The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(28)

Raffaele stares at Tristan’s back. The entire two weeks they’d been at sea, the youngest prince had not said a word. Even now, whenever Maeve leans over to murmur something to him, he remains silent. His energy pulses in a strange, dark pattern. It distracts Raffaele. He shakes his head to clear it.

The prince is alive, he reminds himself. His strange energy is nothing to worry about. Enzo can live too. Isn’t that what I want?

The procession finally reaches the sprawling main square of Estenzia, directly in front of the palace. Today, the square is decorated with a series of white tents, their canvases billowing in the wind, and flags of both Kenettra and Beldain fly side by side over each tent. Under the largest tent, Queen Giulietta is seated on her makeshift throne, a large, ornately carved chair. The tent across from her has a second, empty throne. Reserved for Maeve. Between them is a wide stretch of pavement, where two lines of Inquisitors stand as a guard between the two queens.

Raffaele’s eyes fall on the Lead Inquisitor at Giulietta’s side. Teren. He stares back. Raffaele knows he recognizes him.

They make their way through the path until they reach the tents. Teren approaches. His pale eyes flick to Raffaele, settling there for a moment. Raffaele forces himself to look back. Teren seems surprised to see him. The Inquisitor would probably kill him, if the Beldish queen were not here. Instead, Teren stops before Maeve’s horse. He holds out a hand. Beside him, the white tiger growls but keeps his distance.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “A little help?”

Maeve gives him a cold stare. Her black and gold braids are woven in a high blade down the middle of her head, trailing down in tassels over her back. Gold slashes decorate her face. She hops down in one easy swing and pushes past Teren. She strides toward Giulietta’s tent as Raffaele and the others dismount.

“Your Majesty,” Maeve calls out to Giulietta. Her hand rests on the sword hilt at her hip. She does not bow her head.

Silence in the square. Then Giulietta smiles and spreads her arms. “Your Majesty,” Giulietta replies. “Welcome to Kenettra. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

At that, the crowd finally cheers. Raffaele looks to see many of them waving Kenettran flags. Giulietta’s smile remains, but it is cold. Raffaele studies her face and imagines Enzo beside her. He shivers at how closely she and Enzo resemble each other, one the more delicate version of the other, both fiercely ambitious.

Maeve tilts her head in acceptance of Giulietta’s greeting, then turns to take a seat on her own throne. Her brothers settle in chairs beside her, while Raffaele stands behind her. He folds his arms, and his gold wrist shackles clink against each other.

“It has been a long time since we hosted a Beldish royal,” Giulietta calls across the distance. Raffaele notices it is far enough so that both young rulers can feel safe from each other.

“A Beldish queen,” Maeve corrects her, her smile vicious. “I’ve come to congratulate you.” She bows her head low.

“Thank you,” Giulietta replies. She nods at Teren, who turns to whistle at his men. “We will throw a great feast in your honor. I have a gift for you.”

Teren waves at his Inquisitors. Raffaele sees them leading something out into the space between the two queens’ tents. It’s a stallion—a beautiful one, tall and powerfully muscled, with a glossy black coat and white mane. Feathered black hair adorns his lower legs. The horse tosses his head as the Inquisitors lead it out front and center.

Teren gives Maeve a bright smile as he shows off the horse. “A magnificent Sunland stallion,” he announces. “Just one example of the beauty of our nation, generously given to you, Your Majesty, by our queen.”

“He was my husband’s favorite,” Giulietta adds.

Raffaele listens carefully. This is a veiled insult—a hand-me-down gift from a dead king, a king Maeve knows was likely murdered by Giulietta. On either side of Maeve, Augustine and Kester exchange a dark look. But Maeve keeps her eyes on the horse. “A beautiful beast,” she replies. “Thank you.”

Then she nods at Raffaele to step forward.

Do not be afraid, Raffaele reminds himself. He walks slowly down the tent’s steps until he stands in the center, between the two tents. Teren draws his sword. Other Inquisitors follow his lead.

“I have also brought you a gift,” Maeve replies.

Silence. Not a sound is heard. Raffaele focuses his eyes on Giulietta, his long dark lashes sweeping his cheeks, and then falls into a graceful kneel. His blue robes pool around him in a circle. He lowers his head and brushes his shining hair across one shoulder so that Giulietta can see the gold shackle shining around his neck.

“I know this malfetto,” Giulietta says with ice in her voice. “He was a rumored Dagger, a friend to my traitor brother.”

“He was once the greatest consort in your nation,” Maeve replies. “He was found hiding in exile in my country.”

Giulietta stares at her, suspicion plain on her face. Raffaele waits quietly. “I hope you are not starting our first meeting with lies,” she says. “The Beldish love malfettos, while we do not. Why would you give one back to me as a prisoner?”

“You think I’m lying,” Maeve says, her voice even.

“I think you may be playing me for a fool, yes.”

“The Beldish believe that your malfettos, as you call them, are children of the gods, marked by their hands and blessed with their powers. But I know you have been hunting the Daggers,” Maeve tells her. “When we found their leader in our midst, we wanted to bring him back to you. Know the sacrifice I make for you, our customs against yours, for the sake of our joint peace and prosperity.”