“Happy to oblige,” I tell her, straightening as I remember my place. “Wouldn’t want my reputation ofdisappointingeveryone to be sullied.”
Caz chuckles, but Renee wasn’t here for his earlier remarks and so she doesn’t realize I’m joking. Her icy demeanor melts, allowing a flicker of her beauty to shine through. If only she would let those walls down more often, if only she would allow herself to enjoy the life we have rather than walking around with a stick shoved up her ass, she might actually find that she is capable of enjoying herself.
Caz waves her off.
“Ignore her”—he throws an arm over my shoulder, but it lands atop the sharp, rigged points of the cape I just had fitted for our journey— “Ow! What the hell did they make that out of? Sword tips?”
My grin is proud as I twirl so they can get a better look at my newest accessory.
“Watch it!” Caz yips, dodging the material as it livens.
Velvet and satin make up the large drapes that hang down my back when the cape is stagnant. But when I spread my arms, it becomes a living thing. The heavy fabric snaps open like a dark sail catching wind across an ocean at midnight. The way the seamstress sewed boning along the edges and to connect the various triangular patterns, makes it look as if I have two large bat wings stretched behind me.
“Not sword tips,” I reply. “It’s impressive though. Isn’t it?”
As I finish peacocking my wardrobe, Caz groans. “Oh, for the love of—Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made her blush, you sexy fool.”
He’s not wrong. My gaze flits to Renee to find that not only have her cheeks flushed the color of freshly bloomed poppies in spring, but even her emerald eyes seem to hold a molten hue. She’s cornered me in one too many rooms with that look in her eyes, the kind of look that says she would have me right here, right now, if I allowed it.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Cazimir,” she snarls at her brother. “Or the next time I pin you to the wall with my hands around your throat, I’ll rip the fucking thing out.”
“Relax,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s alright. Caz just doesn’t know good fashion like we do.”
The crimson tingeing her cheeks threatens to brighten, but by sheer force of will alone, she clamps it down. With a whip of her long, scarlet evening gown—a garment that is certainly not suitable for travel, but one of the many delicate and provocative dresses she insisted on packing because, and I quote, “I won’t be caught dead in my Crimson Guard rags at the event of the season,”—Renee pivots, headed back down the road.
“Now, if you two can take yourselves seriously for one second of your pathetic lives, I suggest we continue.”
As we follow, Caz leans over me. “Always so bossy.”
Renee spins around. “I wouldn’t need to be bossy if you just did your job! Or do I need to remind you what will happen if we don’t deliver? Hmm? Have you both conveniently forgotten what the king said—”
“That’s enough.”
It’s not often I use my regal tone when I’m among friends, but that’s precisely why when I do, they both know I mean business.
The casual Caz disappears behind the soldier of Cazimir, born and raised under noctis regime as a warrior to defend the crown. He is dutiful. Protective. Bound by honor—and our kinship, whether or not that be by choice rather than blood—to obey.
As a lady of the court, Renee’s taught not to be a soldier and to stand tall, but to cower in the presence of power. Where her brother has been trained to meet the eyes of every adversary he faces in a show of respect, Renee has been trained to avert her gaze to show her obedience.
Some things can’t be trained, however.
Renee has the spirit of wildfire caught on the wind. So, although her head dips, her emerald eyes are stubborn. It’s in her nature to challenge my command. Which is perfectly fine by me. I don’t need her to bow, or act like a proper lady of the court. Unlike my father, I have no desire to rule under an iron thumb. True loyalty and friendship are far more valuable to me than obedience and fear.
As long as no one mentionsthe greatKing Torfor the rest of our journey.
Easing away the tension that always creeps in when I use my royal tone, I roll my shoulders.
“I know what we’ve been charged with, Renee. Why else would I have deployed my most fearsome team?”
My words are meant to lighten the mood. But Renee only sees them as more childish games. She always does. It’s one of the many things she and my father have in common, always assuming I’m not taking things seriously enough.
“Fearsome?” She laughs. “Look at us. We’ve been traveling for days and only Ursulette has captured anyone.”
“Exactly,” Caz says, chest broadening. “That’s because our mere presence terrifies them into hiding.”
Renee looks ready to punch him again.
“We’ll find more,” I interject, stepping between them. “They’ve been in hiding for years. And the ones who aren’t smart enough to hide find themselves a new member of the ghoul population.”
