Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten at all.
Hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink.
Only her adoptive father knew she needed water for her strongest ability—the one magical skill she could control. Her shapeshifting.
She could change shape on a whim and was the only mage in the realm able to do so, as far as she knew. Conjuring other magic required concentration, clear intention, and composure. None of which she had, according to the so-called experts at the Mage College.
Each shift took several glasses of water, which, now that she thought about it, her father had kept her so busy she hadn’t even noticed he’d been denying it to her for the last two days as he ferried her from luncheon to dinner to reception over and over. She’d gone through more formal gowns in the last week than she had in her entire life.
If she didn’t have something to eat and drink soon, she was in real danger of fainting.
The cat slunk out from under the bed and settled back by the window. It curled into a ball, wrapped its tail over its face and closed its eyes, pointedly ignoring her.
Her throat swelled and burned as she tumbled onto the mattress. Her adoptive father’s betrayal shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. It wasn’t like they’d ever been close.
But married off to die? Truly? She bit her lower lip and swallowed the sob, blinking the tears away before they could overflow. She wiped her nose and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest.
“Mom…” But it was useless. Her adopted mother died long ago, and not even the most powerful mages in the realm could raise the dead.
Wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she moved to the window, running her hand absentmindedly down the cat’s spine. The heat and silky fur through her fingers helped settle the churning in her stomach. “I don’t suppose you know a way out of here?”
The cat blinked and shifted its position so she could scratch its lower back. It stared at her, then turned its attention outside.
Aliya cranked the broken pane open and studied the outdoors. Warmth from the sun’s mocking gaze bled into her skin. A crisp spring breeze with the scent of fresh blooms swept into the room. Sprinkled across the noble quarter, the banners of the five great houses flapped in the wind—light blue Larimar, green Alinac, orange Castedrass, yellow Havenash and purple Macherall. The largest banner, red and black for the royal House Cerel, flew from the turrets high above, out of sight.
Opposite the standards for each of the highborn families, the decrepit rooftops of The Warren clawed at the sky, casting shadows on the extravagant gardens below.
She glanced at the cat and shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s three stories straight down. And I haven’t had enough water to be anything other than myself.” The guards would catch her again in a heartbeat, which would only hasten her fate.
The cat’s torso deflated in a perfect imitation of a human sigh.
The latch on the door clicked. Heart leaping into her throat, Aliya whirled as her adoptive father, Baron Larimar, stepped into the room. His sagging jowls trembled as he swayed with each step. Dark hair styled too long to be in fashion tumbled across his eyes.
The reek of wine tainted his breath.
Behind him, guards in red uniforms with the royal crest sewn in black on their shoulders pulled the door closed.
The baron threw his hands open wide. “Congratulations, Aliya. Was it that bad? Getting married? I told you it would be just fine. There was no need for such a scene beforehand.”
She stalked to the far side of the room before whirling around and gesturing to the door. “Why am I up here instead of enjoying the party? I’m supposed to be one of the guests of honor, you know.”
Her father’s countenance darkened as he crossed his arms over his sizable gut. “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.”
She scowled. “Or what? You’ll hit me? In case you missed it, I’m queen now. Striking me is treason.” She put her hands on her hips. “So is murdering me.”
The baron sighed, running his hand through his hair, pulling it off his face. “I’m tired of this conversation.” He stalked over to her. “A servant’s whisper is not proof of some clandestine plot. You act like without your magic, we’ll lose the war or something.”
She clenched her fingers as heat flooded her face. His exaggeration of the drama wasn’t helping things. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that I’m not attending my own wedding banquet? Eating and drinking with everyone else?”
“He’s the king.” Her father shrugged. “His word’s law. Be happy, Aliya. With this marriage, you’ve paid me back for raising you. With his gifts in exchange for your hand, we can clear our family’s debts and secure our political standing going forward.”
She bared her teeth, his words an icy dagger in her chest. His gambling debts. Not theirs. “If Mother were still alive, she’d never allow you to get away with this.”
He scowled as his face flushed. He raised his hand as though to strike her, then whirled away, storming to the far side of the room before turning. “Don’t bring her into this. Don’t you dare!”
She choked as her throat swelled. “When you adopted me, you swore to protect me!” Her voice wobbled and her eyes burned with a betraying wetness.
He ran to her and grabbed her chin, holding it tight. His nostrils flared and his eyes bulged as he stuck his face a finger’s width from hers. “You are not my daughter, and you know that. You’re not even human. I performed my duty, fed you, sheltered you. I didn’t even pack you off to the Mage College when we realized you were one of them, even though it’s the law. So now, it’s time to pay the piper.”
