The accusation turns my stomach. My intuition has never led me astray, but the vigilance in my mind never fully rests. Now it’s ready to pull up every interaction and find cracks in the fragile trust that has grown between us.
I can’t just hold on to something delicate. I have to crush it in my fist until it’s nothing but ash. My mind will always find the fastest path to distrust.
If I’m wrong about Henry, I can’t consider what else I might be wrong about. I have only survived this long by listening to that inner knowing. I can’t fathom what I would do without it.
Gaven steps closer, lowering his voice. “I get this strange feeling around him?—”
“Ugh, Gaven, I have the feeling too,” I say. “It’s called revulsion. I promise it will pass if you breathe through your nose.”
Gaven frowns. “I’m not joking.”
“I’m not either.”
“Just be careful. I think he might?—”
“What are you two chatting about?” Henry asks, stepping around the corner and into the stairwell.
Gaven stills and turns a withering gaze on my husband.
I can’t tell from the look on his face if he heard us, but Henry and Gaven are trapped in some silent battle of wills. I need them to bury whatever this is or the sparring will never end.
I blow out an exaggerated sigh.
“Born to be a queen. Cursed to wrangle the egos of men.” I glare at my husband. “Don’t lurk. It’s rude.” I point to the two of them. “You two don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to make peace. You don’t trust each other? Fine. Don’t. But stop making it my problem.”
43
HARLOW
The ballroom is still being repaired after the rebel attack. Truthfully, I prefer the impersonal opulence and wide-open space of the ballroom to the intimacy of the smaller dining room at the front of the house. This space is full of memories of a lifetime of tense family meals.
A sunstone chandelier scatters sparkling light over the room, rendering the cream beeswax candles in the floral centerpieces redundant. My parents don’t put them out there to be wasteful. They do it to flaunt that the city has plenty of resources. It’s a silly show for the people of the high houses my parents deem important. These same people are acutely aware of the struggles we face since they help us solve all of the city’s shortcomings with magic.
A quartet of musicians plays lively string music on the far side of the room, but the upbeat wedding music feels discordant with the more subdued celebration.
I can tell by the morose look on my father’s face that he thinks this dinner is a waste. He’s sitting at the head of the table, brooding over Rafe not showing up to the event.
Dinner and dessert have been served and all the plates cleared away, but still the guests linger. I’m stuck here until they decide to stop prodding me for information.
I try my best to seem interested in talking to the women of Lunameade’s high houses about my wedding feast and the traditions of Mountain Haven. I skipped over the sex ritual because even though it probably would have put an end to the questioning, it wouldn’t be worth the scolding I’d receive from my parents later.
I turn my head, and a bright flash of light makes me wince. It’s not the glare of some ostentatious piece of jewelry. There’s a bright halo around all the lights in the room.
“No—” The word is part denial, part stubborn defiance.
I went into the Mountain Well. I refuse to believe it didn’t work. I refuse to accept that I can’t be fixed.
But my will is no match for the stubborn fear and frustration taking root in my brain.
There is no ache in my head, but the way the light pulses brighter is a sign that it’s time to go. It’s coming on fast, and I need to be faster.
Henry is across the room, speaking with Bryce and Carter by one of the windows. The other magical families keep a safe distance from him, but he’s clearly of interest to them. They circle close and nod at him, hoping to be invited into his conversation. They want to know why my parents pawned me off on him and what power he has.
It’s not a good idea for me to stay at the party if an attack is coming on, but I can’t exactly leave the only party celebrating my marriage without raising some questions that my parents surely don’t want asked. They have always treated these attacks like a point of personal failure—as if this is the tantrum of a child looking for attention and not a lifelong battle I’ve waged with my own body.
I lift my glass of wine slowly to my lips and search the room for Gaven.
My bodyguard is stationed by the dining room door next to Kellan’s. The two of them stand with their heads bent together in quiet conversation. I stare at Gaven, willing him to notice my distress, but his brow is pinched. His full concentration is on whatever Ames is saying.
