Page 11 of Court of Vipers (The Lady of Innislee)

Auberon’s anger faltered, and his shoulders slumped. Walther was right, of course. He had no idea why he always felt so…adrift. He loved Torch, and he loved serving his people, but part of him wanted more. The problem was, he didn’t know what thatmorewas.

“You’re doing it again,” Walther said, drawing Auberon out of his thoughts.

“Doing what?”

“Sulking.”

He lifted a finger. “I’m brooding. That’s what distant, devastatingly handsome, emotionally tormented princes do.”

“I don’t remember saying the handsome part.”

“It was implied.”

Walther chuckled. “Your ego knows no bounds.”

“Another thing common among princes. Right, then. If you think you know me so well, cheer me up.”

His friend grinned and nodded at one of the taverns below. “A game of Seven Deadly Kings? Fifty gold regents to the winner?”

“Make it a hundred and the people will hail you a hero when they take it from you. That’ll set them up for life.”

“Aye, ’cause they’ll drink themselves to death before dawn,” Walther said, a mirthful lilt to his words. He stood, picked up the lantern, and hauled Auberon to his feet. Perhaps he was right; he just needed something to take his mind off his troubled thoughts. A drink or two—or ten—wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Seven Deadly Kings,” Auberon agreed, starting toward the twisting metal staircase. “I’ll use the money to buy all manner of delights in Rivosa. Perhaps even a few of those beautiful women you were talking about.”

“Ha. We both know your skill with the game. The only way you’ll win is if you cheat.”

He grinned at his friend over his shoulder. “The only way you’ll know I cheated is if you catch me. And we both know how likely that is.”

ChapterSeven

The Lady

You would limit yourself to the role of an advisor, when you could be a queen? Why?

The question burned within Riona as she silently swept into one of the private boxes in the Royal Theater, the familiar scents of varnished wood and old velvet wrapping her in their embrace. In the near-empty theater below, clusters of candles and lanterns were scattered across the stage, casting dancing lights across the twisted, skeletal metal trees that made up a ghostly, ethereal forest. Young girls—the eldest no more than thirteen or fourteen—spun and leapt among them, moving gracefully to the melody pouring from the piano at the corner of the stage. A voluptuous brunette sat on its bench, watching the girls with a sharp eye as her fingers danced across the keys.

If this is the sacrifice our kingdom demands of us, we must pay it.

Riona’s hands curled into fists. Again, she was to be a political prize, a bride cast from her homeland and married to a stranger the moment it suited her king’s whims. Nothing she had done in Beltharos mattered. Nothing she did ever mattered; it wouldn’t change the fact that she was ninth in line for the throne and would never wear the crown.

She thought of the queen, content to enjoy the extravagant lifestyle her position afforded her without devoting a moment’s thought to the state of her kingdom. She loved her aunt, but she could not admire or respect the woman. Blair had had no choice in sailing to Rivosa to be Domhnall’s bride—yet another in a long line of marriages between Rivosa and the Isles, demanded by their ages-old treaty—but she had gladly left the running of the kingdom to her husband.

That would never be Riona. As her uncle had said, the blood of kings ran through her veins. Rivosa, Innislee, everything that she loved about her wild and untamed land—itwasall in her blood, and no suitor would ever tear her from her home again.

In the theater below, one final note lingered in the air, fading to a soft whisper before giving way to silence. The dancers slowed and stilled, falling into a fantastical scene frozen in time. A forest of phantoms.

Then the mistress of the theater closed the lid over the piano keys, the wood striking with a lowthunk, and the illusion shattered. The girls fell out of their poses and rushed over to her, clamoring for praise and chattering about one aspect or another of the dance. The woman indulged them for a few minutes, then waved a hand in dismissal. The girls curtsied and filed out of the theater in clusters of twos and threes, their pealing laughter echoing through the vast room as they made their way into the foyer and out of the building.

As soon as they had left, the mistress of the theater set her hands on her hips and looked directly into Riona’s box. “I was wondering how long it would take you to show your face around here. I should feel insulted you waited so long. A wholeday?”

Riona left the box and descended to the main floor of the theater. She smiled as the woman walked down the aisle and pulled her into a hug so tight it stole the breath from her lungs. “I came as soon as I could, Mistress Rosalie. The girls have improved a lot since I left.”

“They’ve been practicing more since we learned that you would be returning to the city. They want to dazzle you with a private performance.” Rosalie released her and returned to the piano, gathering the sheets of music in two heavily bejeweled hands. Her full skirt swished against the stage as she began extinguishing the candles. “You should come watch their practice one day. It would mean the world to them, seeing as you fund the lessons of half the girls here.”

“I’ll try, but I can make no promises. My uncle intends to keep me quite busy over the coming weeks.” Riona climbed the steps and sat on the piano bench. “He plans to marry me off again.”

Rosalie whirled, her expression thunderous. “Again?Already?”

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