Chapter 11

A ria rushed back to her father's side, still reeling from the events in the kitchen. Her steps felt light; her thoughts raced with clearness through a fogless mind. The moment she'd sipped Baron's tea, it had washed away every ounce of exhaustion and left her feeling like Aria again. She couldn't believe it.

Had he known she was cursed? Was it something another Caster could see or feel? Had breaking her curse been his thanks for something as simple as showing his brothers a kitchen ?

Aria felt as if her history professor had handed her a new textbook on a time period she'd never studied, full of unknown writings waiting to inspire her with truth. There was more to magic than she'd ever dreamed. The people of her kingdom coexisted with it and knew nothing of its processes. She'd known nothing. Not for eighteen years.

"Ah, there you are." The king nodded as she reached him beside the refreshments table. He gestured to the woman beside him. "Duchess Newburn has a son who would like to present himself as a possible suitor. I told her this matter has your utmost attention."

"It does," Aria said, her voice strong, "and I would be delighted to consider your son, Your Grace. If you'll direct him to me, we can share a dance before the evening is out and spend some time evaluating if we might be compatible partners."

She didn't have to drag the words one by one into sense; they flowed almost without effort. Had conversation been this easy before the curse?

As the duchess curtsied and excused herself to find her son, Aria's father raised an eyebrow.

"Well handled," he remarked. "Though I cannot excuse this event's hostess disappearing for the past hour."

"It was for a good purpose. I was with a member of court, and I found him most ... enlightening."

The king raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of wine. " Enlightening . Is that what they're calling trysts these days?"

Aria gasped, fighting her blush. " Father . It was not like that."

"If he's your decided-upon courtship, I won't complain."

For a moment, she thought of Baron's vibrant green eyes, the tawny shades to his hair, which gave its thick waves a captivating depth. She thought of the way he'd looked at her when she'd touched his hand. Vulnerable, perhaps, though she couldn't imagine why—not when he held a power that made others uncomfortable with its very existence.

"Who was it, then?" her father asked. "Lord Alexander? Lord Christopher? I noticed you two seemed to connect when the evening began."

"No one of consequence," she said, then hated herself for the words.

Ingratitude. Mark.

If Baron Reeves had freed her from a curse, she should be rushing to reward him. Instead, she found herself slightly wary, the way she'd felt a moment before drinking his tea. She'd decided to take that risk because her overwhelming exhaustion meant she could not turn away even the possibility of assistance, and she was gambling he wouldn't offer poison in clear view of a room full of people.

Surely the results spoke for themselves, didn't they?

"Father, I ..." Aria hesitated, then set her shoulders. "I was c—"

Her jaw clamped shut. She couldn't speak.

Which meant the curse was still in effect. The blow of that nearly staggered her.

"Yes?" said her father.

Not now, Aria. Indulge in self-pity later if you must, but not now. After weeks struggling through fog, she couldn't waste a moment of clear thinking. Whether by accident or intention, Baron had given her a reprieve. She would seize it.

"I was curious," she said, "about the state of affairs regarding Northglen."

Her father nodded. "You wish to rejoin Upper Court meetings. This evening doesn't entirely fill me with confidence, though you are taking the suitor business seriously."

"I hoped we might discuss a few things now, just the two of us."

With his wine glass, he gestured at the packed room. "Just the two of us?"

Aria grimaced. As if invited by her careless comment, a group of court members approached her father. Not a moment later, Aria was pulled away by a well-intentioned Eliza, and she couldn't deny her sister.

One hour , she promised. One hour to give Eliza the celebration she deserved, and then Aria could slip away to a washroom—not to sleep, but to plan. With a clear mind, she would lay out her battle tactics for the next eighty days of siege.

And she would figure out where Baron fit into those tactics.

Aria danced like she'd never danced before—without an ounce of exhaustion, with anyone available and willing, with joy in every step. She held conversations with a dozen potential suitors, and she made at least half of them laugh, though she couldn't remember a word they said. If her mind went anywhere, it went to a single cup of tea in a kitchen, pondering furiously at the motives driving the man who'd made it.

For the third time, she searched Eliza out of the crowd, pulling her sister away from a gawky young boy who clearly breathed a sigh of relief at no longer needing to impress a princess. Her sister's irritation melted into a laugh as Aria linked arms with her and spun them both.

"Aria!" Eliza giggled, then hushed her voice. " Aria. You have been wild all evening."

"There are worse things than wildness." Exhaustion, for one. "Look there, Eliza, but subtly." Aria nodded toward the corner of the room, where a young man had been watching her sister for the better part of twenty minutes, smiling to himself whenever he heard the princess laugh.

Eliza, of course, was not subtle, blushing openly when their eyes met. She rippled her fingers in the young man's direction as if playing the notes of a scale on the harpsichord. Taking the invitation, he approached.

"I believe he is one of Earl Wycliff's sons," Aria said. "I can't be certain which one, though I've heard no poor reputations about any."

The younger girl leaned in, touching her forehead to Aria's.

"He's gorgeous ," Eliza whispered fiercely. "True-love material for certain."

"I suggest you begin with single-dance material," Aria whispered back, "and worry about true love after a formal courtship."

But she grinned at her sister and stepped away, allowing the two to meet. Since her father had retired to his throne, she took a break from dancing to join him, bringing them each a pastry from the table.

"You're certainly enjoying yourself." The king smiled.

"I find myself with a great appreciation for life today."

Her hour was nearly up, but before leaving the joyful event, she had one last thread of curiosity to chase.

"Father, what do you remember of the late baron? Marcus Reeves."

The man hadn't been a member of the Upper Court, and it was clear her father had to think a moment before responding. "Marcus was well-mannered, though he showed a certain disdain for fashion norms. Questionable taste in his personal life, considering he married, first, a foreign woman of Caster bloodline and, second, a woman who later left him. But he managed his estate well. He never caused headaches in court. Not a scheming type, nor overly prideful. Noble, as I said."

Though her meeting with Baron had been brief, Aria thought he echoed some attributes of his father.

"I think perhaps we should reevaluate the Reeves title," she said. "I've given it thought, and while a Caster at court presents dangers, it presents opportunities as well. Casters occupy a minority in Loegria's citizenship, but they're still a presence. And one with no representation at court. Is it not better to understand all the peoples of our kingdom? If we'd had a voice for Casters available, perhaps Widow Morton would not have felt so isolated. Perhaps she might have even been reasoned with before things escalated."

To her surprise, her father nodded. "These are valid points, certainly."

Encouraged, she added, "Guillaume Reeves seems to conduct himself with grace, and he was raised by a man you've described as noble. If anyone deserves the chance, I'd posit he does."

Still nodding, her father said, "And when does Lord Guillaume present at court?"

Aria frowned. "He ... he presented today."

"Correct. Past tense." Her father shook his head. "The time for deciding this matter is already gone, Aria, yet still you churn it in your mind. This is one of your weaknesses. A monarch cannot second-guess every decision, cannot waste time reevaluating when the path moves ever forward. Tell me—what is a mistake, by definition?"

It took Aria a moment to answer, since her ears still rang with that word: weakness.

"Something ... wrong," she managed at last.

"What defines ‘wrong'?"

"The law, I suppose."

"Would it have been wrong of me, then, to appoint Guillaume Reeves a seat at court? He himself called upon the law to justify it."

Aria hesitated, then shook her head.

"And would it have been wrong of me to strip the Reeves title and appoint it to another worthy family? There's no law against it. See, Aria. You are dissecting situations as if you will find a clear distinction between the right path and the wrong one, but ruling a country is not so simple. There will always be many paths. A few wrong. Many not wrong. Only one right."

Aria frowned at the seeming contradiction. "Only one? You said ..."

"Right is the path adhered to. It is your consistency as a ruler that forges right . Consistency is the only foundation stable enough to carry a kingdom."

Not for the first time, Aria felt a debate with her father was like being dropped into a lake having never learned to swim. The sheer pressure of it overwhelmed her. His arguments seemed so logical , so precise . He spoke with confidence and a depth of experience Aria couldn't hope to match.

She nodded and told herself to accept what he said, because he said it with such authority. Meanwhile, a tiny piece of herself shifted in discomfort, squeaking with an almost inaudible voice that she didn't agree, though it could not put words to the disagreement. It was merely a feeling. A feeling about wrong . A feeling that remembered Baron standing strong before a king, then walking away untitled.

But the rest of her remembered his witch's mark and thought of Widow Morton. The rest of her did not know the right path either, but it knew the last time she'd tried to find it on her own, she'd climbed a frozen mountain and returned home cursed. All of her knew her father never would have fallen into such a fate.

The only right path she could worry about at the moment was the one that led out of the pit she'd dug for her family.