Mirquios spoke next. “I’m less concerned about their loyalty and more concerned about their singularity. A lone rebel making a statement is one thing, but if your halls are littered with Outer Courtiers attempting to take advantage of our gathering?—”
“He was not a rebel,” Yallara said, rising suddenly from her perch beside Lunelle.
Every head whipped toward the princess, her pale complexion flushing under the weight of so much attention.
“And how could you possibly know that?” Arcas asked, his pacing rounding the sofa as he loomed over her.
Yallara stepped toward him, rubbing her forefinger to her thumb as her eyes unfocused, as if searching her memory. “His coat was not Plutonian. The buttons. They were Uranian steel, I’d bet my life on it.”
Arcas dismissed her. “We cannot be certain of anything, Yallara. The rebels have just as much reason to target a summit of monarchs as the Outer Courtiers?—”
“Once again,” Mirquios cut in. “It does not matter as of right now. What matters is being certain there isn’t anyone else lingering in the palace?—”
“Lunar and Venusian guards are sweeping the halls now,” Oestera said. “If anyone is here that shouldn’t be, they’ll be dealt with swiftly.”
Arcas spun on his heel, shame dripping from his tongue in the form of a tense growl. “The Plutonian guard is more than capable of securing our palace!”
“If that were true, we would not have been treated to such a violent scene at dinner,” Kahlia said evenly, with a masterful control over their intonation.
“I’m beginning to see why Solan left Pluto to their own devices,” Lilah, the Earthen Court’s leader, muttered beneath her breath beside Omnir.
“Now, now,” Oestera said, waving her hand between them. “Most of you in this room aren’t even old enough to remember the devastation of war, let alone be certain what to do when it crosses your threshold. We will return to our courtiers and ensure their safety. We’ll get whatever rest we can. Tomorrow, we will begin negotiations with our young prince here, and we will decide how to move forward together.”
“Oestera is right,” Kahlia said, looking pointedly at the sullen Plutonian prince. “Our people must come first, and I think you have your work cut out for you on that front, Arcas.” They brushed behind the prince, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder before disappearing into the hall.
“Brother,” Yallara said, her voice still laden with a defiance Lunelle admired. “That man is not a rebel?—”
“Was,” Arcas spat. “Whoever he belonged to, it does not matter. He is no more.” He cut a path behind the Martian and Earthen leaders, leaving his sister to watch his frame sulk away into the night. Yallara’s midnight skirts swished against Lunelle’s shins as she followed, her chin tucked to her chest in defeat.
“You did well, Mirquios,” Oestera said as she stepped between them. She squeezed the king’s arm, a gesture so soft and familiar that Lunelle questioned if she saw it right. “The prince could learn a thing or two from you.”
Mirquios fell into step beside Oestera, Lunelle a pace behind as they wound their way back through the alarmingly silent halls. She felt a heat prickle at the back of her neck as they rounded a corner, afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows.
“He has the potential to be a good leader, do you not think?”
The king huffed a sigh as they came to a stop before the long hall that the Lunarians had taken over.
“I was a boy on a throne once, too,” he finally responded. “Scared shitless, no one to guide me.”
“What changed you?” Lunelle asked.
Mirquios leaned against the wall, twin sets of silver eyes falling over him as he thought.
“War,” he shrugged. “You mature quickly when enough bodies pile up at the feet of your failings.”
Oestera nodded beside him. “He has potential. He needs us.”
“But do we need him?” Mirquios asked, his brow raised.
Oestera’s eyes bounced from his face to Lunelle, who was eager to hear her mother’s assessment.
“Remains to be seen,” the queen hummed. She wrapped her fingers around the bronze handle of her bedroom door and stretched her neck as she disappeared through the frame.
Lunelle stepped toward the next door down, her hand stopping to rest on the handle as the king slid along the wall with her.
“Good evening,” she said, the words coming out as more of a question than a declaration.
“Your sister would have my head if I didn’t ensure you made it into your room safely after all the commotion this evening.”
