“I don’t know…I don’t think Respen was necessarilytryingto kill me. I just don’t know if he would have cared that much if I died.”
“Nice guy,” Tira says, deadpan.
“Idothink he really did want to see what my magic could do before I went anywhere near Fairon.”
There’s a knock at Tira’s door, and I rise to answer it as she burrows back under the covers.
“Whoever it is, tell them to go away,” she says, voice muffled.
“Your Highness.” The servant at the door bows. “Prince Leonidas said I might find you here.”
He hands me an envelope and departs.
“What is it?” Tira asks when I’ve closed the door again, sticking her head back up over the blankets.
“I have a bad feeling it’s an invitation,” I say. The envelope is made of thick parchment with my name on the front, embossed and decorated with gold leaf.
“An invitation to what?” Curiosity flares in Tira’s eyes.
“A ball they’re throwing to celebrate Leon and the unit’s return,” I say grimly as I open the envelope and read what’s inside. “Oh great.”
I grimace at the flowing script before tossing it down on the bed. I’d thought it would be from Leon trying once again to reel me in—as if a formal invitation would make me feel more obligated to go. But it isn’t from Leon at all.
“Lady Naia Delsafier?” Tira sounds incredulous as she reads aloud. “What does she want with you? And what the gloam is a ‘wreathing?’”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t sound fun though, does it?”
Tira grimaces. “Is he really engaged to her?” she asks.
I look away. “Apparently their parents ‘betrothed’ them when they were small. Now it’s up to them to decide whether they want to actually get married.”
“So he’s not engaged, but he’s notnotengaged,” Tira says. “And how do we feel about that?”
“It’s complicated,” I say. I’d rather not talk about it, but Tira is clearly enjoying the distraction. My silly love life is something to escape into, away from her problems. “I told him I refuse to be involved with a man who’s already committed to someone else, inanyway.”
“So you’d get involved with him again if heweren’tcommitted?”
I hesitate for a second, then shake my head. It’s too dangerous to entertain that question.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because he is. So there’s no point getting into it—or going to the ball, or whatever this wreathing thing is before it.”
“You don’t want to go at all?” Tira asks, surprised.
“Well, I don’t know…” I catch an almost wistful look on her face. “Doyouwant to go? I’m sure Leon’s invitation extends to you, if you like the idea.”
Just like that, her wistful look is gone, replaced by something more conflicted. I choose my next words carefully.
“I suppose it might be interesting to see what a fae ball is like.”
“Or a ball at all,” Tira points out. “I mean, it’s not like you and I have spent our wild youth out every night in fancy dresses.” She picks at the edge of her pillow.
“It’s okay, Tira, if you want to go,” I say gently. “It’s not like it changes your grief.”
She looks up at me, guilt and sadness filling her eyes. “I just can’t keep lying here thinking about them,” she says, her voice wavering. “I’ll go crazy. But how can I even consider going to a dance when…”
She trails off, not wanting to say the words aloud.
“A few weeks after my parents were murdered, I started sleeping with the Prince of Nightmares,” I arch a wry brow. “We all have our ways of dealing with things.”
