Page 150 of Beast and Remedy
“And you may call me Beau.” Beau’s charming voice echoes.
Princess Sybille’s expression blooms back to life. “Thank you.” She turns to her mother and is given a curt nod before she whirls back. “You may call me Sybille. It’s not short like either of yours, though.”
“Short or not, it’s a beautiful name,” Jules comments, earning a small tinge of pink across Sybille’s cheeks.
“It was her grandmother’s name, and she was a wonderful monarch. Just like my late husband, and I have known our daughter will be, too,” Queen Verena affirms, a sweet exchange passing between mother and daughter before Sybille lowers her head, swishing the food on her plate.
The sharp pang of envy stirs and witnessing the brief love between them leaves me missing Mama.
A hand rests on my knee underneath the table, and when I look down, Marian squeezes it twice.
I glance up, catching Leo slumping instead of my sister. I press my lips together before taking in Beau and Christine on the opposite end.
They, too, know how Marian and I feel, maybe even more so because they don’t have either of their parents. Nor do they have their brother, Maxim.
Queen Verena’s low voice pulls me from my contemplation. “I would like to continue showing my daughter what it’s like to rule and work with wonderful monarchs. We will be happy to supply you with the lavender necessary in finding a cure.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Unable to contain the excitement and gratitude vibrating through me, I stand and curtsy. “We are most appreciative.”
Her silver-gray irises hold mine. “Of course, Vi.”
I almost blanch when she smiles back.
She takes a sip from her glass, the small facial tell vanishing as I sit back. When she clears her throat, she ventures into a new topic. “I hear Queen Tove and King Jerrick are expecting their first child.”
Beau chimes in. “I received a letter and an invitation to celebrate during the festivities, but sadly, I was not able to attend. Did you?”
They engage in discussion, and I regard Sybille, still moving her food in a trance. She doesn’t even touch the carrots she mentioned loving so much.
Leaning in, I ask, “Are you alright?”
She startles, jolting upright. “Oh, yes, I am alright.”
Her blatant dismissal leaves me concerned. “Where did you go, though?”
She blinks rapidly. “Wh-What are you talking about?” Her soft laugh comes out more like a choke. “I-I-I’ve been here the whole time.”
I level my gaze, keeping my voice hushed as I take a chance. “I know, physically, you did not go anywhere. But you seemed very sad, as if lost in your thoughts at the mention of your future.”
Her eyes flash with something I can’t interpret, but the small reaction is enough. I swear my power thrums with satisfaction at the confirmation.
Itisher. She’s the seer!
“F-F-Future?”
“Your mother mentioned you being a wonderful queen, and you shrank into yourself,” I clarify, careful about insinuating anything.
Sybille remains frozen, and I give her a moment, getting another scoop of food, wanting to savor the solid meal before our journey.
“I-I don’t know if she really means that, though,” she confesses in a barely audible whisper. “I don’t think I will be a good monarch.”
How could she think such a thing?
We haven’t known each other for long, but her radiance and kindness are parts of her I know will grow into her adulthood.
“I don’t think I will be a good queen, either,” I admit, allowing the vulnerability and the sympathy for the pressure of ruling to stretch between us.
“Oh, but you will,” she replies with a smile.
