Page 133 of Glow of the Everflame

Marthe’s lips flattened into a thin, pale line.

“No. We do not.”

The wrinkles spanning her face seemed to fill with shadows as her gaze narrowed in a dark promise. Any triumph I might have felt at surviving her and Iléana’s attacks quickly withered and died.

I might have survived this battle, but House Hanoverre was preparing for war.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Isank into the plush armchair and whimpered at the rush of relief that shot up my aching feet. The room was cold, lit only by dim candlelight, but the quiet was a badly needed refuge.

We were hours into the ball, and I had only just now finished the receiving line of guests. Having kissed a thousand cheeks, forced a thousand smiles, and hid a thousand scowls—mostly at Aemonn’s frequent implications that we were practically mated—I sweet-talked Perthe into a brief moment of privacy and excused myself to freshen up.

After swiping a bottle of wine on my way out, of course.

I had tucked into a nearby reading salon, where I sat with eyes closed, trying to resist the urge to walk straight out of this palace and go home to curl up in my own bed at our family’s cottage on the marsh.

Standing up so boldly to House Hanoverre had been effective at warning off the other Houses from threatening me outright, but it had also taken my strategy of playing dumb and cut it off at the knees. There was no longer any point in pretending I was Remis’s hapless puppet.

For better or worse, the Houses of Lumnos now knew that I had claws—and that I was willing to use them.

To make matters worse, a shade of suspicion now tainted every interaction I had. Marthe Hanoverre had planted her hateful seed in the soil of the Twenty Houses, and her loyal flock would be hard at work cultivating it and watching it bloom.

I could have endured it a little easier if their accusations were baseless, but a part of me wondered whether my mother really had played a role in the King’s death—and whether I had unwittingly helped.

A year ago, it would have been inconceivable that my mother was involved in a convoluted plot to overthrow a Descended King and place me on his throne.

Now, I didn’t know what to believe.

I groaned as music wafted down the hall, a signal that the dancing was about to begin. I tipped the bottle of wine back and took a heavy swig. The warmth of the magic-infused alcohol spread through my chest, and a snorting laugh bubbled out. How naive of me to have believed thedancingwould be the hardest part of this wretched ball.

Any other day, I would have cherished a night of dancing and drinking with friends. Tonight, though, the idea of twirling in a ballgown while the mortals lived in poverty, Henri languished in the dungeon, and Luther took on the Guardians had me feeling every bit the selfish Descended monster I once accused all the people in this palace of being.

Sometimes, the line between who I hated and who I had become was paper thin.

Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure which side of the line I was on.

Though I strongly considered polishing off the wine, better judgment reluctantly won out. I set down the half-full bottle with a longing look and dragged myself out of my cozy hideaway when a familiar voice caught my ear.

“What do you want, Iléana?”

My heart must have recognized him before my brain did, because a rush of familiar calm washed over me before I pieced together what I was hearing.

“No one is buying that she’s really a Corbois, Luther. Your servants do talk, you know.”

The fleeting moment of peace vanished. I spied a flash of golden hair through the crack of a slightly open door, where Luther and Iléana were talking in a nearby room.

What Ishouldhave done was leave.

Or at the very least announce my presence.

But I’d used up all my good behavior on the abandoned wine. I pressed myself into the shadows near the door.

“You cannot be serious,” Iléana said archly. “She’s a half-breed. She shouldn’t even be alive.”

“She is your Queen.”

“You’ve been preparing for this role your entire life. You earned it. That Crown belongs toyou.”

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