Page 28 of Rift
“What’s going on?” Lunelle asked, eyeing the golden chain around Astra’s wrist. “Another gift?”
She sighed. “Sort of.”
“I never thought I’d see you so lovelorn,” Lunelle said wistfully, reaching for a bowl of fruit. “I hardly recognize you. You’re all flustered. It’s quite unsettling.”
She brushed her glimmering hair over one shoulder, the last light of the waning Moon washing her in pale beams as the dining hall filled in with courtiers. The sea breeze crept over the tables, tickling their collarbones, though Astra did not shiver. A heat crawled up her neck as she weighed telling her sister what had transpired between her and the king.
Or rather, what hadn’t.
Gods, she would love to be flustered. Flustered would be wonderful. She’d even take thoroughly ruffled—Mother above, she’d trade all the coins in her pocket to replace the strange dread in her bones with something new.
“Astra!” Her mother’s voice snapped her from her spiraling thoughts as she crossed the dining hall. A slender form trailed her, wrapped in the scarlets of Mars.
Oh, shit, she sent to her sister, who snorted into her tea cup. Astra held her breath. An angry purple flared in her chest as her sister stifled a giggle with her sleeve.
“Prince Omnir was hoping to go for a ride on this lovely morning,” Oestera chirped.
“Ah, well, unfortunately, I don’t believe we have any saddles that fit me, Mother,” Astra mumbled, the queen’s eyes flaring with irritation. She sighed and straightened her shoulders. “I’d caution you against the Silvershifts. Perhaps one of the smaller wyverns would be more enjoyable. Have so much fun!”
Oestera hissed through clenched teeth, “You’re one of our best riders. The prince has competed in dozens of inter-court races. Surely, you two would enjoy some spirited competition.”
“Competed in… but not won?” She glared at the princeling who shifted in his boots, avoiding eye contact. His face flushed as he glanced toward Oestera.
Help me, Astra begged her sister.
“Enough, you will join Omnir?—”
“She cannot!” Lunelle perked up, her delicate brows arching in surprise at the sharpness of her tone. Oestera rolled her eyes. It had been quite some time since she’d found herself embroiled in a two-on-one match with her daughters—she was out of practice and they knew it.
“And why is that, Lunelle?”
“She…” Lunelle pursed her lips, glancing at Astra as if she had the magic solution. Her eyes darted across the dining hall and Astra watched a pale daffodil yellow unfurl in her chest. “She’s already promised to take the Mercurian king…” Lunelle tapped her fingers against her glass as she thought. “On a tour of the distillery. Yes. She’s giving the king a tour. Look, there he is now!”
Astra’s eyes followed her sister’s gesture across the table, wondering if Prince Omnir might have been the better Fate.
She caught Mirquios’s eyes widening in recognition.
“Oh,” Oestera said, taken aback. “Is she now?” The pleasure her mother derived from this revelation should have been a point of caution for Astra, but she was too busy drowning in the blood rushing to her ears. “Well, I won’t interfere with your plans, then.”
“Thank you, Mother?” Astra couldn’t help but tilt her voice up at the end, unsure she’d ever left a conversation with Oestera on a positive note. She hopped to her feet and crossed the dining hall, dozens of courtiers watching as she wove through the tables. They judged her in shades of orange and red, blue and violet.
But no one drowned in violet apprehension quite like Astra.
The king gauged her path immediately, bracing himself as a carnelian panic rose in his lungs. She watched the cloud dissipate as he drew in a measured breath.
“Princess,” he said, leaning back against the table his court occupied.
“Good morrow,” Astra ventured, attempting to sound breezy, though her tone settled between them with a thud.
“Indeed,” he replied, a smirk pulling at his lips. He’d been nervous about this interaction, but something about the way she rocked on her heels amused him.
“I believe I promised you a tour of our moonshine distillery this morning.”
Mirquios tilted his head as she narrowed her eyes. “I… sure?” Astra’s lips twitched. “Yes. You did. I was just going to grab some breakfast?—”
Astra released a breath, grabbing a pastry from a basket at the center of the table and shoving it into his hand. “Make it to go, Your Highness!”
“You’re quite famous for your moonshine, you know,” Mirquios mused after three and a half miserable hallways of silence.
