Page 41 of Daughter of Shadows and Ash

I set my cup down and meet her cold, narrowed gaze. “It is a shame, I truly loved my time at the book shop. He won’t have a need for me after I find a suitable replacement to help my dear uncle.” I pick up one of the dainty cookies and take a small bite before setting it down. “These are just so lovely.” I muse.

The ladies murmur their agreement as they sample the delicate pastries. Ingrid's gaze remains fixed on me, unyielding with hate.

"Don't mind her," Elliana leans close to whisper, glancing nervously at the other girls like prey watching for predators. "I heard her parents were negotiating a betrothal between her and the prince before the king began fixating on the prophecy." Most of the ladies wore calm masks as they chatted and sipped their tea, but some, like Ingrid, looked ready to turn this frivolous occasion into a blood bath.

"How curious that you appear in town and suddenly find yourself chosen," Ingrid's voice dripped with venom. "Surely there are ladies here of far more...distinguished lineage than a mere shopkeeper's niece."

"The Fates work in mysterious ways," I replied, keeping my voice light. "I never wanted to take that assessment. A prince marrying someone like me? The very idea is laughable."

A laugh escaped my lips as the women's eyes darted between us like frightened birds. "And yet, here we sit."

Ingrid's sour expression had my fingers twitching, yearning for the familiar comfort of my dagger. How lovely that blade would look buried in her pale throat.

Her judgment meant nothing. I knew what I was - an assassin playing at being a princess, soon to be queen. The absurdity of it all burned in my chest. I never asked for any of this.

Her endless lecture about bloodlines faded to meaningless noise. When I noticed the other tables emptying, I seized my chance. Rising with practiced grace, I offered the ladies a farewell before gliding from the room.

Relief flooded through me at the sight of Magnus's perpetually grumpy expression. He looked as thrilled about waiting through this ridiculous affair as I felt.

"Did the tea party meet your expectations, Lady Alora?" Magnus asked, his expression caught between amusement and concern.

"I'd rather face down an army," I admitted, checking that neither Luella nor Miss Gregoria lurked nearby to witness my breach of etiquette. "Could we visit the garden? I need to breathe air that isn't perfumed with false pleasantries."

"Of course," Magnus said, guiding us through a door into the lush rose garden.

"So you prefer war over tea?" His deep chuckle resonated in the garden. "That's certainly a first."

If only he knew who he was speaking to.Maël's laughter echoed in my mind before fading like morning mist, there and gone on his own wild whims.

My expression must have betrayed something because Magnus's laughter grew when our eyes met.

"Give me steel and blood over false smiles any day," I said.

"Strange. I'd expect Augustus's niece to excel at mind games. Your uncle always had a razor-sharp wit about him."

I settled onto a stone bench, patting the space beside me. Magnus shook his head, assuming his guard position at my side like a stalwart shadow.

"I had no idea you knew my uncle," I said, anxiety coiling in my gut.

"I was stationed in Bridgedale years ago when he lived there with your aunt," Magnus said, his voice warm with memories. "I must admit, I was shocked when you appeared. Vanya always seemed too wild to settle into motherhood."

I could picture them crossing paths in some dimly lit tavern, Vanya expertly relieving him of his coin through bets he'd lost before he even made them. My master had always excelled at reading people, turning simple card games into elaborate mental traps.

"I was adopted," I said carefully, watching his reaction. "I never knew my parents."

The silence from my weekly letters to Vanya burned like acid in my chest, but I made a mental note to ask about Magnus in my next one.

"My father served as a soldier there," I said, crafting the lie with practiced ease. "And my mother... well, she was flighty. I’ve been told I am her mirrored image.” The half-truth felt bitter on my tongue, but I prayed it would satisfy his curiosity.

Magnus's face softened with sympathy as he murmured platitudes about perhaps crossing paths with my father.

Like everyone else, he probably assumed my father met his end on the front lines, becoming another nameless soldier ground to ash between the warring kingdoms.

We resumed our stroll and he steered our conversation back to the tea gathering. I recounted Ingrid's barely veiled insults about my inexperience with court life.

"There's more to ruling than having the right bloodline," he said, his voice hard with conviction. "Sounds to me like she's nothing but a jealous harlot."

A laugh bubbled up as I imagined Ingrid's horrified face at the insult. I hadn't expected this gruff warrior to lift my spirits after the morning's disaster. Usually, he was granite and steel. Untouchable. Coiled tension ready to strike. Much like my Raven - both of them forged for battle, not these delicate social games. I didn't realize I'd spoken that last part aloud until Magnus responded.

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