Page 80 of War Hour

Visha’s mother. Nennirea.

The middle-aged woman gives me a smile that makes my stomach drop. It tells me everything her words do not. “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Nennirea. The Lord of Virtue’s sister. You know my daughter, Visha.”

She pulls me further from the center of the room until we hover on the outskirts. Out of direct sight or earshot of the majority of the party.

“I’ll be direct with you, dear. My daughter is positioning herself to be the next wife of the Lord of Truth. For that to happen, I need you to give him... a wide berth.”

My jaw drops, and I look around.

Is this really happening?

I laugh in disbelief.

Pain shoots through my face as my teeth pierce my lower lip, followed by the metallic taste of blood. My head recoils back, flinching away from the woman who backhanded me. Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I wince as I touch the raw skin—a split lip.

She actuallystruckme.

Without my permission, she brings my head to where she stands. Under the guise of examining my lip, she hisses in my face. “You laugh now. But you need my brother, Lord Nicaise, on your side in your endeavors against Lord Drytas. I have his ear. Remember that next time you feel like throwing yourself at Truth’s Heir.”

Ripping out of her grip, I bolt away, planning to put as much distance between me and the woman as possible. Peering back over my shoulder, the woman waves at me before disappearing into the crowd around her.

These people—do they really think that this is why I’m here? I want no part in their self-absorbed dramatics and political maneuvers.

Slipping out onto the balcony from the stifling ball room, I can’t help but sigh as the cool salt air whispers through the fabric of my skirts and across my sweaty skin. The ocean breeze sings as it rushes up the sandy dunes, kicking up onto the stonework of the capital’s walls.

In this moment, I want nothing more than to feel the water rushing past me, soaking through my dress, and cooling my heated skin.

But I can’t swim, and I have no desire to drown.

Headed for the balcony, I stumble when my heel catches a raised stone. I kick the shoe off, flinging it from my foot, until it hits the balcony with a satisfying smack. The other quickly follows as I shout.

A deep chuckle sounds behind me, and I jump backward, bumping into the edge of the balcony. My heart races, my hand coming up to smother it through my chest.

Torryn perches atop the stone ledge, resting his back against the castle with his feet kicked up in front of him. An empty chalice lays knocked over on the ground. Whatever alcohol it held now drained. His head rolls around as he looks between me and the ocean.

It would seem he succeeded in drinking himself into a stupor.

Swinging his feet off the ledge, Torryn faces me, giving me a wide, unbridled smile that catches me off guard. “You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he says, as if it is his own personal achievement.

I don’t move to close the distance between us, eyeing Torryn with a renewed suspicion, but can’t stop myself from scolding him. “I’m not sure you should be that close to the edge with how much you’ve had to drink.”

Torryn’s grin only stretches wider.

It isn’t a bad smile. In fact, it seems to void his otherwise brooding, angry aura. I wish he would smile like that more—not at me, of course. Just in general.

“Worried about me?” he teases, shifting onto his feet with a slight stumble. Moving toward me, Torryn walks in far from what I consider a straight line.

“Do I need to be?” I ask, letting out a deep sigh.

As angry as I am with him, there’s something sad about his quiet somberness. So, instead of yelling, I quietly add, “You only had to play nice with the other courts for one night, Torryn. One night. And you are drunk and absent an hour into the ball.”

“I am not drunk, but Trials, I wish I were,” Torryn mumbles, completely unconvincing of the former statement.

The declaration throws me off guard, and I can’t help but let a snort of air rush through my nose. It’s barely a laugh. But Torryn latches onto it, turning to look at me as if I’m the one behaving oddly.

Now much closer than he was a minute ago, Torryn stares at my lips, narrowing his eyes as if they’ve personally attacked him. His softened glare seems to flicker with the moonlight before they darken, a storm raging behind them. A frown curls his lips.

“Who did this?” Torryn growls, bringing a hand to my face.

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