That was what the Sky-Blessed had shown her.
That was how she would save Thom.
Chapter 31
A Decree from the Oracle Princess
ELORA
Elora was brushing her long, silver hair at her vanity when a gust of wind rattled the windows. It had been blustery of late, the kingdom starting to settle into its autumn, which meant that Elora’s skin was beginning to crack. It happened in any climate, really, except Eynallore’s.
But for the first time in years, Elora had access to oils and creams to help moisten her skin and ease her discomfort.
She dragged a finger over the handful of vials the queen had procured for her—well, not personally, but she had asked a servant to purchase some from the market in preparation for the wedding. The queen was difficult to read like that. Detached and menacing one minute, but caring and considerate another. Of course, Elora knew that her kind gestures always came at a cost. A bribe. Or as a reward for a job well done.
These were clearly a thank you for how well she had been doing with Kestrel.
They also served as a threat. A reminder of the queen’s power and the numerous luxuries she could take away from Elora should she falter.
But today, Elora didn’t want to ruminate on the maliciousmessage behind each vial, and instead relished the soothing caress as she spread the first cream onto her forearm. It smelled of raindrops with a floral undertone that immediately had Elora drifting away into memories. She had expected to fall into Eynallore’s forests, the place she frequented whenever struck by nostalgic feelings and stimulations.
This time, however, it was Irongate’s gardens that she envisioned, and a certain unsophisticated yet bubbly princess beside her.
Kestrel’s arms were around Elora’s waist, leaning her backward. A strand of her fiery hair streamed down from behind her ear, and tickled Elora’s cheek. She wanted to reach up and coil it around her finger. Wanted to tap each and every one of Kestrel’s delicate freckles.
Elora’s eyes fluttered open and she shook the daydream out of her mind. To the furthest depths where it couldn’t bother her again.
It would only serve to torment her more, for in a few short days, her fate would be sealed. Elora would be a married woman, never to be touched by another—unless she and Prince Leighton came to some sort of arrangement?—
Elora set the jar of hand cream down so roughly she was surprised the jar didn’t shatter.
Frivolous; that’s what these imaginings were. Even if he would agree to something like that, it wouldn’t be extended to Kestrel, not when his conflicting feelings for the princess were already so clear.
There would be no happiness for her at the culmination of this union. At best, she could hope for quiet contentment. And the sooner she accepted that, the easier it would be.
And yet…
Her thoughts drifted back to Kestrel, to their last conversation—if she could call it that. It ended more like a confrontation,but Elora hadn’t meant for it to. Her words hadn’t come out right, or at least not as delicately as she would’ve liked them to. But she hadn’t lied either, so she shouldn’t feel so torn about it. But the hurt on Kestrel’s face as she stormed out of the ballroom was enough to make her second guess everything. Maybe if she talked to her?—
Just then, a quiet knock rattled on her bedroom door. Elora startled at the sound, still re-adapting to the notion that having a visitor didn’t mean that her torture was about to begin again.
Elora stood from her vanity, answered the door, and found a servant outside with her head bowed.
“Beautiful day to you, Princess Elora.”
Elora returned the gesture, although she was still not accustomed to that either. She wondered how long it would take for her to get used to being greeted by title and with signs of respect again.
“Beautiful day to you as well,” she parroted, a little stunted.
The woman thrust a piece of parchment out toward her, the writing unmistakable, even at first glance. “You’ve been summoned to the throne room by the queen.”
“I’ll be there,” she said, voice shaking as she accepted the summons. “Thank you.”
The servant left and Elora scoured the parchment for any indication of what this might be about. Another last-minute wedding meeting? It seemed unlikely, considering typically a servant would simply come and inform her of those; they had never delivered an official summons.
But the note in her hand was simple, vague.
Dread pooled in Elora’s belly like poison. Had the queen found out about her argument with Kestrel yesterday? If she had, there was no telling how displeased she would be. Elora had very clear instructions: befriend the girl, not make her cry and storm out of rooms. What if she had barricaded herselfaway, refusing to come out and participate in the queen’s lessons?
