Arcas reached for a branch, pulling it gently and letting it spring back up. The night before, he’d been stiff, inhibited by his obvious nerves, and then, of course, panic-stricken as things devolved. But here, hidden between shadows, he was lighter in his step.Almostamiable, but she hesitated to bestow him too much generosity too soon.
He was, after all, an enemy to her court until mere days ago, and revealed himself to be far from a seasoned leader last night.
“How is your sister?” Lunelle asked, her voice hardly a whisper.
Arcas glanced at her in the space of a breath, his eyes returning to the tree just as quickly. He tucked his hands behind his back as he stepped closer.
“She is all right,” he said. “As well as she can be. I’m not sure she fully understands the threat laid before her.”
“I’m certain she does,” Lunelle said. “She’s a smart girl.”
“That she is,” he agreed.
Lunelle rubbed the lace of her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. “And you? Are you all right?”
Arcas did not turn to look at her, his silence loaded with a myriad of emotions she did not understand.
“They say the tree grew from Proserpina’s tears as Pluto stole her away.”
“Proserpina?” Lunelle asked, unsurprised that he’d avoided her question.
His lips ticked upward in what was dangerously close to a smile as he turned those deep blue eyes on her.
“The Goddess of Death. Pluto’s bride, though the myths tend to glamorize their marriage. He kidnapped her from her family’s orchard and forced her to take his throne.”
Lunelle sighed. “That’s terrible. Her poor family must have been devastated.”
Arcas nodded. “Her mother spent the rest of her days searching for her. But Proserpina grew to tolerate the marriage.”
“Until Mercury spotted her.”
Mirquios’s deep voice shook both Lunelle and Arcas as they moved apart from one another. The tension in the prince’s shoulders snapped together immediately, holding him in a rigid grasp as the king edged his way into their conversation.
“Yes,” Arcas said, his lips pressing together. “Mercury found her as he traveled the courts.”
“He saved her,” Mirquios explained to Lunelle, touching the tip of his finger to his lips. “Pluto was selfish—grasping for power he did not understand.”
Arcas snorted. “Pluto was a lonely deity, he merely desired to find partnership?—”
“Ah, yes, and his selfish desires justified forcing a young woman to wear a crown of bones?—”
“I wonder,” Lunelle interjected, stepping away from them as she stroked the taut flesh of the nearest pomegranate, “What either of you knows about Proserpina’s desires?”
She unleashed a starry glare on the men, the silence following as endless as the gnarled roots dancing between them, reaching for anything to consume, tearing paths through the dust to find any life.
Arcas glanced back toward the palace, his lips parting as if he had something more to add as he rocked forward on his heels, but he gave up. He bowed to her quickly before disappearing into the thicket.
“Predictable retreat,” the king muttered.
Lunelle strolled toward the tent, her linen skirts swishing behind her as the king trailed. His dizzying eyes scanned the orchard as they walked—checking the shadows, she realized.
“Are you feeling okay this morning, Princess?”
Lunelle winced. She’d attempted to forget the bulk of last night’s activities, but the surge of energy in her veins had kept her up until the Sun made its return, beckoning her to the window as it bled vibrant oranges and reds onto the terrace below her window.
“I’ve been better,” she confessed. “I do not know which took a worse toll—the attacker, or the tea.”
Mirquios laughed, the low rumble of it settling between the trees like an early morning fog. “I’ve had plenty of rough mornings in my day, but this one was particularly horrendous. I think both share the blame.”
