Page 25 of A Storm in Every Heart
“Hush!” Beatrix chides again, louder. “I don’t know what makes you think you can talk like that in front of me.”
Daemon lets out a breath through his nose and tips his head back against the carriage seat, looking as if the world might come to an end at any moment. “All I’m saying is royal families seem to breed entitled assholes.”
“Really? You don’t say?” I grin.
He glares at me. “Shut up. I’d rather die than be king.”
“We’ll all die if you keep talking like that,” Beatrix hisses. “Is that what you want? To get all of us executed? Or worse, banished to Dyaspora?”
Daemon and I both clamp our mouths shut, humbled into silence. Dyaspora prison is the worst threat I can think of, and my aunt is right; nobility or not, Fae have been banished there for far less than looking too much like their illegitimate father.
We fall into uneasy silence, and I let my head fall against the wall of the carriage. As long as I was talking, I’d managed to forget the queasy feeling in my stomach, but with nothing else to focus on, the bumpy road and the sloshing in my stomach is all too noticeable.
Gods, I’ve developed a weak stomach after living so long on land. I wonder if I’d get seasick if I ever returned toThe Adella? Mercer and the others would undoubtedly die of laughter.
I close my eyes and try to think of anything to distract me from the rocking motion of the carriage.
I suppose a small part of me is excited to return to Hydratta after all this time. I prefer the warm climate there and the constant smell of the ocean. And if I’m honest with myself, there is one thing I’m truly excited about: finally knowing for sure if that boy Daemon and I met in the harbor was really Prince Kastian?
I’ve wondered about that boy often for the last eight years. At the time, I was certain it was the prince, but now I’m half-convinced that I was wrong and simply letting my childish imagination run away with me.
Once, when Aunt Beatrix brought me to court with her, I visited the castle library and searched for information about the Hydrattan royal family. A description, or better yet, a painting that might help put my curiosity to rest, but all I found was a single image of the king and queen and nothing about their children except their names and birth announcements.
King Sebastian and Queen Marbella of Hydratta have four children—an unusually high number for a Fae couple. The eldest is Princess Serena, followed closely by twins Dellanore and Avaline. The crown prince, Kastian, is decades younger than all three of his sisters, but he’s the heir to his father’s throne because, like Vernallis, the court of Hydratta practices male primogeniture; the custom that boys come before girls in the royal line, regardless of birth order.
The other two kingdoms of Ellender are different: In Thermia, the eldest becomes the heir, regardless of gender. In Solistine, there’s no clear line of succession, and the heir is appointed by the previous ruler based on merit.
I wonder how the Hydrattan princesses feel about being overlooked in favor of their brother. I certainly wouldn’t like it. Especially if there’s any truth to the persistent rumors that the prince is just as arrogant and cruel as Thorne.
The boy in the harbor didn’t seem so awful.
I shake my head. I’m being stupid and obsessing over nothing.
Surelythat boy in the harbor all those years ago was just some street orphan, and even if he wasn’t, what am I expecting to happen? That the crown prince will remember me? That he’s wondered about me all these years and he’ll pluck me out of obscurity to become a princess?
It’s laughably unlikely—impossible, even—and childish even to consider.
I close my eyes, pressing my cheek more firmly against the wall of the rocking carriage. I listen to the wind outside and try to pretend I’m on a ship and the clip-clop of the horses hooves are really the footsteps of the sailors and the sound of the sails whipping against the masts.
I don’t realize that I’ve fallen asleep until a hand shakes me awake.
“Dessa,” Aunt Beatrix leans over me, shaking my shoulder. “Wake up. We’ve arrived.” Her voice is exhausted, and though she doesn’t say it, I can hear the implied “finally.”
I sit up and rub my eyes, feeling the remnants of sleep slowly fade away, then lean over to look out the window of the carriage.
The scene outside is nothing like Vernallis. It’s a vibrant tropical landscape bursting with color. Exotic flowers in shades of pink and blue dot the lush greenery, while towering palm trees sway gently in the warm breeze.
If I crane my neck just right, I can make out the side of a whitewashed stone wall that must belong to the palace, and a sliver of bright-blue sky. I take a deep breath, inhaling the saltysea air. In the distance, the rhythmic melody of ocean waves crashing against the shore whispers a beckoning chant.
“Open the door,” Daemon demands impatiently.
I barely have time to process his words before he shoves me aside and grips the handle of the carriage door, yanking it open. The door swings wide, and Daemon leaps out, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud. Truly excited for the first time in days, I gather my long heavy skirt and tumble out of the carriage after him.
Outside, the line of ornate carriages, each adorned with intricate crimson filigree, has come to a halt. Nobles dressed in wrinkled silks and crushed velvets begin to step down onto the cobblestone street, their faces relieved to be back in the fresh air. Many are holding jackets and shawls over their arms, as if they were unprepared for the much hotter climate.
I lift my gaze over the sea of noble heads, taking in the full splendor of the enormous white stone castle. Its towering turrets stretch skyward, each adorned with vibrant green flags.
“That must be them,” Daemon says ruefully, pointing up at the castle.
