Chapter 4

CHAPTERFOUR

A few minutes later,I’m standing in Ilona’s room. I did not expect her to laugh as hard as she did.

“Gosh, A. What did you do to yourself?” she asks through her hands, attempting to muffle her laughter.

“What, you don’t like it?” I fight to keep a straight face.

“Please tell me you’ll let me fix it. I mean, it’s quite lovely what you’ve attempted to do here, but I think I can touch it up a bit so that it’s not so…edgy?”

“If you insist.”

“Thank the goddess!”

“Oh as if you don’t know that’s why I’m here.” I roll my eyes while she continues snickering.

Ilona’s room is across the hallway from mine, making it easy for me to seek her out. When we were young, she shared a room with her mother in the servants’ wing. After her mother’s death, she began sneaking through the corridors to my room. Of course Mother knew the whole time, considering she has eyes and ears everywhere.

Instead of getting angry or kicking Ilona out, Mother took charge of her care. She even assigned Ilona this luxurious room in the royal wing.

The memories are hazy, and my chest twists at the recollection. I’m conflicted about Mother’s recent actions.

How can the woman who cared for Ilona and kept my secret about her mother’s death be the same woman cruelly manipulating the entire village for her own shallow gain? My mind battles itself, as I attempt to rationalize the two different women Mother seems to be.

The one I remember.

And the one I see before me.

“You’re so pertinacious sometimes; I worry you’d wear it like that just to make a statement.”

“Pertinacious? New word from that doozy of a book you’re reading?”

“It is.” She smiles shyly. “I was trying it out. It’s basically a fancy way of saying you’re stubborn or resolute when it comes to upholding your choices. It could also be interpreted as—”

“I think you might be right, Ilona,” I say, putting a halt to her rambling. Locking the door behind me, I cross her plush white rug—a risky choice of decor considering how often we used to sneak bottles of dark wine into the space—and take a seat beside her on the lavender chaise. Her room is a little smaller than mine and lacks a terrace. Although the furnishings in our rooms are almost the same, her room is full of beige and lavender hues, while mine is full of turquoise and gold.

“About you being pertinacious?” She gives me a puzzled look as she enters the bathroom, returning a moment later with shears and a comb. “You’re surprised by that?”

“No, you twit.” I toss a decorative pillow at her, and she holds up the scissors in defense.

“Careful!” she shrieks. “Don’t torment the person about to give you a new hairdo, for goddess’s sake.”

“As if you can make it look any worse than it is.”

We chuckle.

“How much shorter do you want to go?”

“I’m thinking wispy pixie layers.” It’s already short, barely covering my ears as is.

She runs her comb through my hair, making hmm noises as she inspects it. “It’s admirable you tried, but I don’t think haircutting is your forte. And you did this dry, didn’t you? Don’t answer that. I know you did. I can tell. We need to dampen this.”

She beckons for me to follow her into the bathroom. After moistening my hair in the sink, she gestures for me to sit before her on the marble floor. It’s uncomfortable, and the heady mixture of floral perfumes and sprays suffocates me, but I don’t say anything. Better to do it in here and preserve her treasured rug from an onslaught of sheared hair.

“So what did you mean I might be right? About what?”

Soft snips fill the air, and a few dark tufts flutter down around me as she begins her work. Shutting my eyes, I heave a sigh.

“About Mother.” There’s a pause. Ilona remains silent as she waits for me to elaborate. “I think her power is stronger than I thought it was. I think she’s hiding what she can do.”

“She does hide what you can do, A, so why is it so far-fetched that she’d hide what she can do too?”

“It isn’t. Not anymore.”

“I know you didn’t come to this conclusion based solely on my concerns. So will you please spill the story? What happened?”

She continues to work on my head as I tell her how I got sick during the transference and how Cedrik helped me. How Mother used her myndox power on him. I relay how I felt his regular emotions after Mother invaded his mind–nothing was skewed to indicate her invasion–and how it’s impossible for me to know who has fallen prey to her manipulation.

A chunk of hair lands on my cheek, and I blow it off while Ilona scolds me about staying still.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already heard the gossip about transference,” I say. Ilona is social with the servants, and word travels fast around the palace.

“You know the girls get nervous chatting about Enira. I really don’t hear as much as you think I do.” Fingers dance across my head as she plays with the style, fluffing it up and chopping at straggling bits. “It’s mostly drama such as who slept with who at the recent bacchanal, which servants are slacking, what we think the guards look like under the—”

“I get it. But if you hear anything about Mother, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course.”

She steps into my line of sight, biting her bottom lip. “How do you know her magic held? Or that she didn’t harm him after?”

“I suppose I don’t, but Mother’s awfully calculated. She wouldn’t let him go unless she was confident he’d keep her secrets one way or another. We need to talk to Cedrik and find out.”

“As much as I’d love an opportunity to say I told you so again, I really do hope I’m wrong, A.” Anguish fills her tone. We might bicker like sisters sometimes, but we’d never truly wish each other harm. She’s the exact opposite of Mother—she’d never want to be right for the sake of ego.

“I know, Lonnie,” I say, using the nickname I gave her when we were young. Normally she cringes and begs me not to call her that, but this time she doesn’t protest. Her face contorts with concentration as she maneuvers around me, ensuring my ends are even.

A few minutes later she stands back, admiring her work.

“Goddess above. Maybe I should’ve cut your hair one of those times you begged before. Forget Queen Enira’s wrath, this is a marvelous look!” She claps her hands together and does a weird dance, finally setting the shears down. “This is so you, Astrid.”

Grabbing my hand, she pulls me to my feet.

“Look, look.” She pushes me toward the mirror above her counter. “Isn’t it just gorgeous?”

A stranger stares back at me.

My fingers rise of their own accord, tracing the soft curves of my face as I stare into my blue-green eyes, the one feature I actually like. Ilona truly worked magic of her own—not the literal kind, but a beautiful, talented kind. The layers are short and choppy, a little longer on the top, shorter on the sides.

It feels refreshing. Lighter. Airier.

Turning, I grab her and pull her into a tight hug. “Thank you so much. I knew you’d make me look wonderful.”

“No. It wasn’t me, A. It’s you. Your confidence and energy are what make you look wonderful.”

Breaking away from the embrace, we smile at each other. Ilona is the sweetest person I know.

Guilt tries to claw itself out of my gut, but I force it down. Even after all this time, I can’t help but wonder if Ilona would still love me the same if she knew I was responsible for her mother’s death. Sure, I was only a child, and it was a tragic accident, but would she forgive me? Would she forgive me for keeping it a secret all this time?

Shaking the thought away, I squeeze her hand. “Are you tired?”

“Not at all. I should be asking you that question though. It’s late and you’ve had a long few hours already.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go get your tea and gossip.” She’s right, it is late, but tomorrow we can sleep in.

“Tea, sure, but their lips will seal around you, Princess. Good luck getting the scoop.”

“I’m not even a real princess,” I mumble. It’s a blessing and a curse that Mother doesn’t require any political or royal duties from me. Since she plans to rule for as long as she can, she has no need for an heiress—no need to prepare me for a job I’ll never have. It’s nothing but an empty title.

The lack of responsibility offers me extra freedoms, such as exploring the island with Ilona and reading, which I’m grateful for, but sometimes it makes me feel a bit useless.

“You are a princess. And I’m lucky enough that you’re my best friend.”

“Well, you’ll forever be my only friend since everyone is afraid to talk to me apparently. Let’s go.”

Ilona’s nightly routine consists of sipping tea while reading thought-provoking fiction or educational nonfiction books. My routine is similar, though I seek out steamy romance novels and a cozy chair, whereas she can read anywhere and prefers books thicker than my head.

I never used to like hot herbal drinks…but they have grown on me.

Normally, I don’t accompany her to the kitchen. She goes on her own, catching up on the latest gossip without me at her side while I take an excessive amount of time choosing my next read.

The servants must know the chatter gets back to me—it’s no secret that Ilona and I are practically tethered—but their lips are looser when I’m not around. Ilona says they’re wary of engaging in such conversations in the presence of their princess. They fear their words are too inappropriate for me.

If only they knew what their princess read.

Smirking to myself, I lead Ilona out of her room and down the royal hallway into the main space. We cross through to the oversized kitchen by the servants’ wing, finding it emptier than usual.

Marnie—an olive-skinned, robust girl in her mid-twenties with thick eyebrows and a heavy bun of dark hair—gives us a lopsided grin. Marnie’s only been here three years, but that’s still longer than most of the other servants.

She has a compassionate demeanor and a contagious laugh, making her easy to get along with. I suspect part of the reason Ilona enjoys going to get tea every evening is that it allows her to spend time with Marnie, but I’ve never asked about it.

“Princess,” she says to me with a quick curtsy. “Lady Ilona—oh wow! Your Highness, your new hairstyle is quite lovely.”

“I appreciate the kind words, Marnie,” I say, “but you don’t have to call me that.”

Ilona clucks her tongue. “You say that as if you won’t be queen one day, A.”

“At the rate Mother is devouring the lives of others, I won’t be.”

Marnie’s mouth forms a small circle while Ilona snorts a laugh.

“I’d recommend you don’t say that, but goddess knows I can’t tell you what to do,” Ilona says.

Once we both start cracking up, Marnie joins in, loosening up a bit. I probably shouldn’t make such comments in front of the servants. Criticism is another thing Mother doesn’t tolerate well, and the staff could get in trouble if they repeat my words.

“Where are Deidra and Lila?” Ilona asks, referring to a couple of older, chattier ladies who typically work during the night.

“Ah, hosting Queen Enira’s guests.”

Ilona and I share a look.

“Where exactly is Queen Enira?” I ask.

“The parlor. It’s a casual affair of dessert wine and pastries.” Marnie offers Ilona a shy smile. “Would you like me to make your lemon-ginger tea?”

“I’m perfectly capable of preparing my own beverage. Thank you though.” Ilona bites her lip and blushes underneath her freckles. It’s adorable. Looking away, I pretend to busy myself with a crystal salt shaker sitting on the counter.

“Oh, Astrid,” Marnie says quickly, “forgive my impoliteness. May I offer my princess anything to eat or drink?”

Although I cringe at her use of princess, I refrain from reminding her I don’t like to be addressed that way.

I’ve always hated the royal terms: princess, your highness, my lady. They make me feel disconnected. Separated from everyone else. It’s bad enough I’m forced to be the faceless, nameless vessel once a week. The rest of the time, I’d prefer to just be me. Astrid. Not a dutiless joke of a princess who everyone’s afraid to talk to.

People can fear you, or they can love you, Astrid. One offers protection, while the other makes you weaker. Let them fear you.

Mother and I differ greatly in that regard. She clings to her titles, her self-importance, the fear she instills. Those things define her.

Maybe I don’t want to be feared. Maybe I want to be loved, to have more friends.

“No thanks, Marnie. I’m all right.” Lifting myself up onto the marble island, I sit and swing my feet, watching as Marnie finishes wiping the countertops across from me. She’s done such a thorough job they gleam. It’s hard to imagine that during mealtimes, this place is bustling with chaos and every surface is fully covered with spices, herbs, and food of all sorts. With all the guards, the servants, and the nobles that circulate the palace, there are always dozens—if not hundreds—of mouths to feed.

“Why is Mother recruiting servants for her casual affair this evening?” When Mother hosts this kind of event, her guests typically partake in activities that don’t require food or drink. They are meetings of the flesh, not minds.

Mother was late to the bacchanal tonight, which was unlike her. Now, she’s having a meeting of some sort? What is she up to?

Reaching into a high cupboard, Ilona pulls out a ceramic mug and a box of her favorite tea. Marnie must’ve already set a kettle out before we arrived, because it begins to whistle a moment later.

“I, uh—I figured you were coming, Ilona,” she whispers. Ilona blushes again, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and I have the sudden sensation I’m invading a private moment.

“Ilona, why don’t you go ahead to the library and pick out our books for the evening when you’re done. I’m going to swing by the parlor and visit Mother.”

She nods, a grateful smile crossing her face.

It will give her and Marnie some alone time. A rarity inside these walls. Plus, she knows my taste in books better than I do half the time. I’m certain she’ll pick an enjoyable read.

Leaving the kitchen, I cross through the main foyer—a ridiculously elaborate space with towering ceilings, a massive chandelier, ornate pillars, and two curving staircases. During the day, when sunlight pours through the skylights, it’s so blindingly bright that it hurts.

The receiving parlor is set beneath where the two staircases meet, hidden away behind sliding doors. Inching closer, I pause, listening for any sign of conflict. Raised voices. Shattering glass. Anything that would indicate something’s amiss.

Mother’s coarse laugh greets me, melting together with a deeper voice.

Mother never laughs.

Backing away from the door, I crash into something hard. An arm flashes out, wrapping around my midsection to steady me.

“Hello, sweetheart,” a deep voice purrs in my ear. My heart skips a beat with fear and anticipation, as a warm body presses into my backside. The hair on my arms rises, and I’m hyperaware of the thin robe I’m wearing and how intimate this position is.

“Release me,” I demand. The man obliges, letting me go with a soft chuckle.

Spinning away from him, I don’t hesitate before shoving his chest. My shove has no effect—he’s an immovable wall of solid muscle. A moment later, he voluntarily takes a step back though.

Rich brown eyes gaze at me curiously. Wavy brown hair frames a beautiful, newly familiar face, and I’m starting to worry it isn’t a coincidence that I’ve run into him twice tonight.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I ask, arching a brow and crossing my arms, as if I wasn’t just affected by his nearness and relishing the way his body felt against mine.

He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “A devilishly handsome nobody, Your Highness.”

“Handsy, arrogant, and irksome. Truly a winning combination.”

“I see you get your manners from your mother.” He smirks, locking his eyes on mine for a heated moment before breaking the stare and moving toward the parlor doors. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have matters that require my attention.”

“Eck,” I say, making a face. “One of Mother’s new playthings? Have fun.”

The corners of his lips tilt up as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Not your mother’s. Yours.”

My cheeks flame, and I glare at him as I try to understand what he’s playing at. If he’s trying to unsettle me, he’s succeeded.

“Watch the way you talk to me, peasant,” I say, standing a little taller in an attempt to remind him of my status. He’s on my turf, in my home, and he dares speak to me like this? It’s infuriating. Yet I can’t deny the part of me that enjoys verbally sparring with this newcomer. The thrill. The challenge.

Whoever he is.

“I’m sure your people would love to hear you throwing around that word as an insult, Princess. Peasantry is the backbone of your country, is it not?”

Is he seriously trying to bring my country’s affairs into this? I clench my jaw, trying to keep my face unreadable and refusing to lash out. He’s not merely an instigator, he seems intelligent and sly too. A dangerous combination.

His gaze skims over my thin robe, and I cross my arms tighter across my midsection, covering myself.

The parlor doors slide open behind him, and Mother’s floral scent greets my nose.

“Ah, Astrid. I was about to send for you, dear.”

Bracing myself, I look past her, pleased to see everyone in the room is fully dressed. In my nightwear, I’m the odd one out. But it’s the middle of the night, after all, so what do I care?

At least she’s not hosting an orgy in the parlor like I initially assumed.

She squints at my sheared hair, before squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath as if she’s fighting the tirade building on her tongue.

“You ruined your hair,” she says in a small, strained voice, likely not wanting to make a scene in front of her guests. “You should be utterly ashamed.”

When she turns her back to me, the infuriating man sidles up to my side.

“I don’t know what you looked like before, but I like the hair,” he whispers, surprising me. “It’s fierce. Sassy.”

Is that a compliment or an insult?

And why do I care?

“Come, Astrid,” Mother calls over her shoulder. “Meet the king of Stellaris.”

As I follow her into the parlor with the bronzed man on my heels, unease rises within me.