The notion seemed to appease Yallara and unlock a small chamber within her chest, the secrets flowing much more easily.
“There are rebels in the palace,” she whispered. “He cannot purge them no matter how hard he tries.”
Lunelle’s neck flushed. “Why get rid of them? Is he so unwilling to hear them out?”
Yallara’s eyes widened. “And start a civil war on the back of an inter-court conflict? The city streets would be soaked in blood by the Solstice.”
“Not necessarily,” Lunelle countered, squeezing her nails into her palms. “Couldn’t there be a peaceful transition brokered? Work with the rebels and not against them?”
“The Plutonian elite have squashed any whiff of rebellion for centuries, Lunelle. This is not a new battle. Think of your own court’s nobility. Would the demigoddesses of Lunaria release their power quietly?”
Lunelle inhaled slowly.No, she knew,they would not.
“He has a good heart,” Yallara murmured, her eyes falling again to the window beside them. “I hope you see that.”
”Does it matter how good his heart is if it never circulates to his mind?” Lunelle asked.
The princess tossed her a crooked smile—so similar to her brother’s bemused smirk.
“Perhaps if someone could quicken his pulse,” she whispered.
A warmth spread over Lunelle’s chest, blossoming through her lungs and into her ribs. She’d suspected, of course, when they came here that things would move in this direction, but it still felt strange to imagine.
“Youaregoing to court him, aren’t you?”
Lunelle thought about this. The wordcourtfelt silly. It implied action on her part, but she knew—and she was sure Yallara did, too—that her mother would ultimately make the call. Oestera was still on the throne, still the queen. Whatever she decided would go.
The library door cracked inward as Arcas slithered through—his face pale, his breath rapid.
“Oh,” he sighed, catching Lunelle’s eyes. “Apologies, ladies, this room is usually unoccupied.”
“As it will be again soon,” Yallara teased, rising from her seat. “I’ve business to attend to,” she announced, winking at Lunelle as she skipped lightly from the room. Lunelle sat straighter in her chair, sliding her ankles toward the floor slowly, as if the prince might not notice her relaxed posture.
“I can arrange for a chaperone,” Arcas said quietly, tilting his head toward the library door.
“A chaperone?” Lunelle asked. “Are we going somewhere?”
“No,” Arcas answered, setting his books on the writing desk against the wall. “Only, I thought, if we’re to be here together…”
Lunelle’s eyes flitted about the room. “Are you threatened by me, Your Highness?”
Arcas’s pale blue lips tightened into a flat line. “Of course not, Princess, I?—”
“I am teasing,” she said softly, blushing as she realized her humor did not land. “We do not require chaperones in the Lunar Court. I was unaware the Plutonians had such customs.”
Arcas arched his onyx brows, settling into an armchair across from her, still posed as if someone might show up to paint a portrait, but his lips relaxed.
“We do not,” he said. “I was always told that Lunarian women practice strict rules of engagement within courtships?—”
Lunelle jolted. Yallara suggesting it was one thing, but Arcas was another entirely.
“Courtships?”
“I am not implying—well, I suppose I am. Gods above,” he muttered. “Forget I said it.”
Lunelle turned her eyes away from him, afraid that his bumbling nature was beginning to warm to her as endearing.
“If Iwereto court you, not saying that I am…”
