Roar (Stormheart #1)(11)
Once upon a time, Nova had kept all her secrets. Now the two rarely even looked each other in the eye when their paths crossed, and it was all Aurora’s fault.
“Your Highness? What happened?”
Rora shook her head and returned to tugging at the headdress still tangled in her hair. She couldn’t say the words aloud, couldn’t let anyone see how much of a fool she was. Aurora had become accustomed to her shortcomings as a Stormling, as an heir. But she’d thought she had her mother’s strength, tenacity, and intelligence. But maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe she was altogether … inadequate.
“Stop, Princess. You’re hurting yourself.” Nova put the water aside, crawled forward, and grabbed Rora’s wrists. “Aurora, stop.”
All the years spent missing their friendship came rushing back, and she froze at the sound of her name. Not Princess. Not Your Highness. Aurora. But the moment she stopped moving, it all came crashing down on her. Her na?ve plan to kiss him, to experience something real. She should have known that her future would hold only more lies. As if she knew anything about real life, real anything. She lived in this palace, protected and pampered and put away like a doll on a shelf, too fragile for anything but appearances. And it seemed that’s all she would ever be.
Cassius wanted control of the city for himself. He thought he’d have to fool her to get it, but the moment the world found out that Rora had no magic, he’d become the ruler in truth, and she’d be the puppet at his side. He wouldn’t have to feign interest in her then. He wouldn’t need her at all.
She wound her arms about her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. Nova moved closer, and Rora sat still and silent as the girl worked to remove the headdress. Her old friend had grown into a beautiful young woman—flawless bronze skin, shiny black hair, stunning features. She’d recently begun assisting the royal seamstress in addition to her position as a maid. She probably had more friends than she could count. Aurora could not help imagining how different her life would be now if she had never become heir.
The headdress finally gave way, and Nova slipped it off and laid it on the stone floor beside them.
“Tell me what happened.”
Rora leaned back against the wall. It was cool against her abused scalp, and she muttered, “Nothing happened.”
At least she had that much. She hadn’t kissed that beast. But what she had done felt worse. She had hoped. And hope broke more hearts than any man ever could.
“Should I get someone? A friend?”
Rora let out a bleak, cold laugh. As if she had any of those. Softer, she said, “I don’t want to see anyone. I just need this dress off. The makeup too. I need to breathe, and I can’t do it through all this mess.”
“I can do that. I came to help remove the headdress and gown. Stand up and we’ll go to your room. Everything will be fine, Your Highness.”
She didn’t tell her old friend how wrong she was, not as she peeled the dress off her and unlaced the corset. Not as she wiped away the powder that was smudged and striped on Rora’s face, thanks to falling tears. Another maid came in with more steaming water for a bath and Rora let them clean her up, wishing it was as easy to wipe away the last few hours.
She sat in the bath until the water grew cold and her skin shriveled like dying fruit. She had to face the facts. The Rage season was coming, as was this sham of a wedding. And she didn’t know how to fight it any more than she knew how to stop a storm.
But she would not give Cassius any more opportunities to see her vulnerable. Nor was she giving up. If there were no other way, she would marry Cassius.
But she had six days. Wars had been won, empires toppled, and cities leveled in less time. If there were a way out of this, Rora would find it.
When Slumber wakes to Rage, The old war begins to wage.
When Slumber sleeps its last The easy days are past.
—A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old
3
Aurora’s knife slammed into the center of the target with a gratifying thunk. She reached both hands back, trailing her fingers over the flat sides of the knives tucked away near her shoulder blades in a worn leather holster. Pulling two knives at once, she spun, releasing first one knife, then the other as she turned. One struck directly below the blade already lodged in the center, and the other just above.
Still not enough.
A group of soldiers trickled into the training courtyard, having just returned from a run. Their faces were slick with sweat and their boots messy with grass and mud. A fine layer of dew covered the land today, another sign of the waning Slumber season.
Merrin, one of her frequent guards, said, “Need more of a challenge? We can strap one of those to Elmont and give you a moving target.” He slapped a younger soldier on the back, whose face turned a blistering red.
Elmont was new to the palace guard. He was part of the regiment that manned the palace gate, and their first few encounters had been when Rora was going out for an early ride on her horse, Honey. He had been reluctant to let her leave, eager as he was to prove himself in the guard. It had taken a lot of cajoling and not a little amount of flirting for her to get her way.
She offered them a polite smile. “As interesting as that sounds, I would not risk Elmont just so I can allay my own frustrations.”
Taven stepped forward, his usual serious expression in place. “Spar, Princess?”