Mirquios released a held breath. “The commander did seem a bit… apprehensive about staying back with her. I’ve watched the man charge headfirst into armies thick as night, but your sister gave him pause.”
Lunelle smiled against the rim of her teacup. “Good.”
Their eyes met, holding onto one another’s secrets across the table.
“You and your sister both have a way of looking right through men, don’t you?” Mirquios asked as Lura set cream and sugar between them before fading back into the terrace shadows.
“Have you met our mother?” Lunelle giggled.
For the first time since leaving the Lunar Court, a lightness welled within her, the weight of the worlds falling from her shoulders. Her eyes dropped to his folded gloves on the table as he poured his tea.
“Where were you coming from?”
He paused for a moment, seemingly debating with himself on the best answer. Or, she realized, if he could trust her with the truth.
“How much do you know about the political tension in Pluto, Princess?”
Her fingers clutched her teacup tighter, fighting the urge to drop her gaze to the pile of writings below her letter.
“Enough to know that wherever you were, the prince wouldn’t have been happy.”
Mirquios nodded. She waited for him to confess his association—to let her in—but he left it at that.
“How much influence do you think you have over him? The prince?”
Lunelle unconsciously checked over her shoulder for her mother’s watchful stare as if Mirquios had been sent to test her.
“Me?”
He tilted his head. “He seems to seek out your opinion. That has to be worth something.”
“Once,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean he’d listen again.”
Mirquios shook his head. “Not just once. I’ve watched him carefully, Lunelle. In every room, he looks for you. When he speaks, he waits to see if you nod.”
Lunelle’s cheeks flushed pink. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mirquios laughed. “You’re far too observant. If I’ve noticed, surely you have.”
Lunelle deflected. “He does not seem interested in anything that threatens what little stability he can cling to. From what I’ve gathered, the… unrest… is just another thing he doesn’t have a clue how to handle. And despite your implications, I don’t think he takes me all that seriously. I am a way out of trouble for him, nothing more.”
“Then he’s even more of a fool than I originally suspected,” Mirquios said through sips of tea, stretching his neck gently.
“I always knew it would happen—that I’d be on the throne,married,” she sighed. “But I suppose I imagined it happening on my own terms. Not because of a war.”
His brows floated upward in surprise. “You wished for romance?”
She bit back a laugh. “No. Of course not. Romance is for the less fortunate,” she sighed. “I just thought I’d feel more ready for it. And transparently, I thought I’d settle down well before Astra. Then you came along.” She waved at him from across the table. “You’ve completely thrown my timeline.”
“Oh, well, my sincerest apologies, Princess,” he mocked.
She dropped her gaze, tucking her brows together.
“I do not mean it as an insult. I just… I thought when Astra finally came home, we’d have some time together. I lost three years with her. I never dreamed she’d leave Lunaria for good.”
Mirquios nodded, his fingers crawling over his chest as she spoke.
“I want my sister to be happy, but I also do not wish to deprive the world of the good she could do if she had the right resources. The right freedoms. I always imagined that I’d take the throne and restore my court to the paradise it once was—to bring back the magic we’ve all been barred from. I’ve spent years dreaming of unleashing Astra in all her glory. I’m envious that you’ll be the one to witness the Fire Queen’s Phoenician rise.”
