Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(115)
If anything is proof of the new world, the new possibility we could have, the Samos siblings are. First Evangeline, once meant to be my queen and my burden, then a princess of a hostile kingdom—now a soldier of an equal nation, with the woman she loves at her side. And her brother, heir to a throne as much as I was, nearly crushed by the expectations of a similar father—Ptolemus is here too, oathed to defend all he was raised to destroy. Both have so many sins behind them; both have no right to forgiveness or a second chance. But they found it, and the world is better for having them.
Like Mare, I can’t help but think of Shade when I see them. He was my friend and I miss him, but I can’t hate Ptolemus for what he did. After all, I’ve done the same. Taken siblings and loved ones, killed for what I was told to believe. How can I condemn him without condemning myself?
Behind me, Julian and Sara keep watch, already halfway through their first drinks. “Just doing our duty,” Sara quips, catching my eye.
“Thanks,” I reply, grinning.
The pair of them pledged to keep any delegates away from me as long as I wanted, to give me time to breathe. Today was the worst of all: I spent most of it policing a shouting match between a Scarlet Guard general and one of Montfort’s transport ministers.
Nanabel needs no such reprieve and is already working her way through the room, angling into the circle of diplomats around the premier. By party’s end, they’ll either never speak to each other again or be close friends. I’m not sure which is more frightening.
“Behind you, Cal,” Julian says and points his chin back up the stairs. From our spot on the floor, we have an excellent view of the crowd as it descends, and it doesn’t take me long to pick them out.
Gisa really outdid herself with the whole family, even Mare’s father. Daniel doesn’t look particularly comfortable in the dark green dress suit, but there’s a distinct pride to him as he walks unaided down the steps. Mare’s mother, Ruth, looks regal next to him, her graying hair swept up into a complicated braid set with green clips to match her dragonfly-patterned gown. Tramy’s suit jacket is particularly bright, embroidered with flowers and vines over yellow silk. Bree is his broader counterpart, though his jacket is pale orange. Kilorn completes the trio, grinning broadly over his blue and gold-vined coat. Even Farley received a Gisa Barrow original outfit: she’s clad head to toe in red-and-white silk offset with gold detailing and flower embroidery. She doesn’t have Clara with her, the party being too late for the infant. I wonder what the young general will abandon first—her gleaming jacket or the party.
Gisa follows at a distance, looking as smug as a cat with a caught mouse. She has a girl I don’t recognize at her side, their elbows joined, both their dresses pale pink with intricate lacing.
She chose purple for Mare again, sheer silk overlaid with gold branches and silver blossoms. The meaning isn’t difficult to figure out. All the Barrows and Farley too wear some sort of plant in bloom—roses, lilies, magnolias, fresh leaves. Though winter looms, they are spring. Reborn.
Mare smiles just for me as she walks, careful to keep the hem of her skirt in check on the stairs. The many candles dance above her, making her glow. I wait patiently, letting the rest of the crowd break around me in a river. If someone tries to speak to me, I don’t notice. My focus is on one person in the room.
A flush colors the tops of her cheeks, the perfect complement to the berry color of her lips. And the curl of freshly dyed hair, purple at the ends. I can’t help but smile like an idiot, especially when she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. The stones glimmer there, for her brothers, for Kilorn, and for me. The scarlet gem winks across the room, a star I would follow anywhere.
When she reaches the floor, I don’t move, letting her maneuver carefully around her mess of brothers. They spot me and offer curt nods, better than I deserve. Mare’s mother is more polite, offering a smile, while her father pointedly looks at the ceiling. I don’t mind. I have time with them. I have time with her.
“I have to say, I expect more from you,” Mare says, stepping up to me. She runs a hand down the lapel of my suit, letting her fingers trace the buttons before finding the badge on my collar. Her touch, even through the clothes, makes me shiver. “You look like you’re dressed for a quiet night in.”
“I wish,” I mutter, closing my hand over hers.
She squeezes my fingers. “I wager we make it thirty minutes or so.”
As much as I enjoy the thought of stealing away with her, my stomach growls in disagreement. We could have food brought up to my room, but that just seems rude, and certainly Carmadon will see that we’re sent the worst of the kitchen scraps.
“And miss dinner?” I balk. “No thanks. If I’m going to suffer, I’m going to at least get something out of it.”
She pulls a face but nods in compliance. “Good point. But if he runs out of steak again, I’m leaving.”
I laugh quietly, wanting to pull her closer, regardless of propriety. But tongues are already wagging about us, and the last thing we need is a gossip circle about our status. Not that we can even agree on that. No promises, as Mare said. We’re simply taking things as they come, with our priorities and boundaries starkly drawn.
“Are you all ready for next week? Does Anabel mind?” Mare looks at me, her teeth gritted, prepared for the worst. She searches for any hesitation in my answer, knowing all my tells.