Page 102 of Glow of the Everflame

Luther’s expression darkened. I couldfeelhim begging me not to give up on him, not to take Aemonn’s bait and believe the worst.

I looked away.

The cousin sitting across from me, pin-thin and androgynous, whose name I remembered to be Velis, leaned forward on their elbows and gestured to my throat. “Is that a scar?”

I reached up and traced the small crescent of shiny skin at my collarbone. “It is. I got it when I was young, climbing some rocks with my br... with a friend,” I corrected quickly, unsure how many of them had heard about Teller.

“Climbing rocks?” Ethaline snorted. “How quaint.”

“It’s quite useful for building finger strength,” I purred, raising my hands into a neck-strangling motion that had Ethaline’s face going pale.

“You can get that removed, you know,” Velis said. “Normally, once our healing powers manifest, we make a trip to the healers in Fortos to remove any—” Their eyes cut to my scar, nose wrinkling. “—imperfectionswe gained in childhood.”

I shrugged. “I like my scars. Perfection is boring.”

“They’re unseemly for a Queen,” Iléana said loudly. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

A handful of cousins nodded at her words.

“You have a problem with scars?” I asked, glancing between her and Luther with eyebrows raised.

“I have a problem with the Crown of Lumnos having scars,” she said. “How can we expect the mortals or the other realms to fear us if our Crown is walking around covered in flaws?”

Another round of nodding heads and hushed agreement, this time more widespread.

I frowned at Luther, but he was staring straight ahead, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Iléana took a sip of wine and smirked like she’d won something. “Don’t look so shocked, Diem. Luther feels the same way.” She ran a hand possessively along his forearm and gave him an adoring smile. “He swore to me he’ll have his scars removed before he becomes King.”

Luther was carved in stone. Neither his face nor his body shifted even a hair. His eyes were glaciers, cold and slow-moving, empty of life. To the room, he looked entirely unbothered, perhaps too indifferent to even be listening.

It was his aura that gave him away—the one sign only I had strong enough magic to detect. Its presence grew dark, unbearably heavy, seeming to drag me with it as it shrank toward him and coiled within.

How often had he been forced to endure conversations like these? How frequently had he been made to feel defective or inferior? My heart broke for the little boy who had made the brave decision not to have his scar healed away, and for the teenager and the young man who had surely been forced to justify that choice again and again.

I glanced at Taran, who was scowling at Iléana and looked just as furious as I felt, and at Alixe, whose eyes were raised to the ceiling as if she’d been through this discussion too many times before.

Whiskey and wine swirled hot in my chest, and my pulse picked up speed as my temper rose.

“I can’t speak for the other realms, but I can attest that mortals do not see a scar as a sign ofweakness,” I spat out. “Quite the opposite. And on that, I couldn’t agree with them more.”

Luther’s attention shifted to me, though he remained deadly still. Iléana seethed.

“A scar is a sign of survival,” I continued. “Of endurance. It’s a sign that its bearer triumphed over what might have killed a lesser person. To show off your scars is to tell the world you’re not ashamed of what you’ve overcome. Frankly, I can’t imagine any better symbol of strength. And if Luther weremyKing, then I would make him swear to me he would never remove it. I would hope he wore it with pride for the rest of his life.”

A thunderous silence settled over the room. Even the servants froze with bated breath.

Iléana looked at me with such murderous poison in her eyes that if I had her arrested for actively plotting to kill the Queen, not a soul in the room would have disagreed.

I held her glare, jaw locked, refusing to back down from her open challenge.

Aemonn carved through the tension with a flippant wave of his hand. “What a shame it is, then, that Luther could never be your King.” He gave a light chuckle. “Or perhaps a blessing.”

Nervous laughter rippled around the room.

“But he could be her King Consort,” Velis argued, looking me over thoughtfully. “It would be a smart match. Likely the most powerful couple the realm has ever seen.”

“And we already know she’s seen the inside of his bedroom,” Tyris added, snickering.

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