Page 90 of Curse of Darkness
“She absolutely refuses to wear a dress.” This time I chuckle. “It drives Thalia to her wit’s end. Thalia threatened to strap her down and lace her into one the other day and Amaya told her she’d burn it if she tried and walk around naked.”
The easy way they’ve slipped into a relationship—that of aunt and niece—sometimes makes me envious. One would think they’d been arguing for nine years.
The faintest of smiles touches his mouth. “Sounds like she has her mother’s sense of stubbornness.”
“Hey.” I poke him in the ribs. “Don’t you pretend to be the innocent one there.”
Thiago stares at the pool for long seconds. “If she doesn’t want to wear dresses, then she doesn’t have to.”
“Thalia knows that. She’s given up. Now she’s working on an entire line of tunics and leggings that a princess can be seen in. And little boots that reach to her knees. I’m so jealous I might steal the idea. Or I would, if I didn’t think Thalia would riot.”
He breathes out a faint laugh as he turns toward me. “Alas, I think she’s already established full command of your wardrobe.”
“I’m not the only one.” I pluck at the thick belt laced over his coat. “Very dark prince today. I’m not sure if you’re planning on seducing me, or slaying your enemies.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Preferably not at the same time.” Running my hands up his chest, I bite my lip. The tension’s easing from his shoulders, which is what I intended. “I’m still a little remiss that you’ve never brought me here before. It’s beautiful.”
“This was my mother’s favorite place.”
And maybe that was why he never brought me.
Because this is more to him than a gorgeous place to view the city. It’s pain, wrapped up in heartbreak, with a nicely giftwrapped bow of yearning tied around the entire mess.
He’s only spoken once of Queen Araya’s summer palace. Araya wintered in the castle overlooking the city, but this sits on the outskirts of Ceres, high above the metropolis. Sharp cliffs plunge toward the old walls of the old town, and from here, the rooves of thousands of houses spread around the bay twinkle in the dreary afternoon sunlight.
It’s breathtaking.
Stunning.
Broken and wild.
Roses and thorns choke the courtyard, and fallen tree branches lay overtaken with moss. Fallow fountains remain silent and there’s an enormous pool in the center of the courtyard, its still waters reflecting the single golden ray that peaks through the clouds. More pools circle it, though they’ve been overtaken with frogs and reeds. At night and from the balcony above, it would look exactly like its namesake, if the pools were cleared.
The Palace of Many Moons.
I can only imagine it.
“It’s so… peaceful.” I can picture summers here, with Amaya running through the grounds and laughing.
“You have that renovating look in your eye,” Thiago warns. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Well,” I tell him, “I already have your soul, so not that.”
The faintest of smiles touches his mouth.
Reaching out, I capture his fingertips in mine. “Show me the gardens please.”
“Don’t start planning their overhaul.”
“To plan is to envision a future,” I reply with a shrug. “And I want this future. You. Me. Amaya. And an entire century of peace, where the hardest decision to make is where to plant the roses.”
It’s a slow meander through the clifftop gardens. Thiago points out places he remembers, describing their usage to me. He served as a warlord in his mother’s armies and was frequently asked to deliver dispatches to her here. There’s an undercurrent of awe and bitterness in his voice as he speaks of the lawn games he encountered, the parties, the elderberry wine that flowed in the fountains.
Something he always watched from a distance.
It was the refuge of his mother, a woman who locked herself away here in the palace, safe behind her gates with a smile on her lips, and a hand that never trembled except for the odd moments when her bastard-born son would arrive for a meeting.
