Ash Princess(Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(3)
He gives a shallow bow and clasps his hands behind his back. His placid expression doesn’t change; it might as well be carved from marble. “It’s good to see you both again. I trust you’ve been well.”
It’s not a question, really, but Cress still answers with a flustered yes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smoothing the folds of her skirt, barely able to meet his eyes. She’s been swooning over him since we were children, along with every other girl our age who grew up imagining herself a prinzessin. But for Cress, it’s never been a hollow fantasy. Astrea is only one of the territories her father has won for the Kaiser. They say her father has taken more kingdoms than any other warlord, and no one can argue that the elevation of his daughter to prinzessin would be a just reward for such loyalty. Since Cress came of age six months ago, the whispers about such a match have grown deafening at court.
Another reason for his return, maybe?
If those whispers reached S?ren, wherever he’s been, he doesn’t show it. His eyes glide over Cress as though she were nothing but air and light, landing instead on me. His brow furrows, the same way his father’s does when he looks at me, though at least it isn’t followed with a smirk or a leer.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says to Cress, cool and clipped, though his eyes stay on mine. “My father is requesting your presence, Lady Thora.”
Fear wraps around my stomach like a hungry python, tightening, tightening, until I can’t breathe. The urge to run rears up in me and I struggle to keep my legs still.
I haven’t done anything. I’ve been so careful. But then, I don’t have to do anything to earn the Kaiser’s wrath. Anytime there’s a hint of rebellion in the slave quarter or an Astrean pirate sinks a Kalovaxian ship, I pay the price. The last time he summoned me, barely a week ago, was to have me whipped in response to a riot in one of the mines.
“Well.” My voice quavers despite my best efforts to keep it level. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
For a brief moment, Prinz S?ren looks like he might say something, but instead, his mouth tightens and he offers me his arm.
THE OBSIDIAN THRONE STANDS ON a dais at the center of the round, dome-roofed throne room. The great, hulking thing is carved from solid black stone in the shape of flames that appear to kiss whoever sits upon it. It’s plain, almost ugly, amid all the gold and grandeur that surround it, but it is certainly commanding, and that is what matters.
The Kalovaxians believe that the throne was drawn forth from the volcanoes of Old Kalovaxia and left here in Astrea for them by their gods, ensuring that they would one day come and save the country from its weak and willful queens.
I remember a different story, about the Astrean fire god, Houzzah, who loved a mortal woman so much he gave her a country and an heir with his blood in her veins. That story whispers through my mind now in a familiar lilting voice, but, like a distant star you try to look at directly, it’s quick to fade if I focus on it. It’s better left forgotten, anyway. It’s safer to live only in the present, to be a girl with no past to yearn for and no future to have ripped away.
The thick crowd of courtiers, dressed in their finery, parts easily for Prinz S?ren and me as we make our way toward the Kaiser. Like Cress, the courtiers all wear blue Water Gems for beauty and clear Air Gems for grace—so many that to look at them is almost blinding. There are others as well—red Fire Gems for warmth, golden yellow Earth Gems for strength.
I scan the room. Amid a sea of pale, blond Kalovaxians, Ion stands out in his place off to the side of the throne. He’s the only other Astrean not in chains, but he’s hardly a welcome sight. After the siege, he turned himself over to the Kaiser and begged for his life, offering his services as an Air Guardian. Now the Kaiser keeps him around to use as a spy in the capital and as a healer for the royal family. And for me. After all, I’m not as much fun to beat if I black out from the pain. Ion, who once swore himself to our gods and my mother, uses his gift to heal me only so the Kaiser’s men can break me again and again and again.
His presence is an unspoken threat. He’s rarely allowed at court functions; he usually only appears during one of my punishments.
If the Kaiser intended to have me beaten, he would want to do so somewhere more public. He hasn’t ruled it out, though, which is why Ion is here.
The Kaiser aims a pointed look at S?ren, who drops my arm and melts into the crowd, leaving me alone under the weight of his father’s stare. I’m tempted to cling to him, to anyone, so I won’t have to be alone.
But I’m always alone. I should be used to it by now, though I don’t think it’s the kind of thing a person ever grows used to.
The Kaiser leans forward in his seat, cold eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours through the stained-glass roof. He looks at me the way he might a squashed bug that dirtied the bottom of his shoe.
I stare at the dais instead, at the flames carved there. Not angering the Kaiser is what keeps me alive. He could have killed me a thousand times in the last decade and he hasn’t. Isn’t that a kindness?
“There you are, Ash Princess.” To anyone else, the greeting might sound pleasant, but I flinch. There is always a trick with the Kaiser, a game to play, a thin line to balance on. I know from experience that if he is playing at kindness now, cruelty can’t be far behind.
Standing at his right side with her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed, his wife, Kaiserin Anke, lets her milky eyes dart up through sparse blond lashes to find mine. A warning that makes the python coil tighter around my stomach.