1. Paris

Golden light filtered through the arched windows to fall across my face, and for the first time since Father died, I woke to greet the day with hope.

It wasn't even that his death had dashed all of mine—I had a good life, an honorable family, and a man I adored. A prince I adored, actually. Though I'd not seen him since the funeral.

Royals could be so strange about death. The king didn't attend Father's funeral, even though Father had been one of his closest advisors, because no soul in Urial ought to allow themselves to think of the king and death at once. He hadn't even attended his wife's funeral, all those years ago. It was tempting fate, risking disaster, so it was better if the king and his family gave such matters a wide berth.

It'd been no surprise when Prince Tybalt's copper brows had furrowed and he'd squeezed my arm and promised that he'd simply be wasting away in court while he gave me time to mourn.

I had promised him that I wouldn't take too long, that I couldn't wait for things to return to normal, that my heart would heal all the quicker, knowing that he was waiting for me.

It was only... well, I had loved my father dearly. Losing him felt like a shadow had carved its way into my chest, stolen all my air, turned the blood in my veins cold. Without him, my brother, Hector, took up the running of the family.

He'd become very busy, with little time to sit around and commiserate. So it had just been me and Helena, my ebony-haired beauty of a sister, to pass handkerchiefs back and forth while recounting our favorite stories.

He'd passed in his sleep—an illness that came on quick, nothing more. But he was gone, and gods, it hurt.

That morning? Oh, that morning I would greet the gleaming golden day and reclaim my life. It was what Father would've wanted, after all. He'd never been one for wasting away in misery and doubt. He'd laughed loudly, acted boldly, made himself known at court. I might not have his presence, but I could carry on his joy, his resilience.

We would recover in his absence, and wherever he was, he'd be gladder for it; I was certain.

So I dressed well, in rust-colored silk that made the deep brown of my eyes twinkle brighter when I smiled, determined that was all I'd do that day. Smile and smile and smile until the shape of it felt right on my lips.

If it got too hard, Helena would be there. She always had been.

Only, as I adjusted my cuffs, a servant came in bearing a silver platter, a scrap of parchment neatly folded atop it. He held the whole thing out, and my heart leapt, a smile coming unbidden to my face for the first time in weeks.

Perhaps the prince had felt the change in the air as well, had simply known, as I had, that it was time to move past this whole dreary business. As I unfolded the letter, marked with the royal crest, I delighted to think that he'd missed me.

And then, I saw the Lord Chancellor's mark across the bottom of the page. It wasn't Prince Tybalt at all, but his father's man, and I was being summoned to an audience with the king.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Helena said over breakfast, smearing fresh cream across a still-warm scone before heaping jam atop it.

With a rough swallow, I looked to Hector. My brother avoided my gaze, but when he realized I watched him, he cleared his throat, nodded, and dabbed his napkin against his mouth.

"Of course. The king loved Father. He'd hardly wish ill on any of us. I'm sure it's a simple matter. Perhaps..." The way Hector's mouth pursed, the way he tilted his head to the side—none of it sat well with me. "Perhaps it'll be good for you. For all of us."

"He probably just wants to offer his condolences," Helena offered, smiling brightly. I could see the way it strained at the corners of her mouth, but, well, couldn't I understand that? It was hard to smile in the face of loss. Nothing was wrong except that I felt wrong. How could I feel anything but?

"Why wouldn't he summon Hector then? You're—" I waved a hand at him, at the family seal emblazoned on his chest.

He stood for all of us. He was the appropriate representative of the family at court and had been since our father drew his very last breath.

"Stop thinking so much," Hector said.

"There's no need to worry," Helena echoed.

"But you'll be there?" I asked, staring at my brother.

Finally, Hector's gaze met my own. He looked so like Father, with his full beard of black hair, his straight, patrician nose. He was a lord and a knight. I was... Paris. I was only me. Flighty, silly, not the kind of man who knelt before the peers of the realm.

"Of course," he said in that same low, serious voice he'd always had. He didn't often laugh, Hector, but when you were afraid or anxious, there was no one better to have at your side.

"I'm part of the council of lords now," he said. "I'll always attend court when duty requires it."

All right, perhaps that wasn't as heartening as I'd hoped.

Still, knowing that he was there in the throne room made the long walk from the enormous double doors, down the amethyst carpet, to the dais on which the throne sat easier. Nothing truly horrible could happen to me while Hector looked on. It simply wasn't possible.

Before King Albany, I fell to one knee and bowed my head in silence. The quiet lingered for a breath too long, and my palms began to sweat.

"Rise, Lord Paris."

Strange, to hear a formal title. Almost no one called me "lord." My brother was, of course, Lord Hector, but he bore the weight of that title well. His broad shoulders had been made for it.

My sister was often Lady Helena, but that was a sign of respect.

Everyone I knew simply called me Paris.

"Your Majesty," I said differentially, my head still bowed even as I straightened in front of the throne.

"You may approach."

His hand was extended, dangling over the edge of the throne's arm. I bent to kiss his ring before stepping back.

"It is an honor to stand before you, my king. How may I serve?"

Some part of me had expected that Helena was right and that this was some show of solidarity to our family after Father's death. Perhaps it simply looked odd for the king to single out someone from the council, so he'd summoned me instead of my brother. I couldn't imagine any other business the king might have with me.

Sometimes, Tybalt spoke of our bright future, all the things we'd do together once he was king. He wanted me as his advisor, his right hand.

He wanted to keep me close, so I'd done my best to learn the law of the realm so I could make myself useful to him when the time came. But the king? He had many advisors, lawyers, councilors, all wiser than I could ever hope to be.

So when the king answered, I stood in shock.

"There is a matter of diplomacy I'd see you attend to."

His words hung heavy in the air. He was waiting for me to respond, to agree before I'd heard the particulars. All the while my limbs had gone cold, the blood drained from my head into my pounding heart, and the room began to spin.

Was this my chance to prove myself, or—or something else?

I glanced up, searching out Hector, but his eyes were on the front of the room, on the throne. I could not tell what he knew, but I did know that he would never, ever abandon family. There was nothing in the world so important to him.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I croaked. "My life, for the good of Urial. What are your orders?" I met the king's eye again, and something sparked behind his gaze. His words were flat, unemotional, but was that a flare of anger I saw? My breath caught. I searched out Hector once more, but his jaw only flexed under my beseeching stare.

"I would have you seek out a treaty with Nemeda. Those bird-worshippers are surrounded by warmer climes. Ample fruits to help us last the winter. I would have you bring us plenty."

"Me?" I squeaked. Gods, I wanted to sink into the floor. Perhaps that was my way out of this, simply dissolving in the middle of the throne room.

The king's furious eyes caught me, held me still. "I can think of none better suited, Lord Paris. You'll leave court on the morrow."

As soon as I was dismissed, I crashed my way through the palace and into Tybalt's rooms. My brother could not help me defy a direct order from our king, he'd said when I'd caught his arm before he could quit the throne room, but the man's own son? Tybalt could help. He would.

I'd been to his rooms often enough that none of the servants stopped me, though a herald rushed ahead to announce my presence.

Despite the late hour, Prince Tybalt was still in bed when I arrived. He sat up, his blankets thick and piled so high they had strange lumps and bumps. He clutched the coverings to his chest, but when I came in, he beamed, his eyes twinkling.

Yes, that was it. Love, support—if I could not rely on Hector to save me from this mess, I could turn to Tybalt. He was always in my corner.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I have missed you so," Prince Tybalt said brightly. His warm expression faltered when he took in my panic. "Whatever's the matter?"

I gasped, sucking air deep into my chest. It was the first full breath I had taken since the king handed down his edict, and my throat was tight. My voice came out stilted.

"Your father, he—he—he's sending me to Nemeda. As a diplomat. He's sending me away."

Impossible, when everything I cared for was here in the palace. How could he possibly think I would be the right man to negotiate peace with anyone?

"Oh, darling, that's horrible." The prince clicked his tongue as he slipped out from underneath the covers. A servant was there in a moment, spreading out his dressing gown for him to slip into, wrapping it slinkily around him and tying the knot at his hips before Tybalt crossed the room to me and the servant pulled the curtains closed around the enormous bed.

My breath shook when Tybalt came close, but his hands cupped my cheeks, silky smooth and warm. He smelled—well, a little sweaty. Sharp, astringent. Not unpleasantly so, but like he had been active rather than at rest.

My breath hitched. Was he upset? Had nightmares plagued his sleep, for him to toss and turn in the night?

And now, I would abandon him to whatever haunted him? Impossible.

"I will miss you dearly," Tybalt said, his hands holding me firm. He meant it, he must, but?—

"Can you not ask your father to stay his order? Find someone else to go. Just?—"

Tybalt's sapphire eyes had turned crushingly sympathetic. "My dear, matters with my father are so strained, I'm afraid that if I advocated on your behalf, he would only send you farther away. You know my heart could not take that. Bad enough, that there will be any distance at all between us."

His thumbs swiped across my cheeks, under my eyes. I wasn't crying, but my eyes had begun to sting. I was—I was doomed.

"No one ever returns from Nemeda," I whispered. "I will die there."

Tybalt shook his head, turning me away from his bedroom, pulling me to the drawing room and the small table where we sometimes took breakfast together. Already, it was set for the two of us—his servants were so wonderfully efficient.

"You will not," Tybalt said, leaning back in his chair as a servant approached to pour his tea. "You will go and you will be patient and you will return to me, yes? You cannot leave me here alone forever, Paris. I need you at my side. You are my love, my heart. You'll return?"

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. It seemed impossible, when diplomats and lords and ladies had gone to Nemeda before, never to be heard from again. They were, every one of them, more qualified and more capable than I could ever hope to be.

But my prince's eyes were wide, beseeching. His bottom lip stuck out in a tempting pout.

How could I deny him, the first and only man I had ever loved—the man who'd taught me the meaning of the word—a single thing?

"Of course," I whispered roughly. "Of course I'll return to you. But I—I will miss you, my prince..."

Tybalt smiled at me once more, and he reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "How sweet you are," he cooed before returning to his eggs.

If it took everything I had, I promised myself then and there, with Prince Tybalt's bare foot pressing into my boot beneath the table, that I would not abandon him.