“Surely, that’s not true. Who are you here with?”
A dark chuckle wove through the leaves. “I have somewhere I have to be.”
“Suit yourself!” She called as the flames retreated, moving toward the Midwood. Everything ravaged her nerves. The noise, the shoulders brushing past her as she stepped back into the ballroom, the heat of him that seemed to cling to her skin like the seawater below. It was all too much.
She shook her head, searching for Ameera in the crowd. She should have fired first and asked questions second—no one that warm could have anything but ill intentions for her.
“Princess!” A set of hands, warmer than hers but nothing like the ghost in the garden, gripped her shoulders. “Everything all right?”
“Your Highness,” she sputtered, glancing frantically around the ballroom.
“You know, I think I’d prefer you to call me Mirquios,” he said with a grin that she was sure should calm her nerves, but only tore a larger hole in her chest.
She needed to find Ameera and Archera.
“Very well,” she muttered, searching through blues and reds and greens and pinks, looking for the glittering honey of Ameera’s soul.
“I hope it wouldn’t be inappropriate to ask you for a second dance?”
“I’m sorry,” Astra sighed. “I would love to, but I need to find my Head Maiden.”
“I’ll accompany you.”
Astra nodded, pushing through the dense crowd to the other side of the ballroom. Ameera was nowhere to be seen, though Astra swore she felt a flicker of her near the door.
Where are you? Astra beamed, hoping it would land in Ameera’s ears. Mirquios trailed behind her dutifully as she exited the ballroom and slipped out into the hallway, intending to head for her wing of the palace. Ameera was even less enthused about these things than Astra, perhaps she’d retired for the night.
“Is this okay?” The king asked as she led them down an empty hall.
“What?” She couldn’t be bothered to turn toward him, determined to follow the faint wisp of Ameera’s signature she’d caught.
“The two of us alone?”
Astra stopped and turned, a slight laugh escaping her. “Oh. I’m afraid I’m no expert in Mercurian societal boundaries, but Lunarians are far less… concerned with things of that nature.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding as she slipped into her private study.
Mirquios pulled the door shut behind him, the colors in his chest shifting from guarded oranges and reds to a gentle ocean of blues and greens. “That’s one of the many mysteries of the Lunar Court solved, then.”
“Are we that mysterious?” Astra asked over her shoulder, plopping into the plush chair behind her desk. From this distance, all the energy of the Celestial Hall couldn’t touch her. The heat of the Solarian dissipated. She could concentrate.
“The rumors range from terrifying to… tempting,” Mirquios said, sitting across from her, crossing a foot over his knee.
“I’m happy to confirm or deny any rumors you’ve heard, Your—Mirquios.”
He leaned back in the chair, examining her carefully. “Can you really read minds?”
She snorted. “Is that what they say about me?”
“Oh, they say a great deal about you, Fire Queen.”
“I can’t read yours,” she offered. “But I can communicate telepathically with a select few women, yes. It depends on the relationship.”
“Your sister?”
Astra smiled at the mention of Lunelle. “Yes. And my Head Maiden, Ameera. But it requires a two-way push and pull. It’s not a free-for-all.”
“Can I admit I’m disappointed, but also thoroughly relieved?”
