It was in the way Arcas crossed before Mirquios that solidified her resolve.
The way his proximity to the king reeked of danger, and the way she’d do anything to protect him, she felt it in her very Soul. She could not give him the kind of love they both hoped for, but she could give Mirquios the protection she’d nearly taken away by her reckless actions.
She looked back at her mother.
“Yes. It’s what I want.”
Lunelle stepped back, bowing to her queen.
“May I have the next?” Arcas was beside them as her head came up, his sky-colored palm waiting for hers.
The thought of touching him made her stomach twist.
Perhaps it was like any other pain—all-consuming at first, but eventually, a reluctant companion.
Familiar.
She rested her palm in his, a thin layer of chilled sweat coating her skin as he whisked her into another arc.
He did not wait for her to lead, and she did not fight for it this time—there would be plenty of that in her future.
“I must apologize for my harshness last night,” he said quietly as they danced.
Lunelle snorted, a bitter laugh catching in her throat.
“Ah, yes, we’ve come to the part of the cycle where you confess you’re a scared little boy and I find something within the ashes of you to polish into a forgivable gem. I must say, Prince, you’re becoming predictable.”
Arcas exhaled, his lips tightening as he spun her away from him. He pulled her back and dipped his mouth close to her ear, the sensation no longer intriguing or mysterious.
Only cruel.
“I think you will find that I am not as pathetic as you’ve decided I am, starling. All I ask is that you leave room for me to surprise you.”
Lunelle wrenched her head back, her eyes narrowing into his, a softness to them she had seen so sparingly.
“Your last few surprises have been more than enough for me,” she sighed, dropping his hand. She made a swift move for the gardens, desperate for fresh air.
Mirquios was there in moments, the tug on her chest crying out in relief.
“You cannot be out here,” she said, cradling herself as she slipped further into the shadows of the towering willows at the far end. Their branches brushed against her back, soothing the ache in her spine.
“I know,” he mumbled.
“Just go,” she said, the first tear she’d been so desperately holding onto spilling.
“I spoke with Kahlia,” Mirquios sighed, standing behind her, fighting the temptation to reach out and turn her toward him. “The Venusians may be able to help. There’s a ceremony that some of their hierophants practice to sever Tethers. It cannot do anything to change the feelings, but it could lessen the physical pain?—”
“Sever it?” Lunelle spun, the tears flowing freely now.
“I do not want to give you up, Lunelle. But if we have no other option, perhaps it can make it bearable.”
Lunelle hovered as close to him as she could stand, resting her hand on his forearm. She crawled her fingers over the slope of his chest, against the silver threads of his tunic, feeling his lungs rise and fall.
“I cannot tell what would be more painful—enduring the ache of the Tether for the rest of my life or only having the memory of it to hold on to. Lura has written to Camaren in Celene, she comes from centuries of historians. She might know something we don’t.”
“Maybe there is a time, after revolutions and wars, maybe the dust settles?—”
Lunelle winced. “It’s a nice dream, Mirquios. But it is only that.”
