You’re going to need this.”
“I need the whole damn barrel after having to deal with your father’s ego,” I said.
Clara lowered her gaze, narrowing it on the back of Silas’ balding head as he took his seat in the front row. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. All that Vegheara blood’s gotten to his head.” I managed a small smile for Clara. Sweet Clara, who had the patience of a goddess to deal with her lump of a father. “It’s still a wonder you turned out like you did.”
“It’s a wonder for all of us. Vegheara parents are…a lot,” Dara said, making her twin scoff. She swatted her hand at him, her silver rings catching the sun’s light. “Except you, perhaps. Alaric was always the most level-headed of the bunch.”
Perhaps too level-headed. Detached was a better description. Too calm, too slow to take action, too focused on walking by himself to clear his thoughts, day in and day out.
But I couldn’t say that, not when Dax and Dara’s parents were gone, Evie’s had been killed, and Clara had been raised by Silas.
I brought the glass to my lips and didn’t lower it until I’d gulped down half of the wine. It was tangier than I’d expected, but didn’t manage to wash away the bitter taste of the discussion with my father.
How could he think of offering Evie the throne without at least consulting me?
“Come on now.” Dax stilled my hand, even as he held an equally half-empty glass. “You don’t want to give Fabrian a run for his drunken ways, do you?”
“I don’t think that’s possible even if you lock me inside the cellar for a month.” My eyes narrowed on the sorry excuse of a groom.
He stood near the altar, snakeskin lapels glistening in the sun as he barked senseless orders at his men. I’d never met a man more in love with his own miserable voice–and I’d grown up around Silas.
“So we proceed with this farce. I can’t tell if this is a tragedy, a comedy, or a cautionary tale,” Dax said. “The bards will argue over this day for generations to come.”
“If Fabrian doesn’t cut out their tongues in a fit of boredom.” Dara grimaced.
“He really is a dung of a human.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What is Evie thinking?”
As all horrid Clan heirs who’d inherited rather than earned their crown, Fabrian’s awful reputation preceded him. A lot of heirs and royals were debauched, indulged in too much wine and too many bets, and had eyes that strayed toward all the wrong people.
Pathetic, but not uncommon–as I’d learned all too painfully.
But Fabrian had a mean streak to him.
Vicious.
He’d sliced throats over games of cards.
