Page 20 of A Frozen Pyre
“You look beautiful,” Ceneth said, if a bit woodenly.
Ophir’s jaw clenched as she looked at him. It was true. She looked lovely. Dwyn had told her so. She’d even seen herself in the mirror and thought as much. Yet hearing it from Ceneth sounded worse than not hearing it at all.
She’d seen him scores of times on his visits to Aubade, and even once on an ambassador mission to Raascot. He was conventionally handsome, not only in the ways that fae were beautiful, but with a distinctly rugged edge to his jaw and remarkable flecks of amber in his eyes. Tonight, he wore a rich shade of navy blue, dressed to match the blue eyes of his would-be betrothed. Looking at him made her uncomfortable, if only because she had no good reason to dislike him. He wasn’t unkind. He wasn’t rude. He wasn’t anything.
“You don’t have to say things like that” came her quiet response.
She didn’t think he could make it worse, but he did.
“You look a lot like Caris tonight,” he said.
Ophir didn’t know what to say. Perhaps she had more in common with Ceneth than she gave him credit for. They shared a single shattered heart over the princess who should have lived. It would have been a different event entirely if Caris had been the one slipping her fingers over his arm. She would have overseen decorating the banquet hall in colors that celebrated both of their kingdoms. She would have played thecheery role of hostess, greeting and hugging and laughing as she intermingled with her new subjects. Ceneth’s face would have creased with smiles as he watched his wife-to-be. The music would have been bright and lively. The food would have overflowed.
Instead, a solemn harpist plucked her chords in the corner while civil chatter filled the room. The decorations were pretty but modest. Eyes fixed on the couple as they walked to the head of the table, arm in arm. Ceneth pulled out her chair and Ophir slid into the seat as he took his place beside her.
The moment she sat down, her eyes caught Dwyn’s anxious stare. As a guest of the castle and personal friend of Ophir’s, she’d been extended grace and sanctuary. She was clearly deeply uncomfortable as the men ogled her. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the attention of strangers and busied herself with her drink. She was a vision in an icy shade of blue—a color just as fitting for a summer day as the sparkling winter snow. Ophir’s mouth twitched into a smile as the siren locked eyes with her and mouthed a single plea:help.
Dwyn would have to fend for herself tonight.
“I’ll make a toast,” Ceneth said, “and then you should say a few words. This is our last dinner with just the citizens of Raascot before our foreign guests arrive. It doesn’t have to be much. Keep it short, but the people would appreciate it.”
Ophir swallowed. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable…”
His brow creased, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he looked over the rows of tables throughout the banquet hall and distracted himself with glances at civilians and nobility alike. “I’m going to make the rounds. Please consider it, will you?”
She wasn’t sure if Ceneth truly needed to speak to other people or if her answer had been so wholly disappointing that he couldn’t sit beside her a moment longer. Ophir twisted the cloth napkin in her lap until she felt lips brush against her ear. Keeping his voice low, Tyr whispered at her side.
“Just tell them you’re grateful to be here and that youlook forward to a long and peaceful relationship between your kingdoms.”
“But—”
“Shh, don’t talk. They’ll see your mouth moving as you speak to the air.”
Ophir made a small, frustrated sound but kept her mouth shut.
Tyr kept his voice so low, it was practically imperceptible. Ophir leaned forward over the table, and he rested a hand against her back as he spoke. “I’ve done laps around the castle, and I’ve learned a little that might be worth knowing. Do you see the fae the king is with now? That’s his primary advisor, Evander. From what I can tell, his skin is impenetrable. That means if you needed to kill him, you couldn’t do it with flame or a hellhound.”
“Vageth.”
“I said: don’t speak.”
Ophir’s fingers flexed as she fought the urge to make fists. Her eyes flitted around the room to see if anyone was eyeing her suspiciously, but no one seemed to be looking at the unwanted princess. She slipped her fingers around her knife to squeeze it for effect.
“The woman to Evander’s left? Her name is Onain. They’ve brought her in for advice on at least two of their meetings. She seems to be a military liaison to the castle, though it’s unclear if she’s a native to Raascot. I haven’t uncovered her abilities yet. The advisors have never said anything with much clarity, but they do take her word for things when she weighs in. She does not appear to be a threat to you and has offered no negativity about your upcoming marriage.”
“Did he ask—”
“How many times am I going to have to tell you to stay silent, Princess?”
She wiggled her back in an attempt to shake his hand off, but he left the weight of his palm against her spine.
“I’m going to go listen in on their conversation. Ceneth’sright. Please, just say a few words. When the ambassadors show up tomorrow, you’ll need Raascot on your side, at the very least. Keep it simple. You’ll do more harm if you stay silent, and you don’t need the critical eyes on you. And Ophir?”
She tilted her head expectantly.
His lips brushed against her temple. “You look breathtaking.”
The moment the warmth of his hand left her back, she felt a crippling wave of abandonment. Ophir’s chest squeezed with a terrible anxiety as she forgot how to breathe. She wasn’t sure what brought it on, but between the unfamiliar faces, the new foods, the judgmental gazes, and the inability to have the comfort of her friends, she felt suffocatingly alone. A viselike grip twisted her lungs with cruel, unforgiving hands. Her breaths came out in shallower and shallower gasps until the people on either side began to cast worried glances.
