She kept trying, though. Every night for the past two weeks, when they’d been scattered to the corners of the continent.
Maybe the fact that the others weren’t accessing their power should have made her reconsider her own willingness to do so. But, Alie felt, if it would make a difference, she would be selfish not to use it.
“Hopefully the weather will hold for your ceremony, Your Highness.” Another sycophant, Lady Beaumont. She’d tried to seduce Jax on more than one occasion. Alie heard it while she was listening to the wind. Jax had never given in, though Alie wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t realize he was being propositioned, or from some misguided sense of loyalty to their engagement. “It’s soon, is it not?”
“Two months,” Jax replied. Alie couldn’t parse his tone. He sat up a little straighter, the austere planes of his face unreadable.
“If you choose to wait that long.” Finally, Apollius, butting into the conversation from His place at the head of the table. He leaned forward, speared a potato off Jax’s plate, and popped it in His mouth. “I’ve told Jax that I can move the ceremony up, if he prefers. I know how hard it can be to wait for your bride.” He raised a brow. “Though before her betrayal, My own bride didn’t make Me wait for the perks of matrimony.”
Laughter at the table again, uproarious this time. A blush heated Alie’s cheeks. One would think that a jilted husband wouldn’t want to dwell on his absent wife, but Apollius brought up Lore—and Nyxara, in subtle ways that only Alie would understand—every chance He got.
It annoyed the new lovers He’d taken. Alie heard that on the wind, too. Everyone Apollius had brought to bed dreamed of taking Lore’s place, but He wasn’t looking for a new consort. Therewas only one person He would deign to share a throne with, and She was locked in Lore’s head in the Burnt Isles.
Color stained Jax’s pale cheeks. “I am content to wait as long as I need to,” he said stiffly.
Apollius waved a dismissive hand. “Where’s that indomitable spirit I heard so much about, Jax? I’d think a man who built an Empire would have no problem changing situations to take what he wanted.”
More laughter, though some gave Alie slantwise looks, those married to powerful nobles. They were familiar with being treated like objects, art pieces to be moved and gazed upon and owned.
That was another reason she used her magic. All her life, she’d seen what happened to the powerless.
“Land and people are very different matters.” Jax’s voice was low. There was a gleam in his eye, almost dangerous. “I find that patience is rewarding.”
Alie clenched her fists beneath the table.
Golden eyes narrowed, as if Apollius wanted to stoke the flames of the latent fight she’d overheard. But He shrugged instead, sat back. “I suppose I’m used to indulging My impatience. Terrible habit.”
“Who would make you wait, Bastian?” Beaumont smiled, only the glint in her eyes showing her nerves at using the Sainted King’s given name. It still jarred Alie to hear it, knowing Bastian was long gone. “I’m sure you’ve never had to wait for anything.”
Apollius grinned with Bastian’s mouth. He’d only slept with Beaumont once, a fact she lamented at her weekly tea with her friends. Alie had stopped listening in on those; it upset her too much to think of Apollius using Bastian’s body like that.
“Not often,” He said. “And when I do, it’s always worth it.”
Something low in His voice, contemplative. Alie stared at her empty plate.
“So I suppose I agree with you, Jax,” the god said. “Some things are worth the wait.”
No change in Jax’s expression, but the tension in his body dissipated.
“I grow tired.” Apollius stood and stretched His arms over His head. “Go to your chambers, all of you.”
And with that, dinner was dismissed.
The courtiers tried to linger, some from the end of the table coming closer to where Apollius had sat, hoping to catch Him in conversation. But the Sainted King was already out the door, headed to His own chamber.
Outside the window, the sky darkened.
It gave Alie the smallest spark of hope. Apollius didn’t seem to fade fully away at night—at least, He hadn’t at first. Alie had listened, carefully manipulating threads of air from her own apartments, tapping at the door of the Sainted King’s suite for clues. Nothing interesting, other than sounds of the King enjoying Himself with whomever He’d summoned that evening. That was enough to tell Alie it wasn’t Bastian. Bastian would never, not anymore.
But the past few nights, Alie had heard crashing. Cursing. The sounds of a brawl, but with only one physical participant.
“Jax.” Apollius turned around in the doorframe. There were circles beneath His eyes, as if He’d grown exhausted in the thirty seconds since standing up. “Come to My apartments when you can. We have things to discuss.”
Jax’s mouth thinned. He nodded.
Hope, that tiny spark flaring in Alie’s chest.
Alie stood from the table and went to the door without saying goodbye to anyone. Her part was played for the evening; she had no further energy to expend.
