“To save your father? To save all our kingdoms? My darling, it would be my greatest honor.”
For the first time since entering the throne room, the icy pressure that had surrounded Kestrel was starting to thaw. She smiled up at the queen, who returned her own beatific display of affection.
Queen Signe was just opening her mouth, perhaps to tell Kestrel when their training would begin and what it would entail, when someone new entered the room from a door beyond the queen’s throne. A woman. One Kestrel almost couldn’t see at first because her slate-grey skin nearly concealed her within the darkness. If it wasn’t for her moon-white hair, half of it pulled back into a bun, the other half draped over her shoulders, she might’ve been completely invisible before stepping into the candlelight.
As she approached Queen Signe’s side, Kestrel noted how graceful the young woman’s movements were. Like a stream gliding over hundreds of pebbles and rocks, she moved with the mesmerizing fluidity of water.
She kept her gaze cast downward as she approached them, and Kestrel saw markings on her forehead and temples that reminded her of a crown, one made of stars. Like the young woman was a midnight sky turned to flesh.
Reaching the throne, the woman bowed. “You summoned me, Queen Signe?”
Kestrel realized then that this was the Princess Elora the queen had referred to earlier, the one betrothed to Prince Leighton. Of course she was. The crown, the grace, the regal aura that emanated from her the moment she entered the room.
She was adorned in lavish jewelry, a crystalline blue necklace cuffed around her neck and shoulders, a beautiful accent to the midnight blue gown that fell down her curves like liquid metal.
Kestrel didn’t know how either of them could stand theconstriction of wearing dresses, but they both wore them beautifully. But Elora especially—she was ethereal grace. And a prince—or rather, a soon-to-beking—deserved nothing less.
“Princess Elora, what a vision you are.” The queen slid an approving smile toward the princess, but none of the admiration quite reached her icy tone. “I am sure you have heard by now about the return of your betrothed.”
“Yes, the servants informed me. They requested I join you all here, but I see he has left us again already?”
“Not for long. I merely sent him to wash up before greeting you. He’s been on the road so long, he smelled like a dog, and I care too much about your delicate senses to force you to endure such company.”
“To a love as true as ours, I’m sure neither of us would’ve minded.” There was an edge to Elora’s tone, an unmistakable bite that made it seem like everything she said held a different meaning.
The closer Kestrel watched her, the more she realized the woman wasn’t just elegant, she was deadly. There was an alertness to her gaze, an intentionality of her movements that reminded Kestrel of a predator. Not the mangy coyotes of Vallonde who stalked their prey and overpowered them as a herd. More like the unseen dangers that lurked in the dark, the ones you knew were there, but would never see until it was too late.
There was an air about Elora that suggested she knew how to wield a sword. Deadlier still, that she had killed before. Kestrel couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Elora’s blood that was the answer to the curse, if she could’ve been able to handle the king-beast all on her own.
As Kestrel scrutinized her up on the dais, thoroughly entranced and intrigued, Elora slid her magenta eyes toward her. “And who do we have here?”
Every muscle in Kestrel’s body constricted.
“Ah, Princess Elora, I would like you to meet Princess Kestrel—” then Signe amended with some pleasure— “The secret princess of Caelora. Or perhaps stolen might be a better word for it.”
Elora’s eyes widened, her magenta irises flashing with an impossible glow. “Caelora? But I didn’t know they?—”
“Neither did I,” the queen agreed, one of her sharp nails dragging up and down the neckline of her gown. Her gaze was fixed upon Kestrel, like she was a puzzle to be solved. “Who knew we’d have so much royalty under one house.”
Kestrel thought she saw Elora almost roll her eyes, but instead her lips quirked up in a forced smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Princess Kestrel.”
In some of the books Kestrel had read, when commoners or people of similar stations in life met, they would grab each other’s hands and shake them up and down as a way to show trust and friendliness. Considering that she had already crossed a line with her by kissing her betrothed—albeit unknowingly—Kestrel wanted nothing more than to show the woman that she meant her no ill will.
So, marching toward the princess, Kestrel eagerly thrust her hand out.
Queen Signe gasped, and Elora recoiled—actuallyrecoiled. As if Kestrel’s touch would’ve singed her skin. Only, it wasn’thertouch that was the problem.
The queen shrieked, “By the Hollows! What has overcome you, girl?”
Kestrel froze. “I…I don’t know. I thought that—I was just trying to be nice and say hello.”
Queen Signe’s look of disgust did not vanish immediately. She stared at her, horrified and then confused for a long, awful moment. Finally, she tried fixing her voice with amodicum of understanding. “Right. You must’ve noticed the hailstone then.” Kestrel would’ve shaken her head if the queen had given her any time to, but she didn’t know what hailstone was. “Don’t let those shackles fool you, my darling. You must never willingly touch an Ashen. Not ever.”
Kestrel’s mind stuttered on the word shackles before returning her focus to Princess Elora’s jewelry. On closer inspection, she realized the necklace was a familiar shade of light blue, one she hadn’t recognized at first. Now that she was looking again, she thought it might be hewn from the same stone as her mother’s ring. Her eyes trailed lower then, to the cuffs around Elora’s wrists that she had first mistaken for bracelets. They, too, were the same color. The same stone meant to block a person’s magic.
She glanced up to Princess Elora. Her jaw was a taut line, but she forced herself to relax again into that neutral, regal expression.
No one was treating Kestrel this way. They weren’t afraid to touch her. They hadn’t called her anAshen, whatever that was.
