Page 54 of Queen of Legends and Lies
Celeste beams. “Yes, yes! You’re so wise to see that.”
I exchange a glance with Sterling before studying Rafe, whose face remains unreadable.
The council dives into a discussion, theories flying as fast as the arrows on the field below. They’re convinced Xenon aims to encircle the Northern Kingdoms, trapping the rest of us in his net once they fall.
“And then he can take us all out, one city at a time. Like fish in a barrel.” Which is exactly what I warned them about before.
Sterling gives my hand a subtle squeeze, letting me know he agrees.
The soldiers training below us become a distant blur as I mull over the possibility of exposing Celeste’s antics right here, in front of everyone. But I instead heed the silent warning in Sterling’s eyes. I’ve scaled the mountain of paperwork and found the plateau of delegation. I’m not ready to tumble back down by stirring up the council this very moment.
Vicar Moise inclines his head, a lock of wavy brown hair spilling over his cheek. “But Xenon’s targeting the North first, yes? So he’ll be gone for longer periods of time? To oversee this expedition.”
“Of course!” Celeste widens her eyes, simpering just as much as Serle. “You’re right. He will be gone. Nowhere near Aclaris or Tirene.”
The heat rises in me, like flames licking at dry kindling. Sterling remains the epitome of composure, his posture relaxed but attentive. He’s a glacier amid my volcanic frustration, reminding me that patience is a weapon.
A weapon I need to sharpen.
“We should get back to the Council Tower and take that into consideration. See what plans need to be changed to cover that.” Rafe motions to a squire passing by. “Make sure the latest reports are ready and the map is laid out before we get there.”
I let out a breath, my shoulders a little lighter.
They shuffle off, mumbling among themselves.
But not before Moise addresses me. “Your Highness, don’t forget. Tomorrow morning, first light. You must hear the common folk’s grievances. Four hours, at least.”
Fuck.What did I do to deserve this special form of hells?
I groan, not bothering to mask my dismay. “Great, just what I need.” My voice drips with sarcasm, a luxury I afford myself now that the council is retreating. “If I’m going to spend all day tomorrow sitting on my butt, I’m going to make sure I get plenty of exercise today.”
A ghost of a smile plays on Sterling’s lips, an infuriating yet irresistible tease that suggests he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Remember, the soldiers won’t be going easy on you just because you’re royalty.”
“Then they better brace themselves,” I retort, a grin fighting its way onto my face. “Because I’m not holding back either.”
With the dread of tomorrow’s royal duties already sapping my happiness, I welcome the promise of physical exertion and the sweet release of pent-up frustration.
Sterling mirrors my smile. “Let’s go then, Your Highness.”
We stride side by side toward the training fields, the overcast skies doing nothing to dim the renewed fire in my steps. Thefamiliar scent of earth and sweat greets us, the sounds of clashing steel and grunts of effort permeating the air.
This is where I belong. Among warriors and the ring of combat. Where words are straightforward and trust is measured in shared battles, not honeyed lies.
Chapter Nineteen
The morning sun spills through the high windows as I slip on a gown much like the ones I wore to my mother’s balls. Rhiann’s hawklike gaze tracks my every move, ensuring not a lock of my dark brown hair falls out of place.
“How much time do we have before we need to be in the throne room?” Sterling keeps his eyes closed, his voice betraying no concern over the maids daubing his face with concealer. They apply the tiniest amount to mask the shadows beneath his eyes and hide the lingering trace of illness. His enormous silvery wings fold neatly behind him, untroubled by the fuss.
“Almost an hour. You need to get made up before seeing the people today?” I arch an eyebrow at his painted facade.
“Indeed.” The corner of his mouth quirks in what could be a smirk. Yet not enough to interfere with the brushes being plied on his face. “They must believe their future king is strong and hale.”
A faint snort escapes me. I’m quickly learning that court politics are all about appearances.
“If the common folk see you fatigued, they’ll think you aren’t paying attention to their claims and will be resentful after.” Rhiann gives me a pointed stare. I’m not sure why. She’s alreadydone my makeup. “Or worse, they’ll think you’re stressed. And then they’ll be stressed. Worrying for their lives.”
Fair point, though I’d give my right arm to march onto the dais in a simple tunic and breeches. Maybe someday soon, all this pretense won’t be necessary. “So I must let them know that I’m listening, awake, aware, and concerned but not stressed. Got it.”
