“There you are, little—” Micah glanced between them. “Elora. Hey.”
Elora tore away from Kestrel in the least inconspicuous way possible. But they had been too close. It would’ve raised questions; it still might. But at least this way, the evidence was gone. Because, much like she didn’t want the Erickson family knowing the gardens brought her joy, it turned out she also didn’t want them knowing she was actually enjoying connecting with the lost princess.
Kestrel noted the distance between them and her jaw tightened.But whatever emotion had blown through her, she snuffed it out as she addressed Micah.
“Micah! I was just going for a stroll. Want to join?”
“Not a chance,” he drawled, leaning against the stone banister. “I’m still recovering from all the strolling we did the past few weeks. Besides, there’s food inside, and my belly’s grumbling. I was just coming to see if you would be joining us for dinner. But if you’re busy with something else?—”
“No!” both princesses cried in unison.
“Right.” Micah’s smirk was all too knowing. “Well then, you coming?”
“Of course,” Kestrel hollered to Micah. Then, her voice lowered, becoming as chilled as the evening air. “What about you?”
She didn’t even look at her. And Elora couldn’t even blame her, but it stung, nonetheless.
“Not this time.”
Nodding, Kestrel made for the garden exit. Stopped.
“Dragon’s fire, I almost forgot.” She spun around, her hollow gaze fixing on the rabbit’s corpse. “I can’t just leave it there.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Elora said. It was the least she could do.
Kestrel’s head cocked to one side. “Oh. You don’t have to?—”
“I don’t mind. Dead things don’t bother me, and you’ve had to deal with a lot tonight.”
“Oh,” the lost princess said again. “I mean, thank you. For everything.”
Elora bowed at the waist, and by the time she came back up, the princess was gone. That was for the best. Something about the presence of that girl seemed to make Elora behave erratically, making senseless decisions that would only serve to condemn them both.
Because the truth was: shecouldn’ttouch Kestrel.
Or at least, she shouldn’t.
The truth remained that, without the hailstone, her touch was lethal. And if Kestrel didn’t perform to the queen’s liking, then Elora had already been instructed to kill her.
Yet, as Elora cradled the dead rabbit in her arms, she was conflicted. Under normal circumstances, she would take the carcass to the cooks, like Queen Signe did with all of her sacrifices. But the thought of them serving rabbit stew to Kestrel for dinner or lunch made something twist and ache somewhere long forgotten in her chest.
If Elora could use her magic, she would simply make the animal wither and decay until it was nothing but bones. But only a key could free her locks, one forbidden to be in her possession.
Instead, she carried the frail creature to a nearby flowerbed and began to dig.
And as her fingers dug into the soft soil, Elora had feltsomething.
Warmth bloomed in her chest like a rosebud in spring.
Someone hadwantedto touch her—toembraceher. To treat her as an equal.
And for the first time in years, Elora had dared to allow herself to want the same.
Chapter 27
Songs, Dances, and Visions of the Dead
KESTREL
