Winter

Eighteen

Winter let the maid style her hair, pulling the top half into a thick braid threaded with strands of gold and silver and leaving the rest to cascade around her shoulders. She let the maid pick out a pale blue dress that grazed her skin like water and a strand of rhinestones to accent her neck. She let the maid rub scented oils into her skin.

She did not let the maid put any makeup on her—not even to cover the scars. The maid didn’t put up much of a fight. “I suppose you don’t need it, Highness,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

Winter knew she had a sort of exceptional beauty, but she had never before been given a reason to enhance it. No matter what she did, gazes would follow her down the corridors. No matter what she did, her stepmother would snarl and try to hide her envy.

But since Jacin confessed he was not immune to her appearance, she had been looking forward to this chance to dress up in new finery. Not that she expected much to come from it other than a heady satisfaction. She knew it was naïve to think Jacin might ever do something as crazy as profess his love for her. If he did love her at all. Which she was confident he did, he must, after all these years … yet, his treatment of her had had a distant quality since he joined the royal guard. The professional respect he maintained too often made her want to grab his lapels and kiss him, just to see how long it would take for him to thaw.

No, she did not expect a confession or a kiss, and she knew all too well a courtship was out of the question. All she wanted was an admiring smile, one breathless look that would sustain her.

As soon as the maid had gone, Winter peeked into the corridor, where Jacin stood at his post.

“Sir Clay, might I solicit your opinion before we go to greet our Earthen guests?”

He waited two full breaths before responding. “At your service, Your Highness.”

He did not, however, remove his attention from the corridor wall.

Smoothing down her skirt, Winter situated herself in front of him. “I wanted to know if you thought I looked sort of pretty today?”

Another breath, this one a bit louder. “Not funny, Princess.”

“Funny? It’s an honest question.” She bunched her lips to one side. “I’m not sure blue is my color.”

With a glower, he finally looked at her. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

She laughed. “Crazy loves company, Sir Clay. I notice you haven’t answered my question.”

His jaw tightened as he returned his focus to some spot over her head. “Go look for compliments elsewhere, Princess. I’m busy protecting you from unknown threats.”

“And what a fine job you’re doing.” She tried to hide her disappointment as she headed back into her chambers, patting Jacin on the chest as she passed. But with that touch, his hand gathered up a fistful of her skirt, anchoring her beside him. Her heart flipped, and despite all her bravado, Jacin’s piercing gaze made her feel tiny and childish.

“Please stop doing this,” he whispered, more pleading than angry. “Just … leave it alone.”

She gulped, and thought to feign ignorance. But, no—ignorance was what she feigned for everyone else. Not Jacin. Never Jacin. “I hate this,” she whispered back. “I hate having to pretend like I don’t even see you.”

His expression softened. “I know you see me. That’s all that matters. Right?”

She gave a slight nod, though she wasn’t sure she agreed. How lovely it would have been to live in a world where she didn’t have to pretend.

Jacin released her and she slipped into her chambers, shutting the door behind her. She was surprised to find herself light-headed. She must have been holding her breath when he’d stopped her and now—

She froze a few steps into the sitting room. Her gut tightened, her nostrils filling with the iron tang of blood.

It was all around her. On the walls. Dripping from the chandelier. Soaking into the upholstered cushions of the settee.

A whimper escaped her.

It had been weeks since she had one of the visions. None had haunted her since Jacin’s return. She’d forgotten the overwhelming dread, the swoop of horror in her stomach.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“J-Jacin?” Something warm splattered on her shoulder, no doubt staining the beautiful blue silk. She took a step back and felt the area rug squish wetly beneath her feet. “Jacin!”

He burst through the door, and though she kept her eyes pressed tight, she could imagine him behind her, weapon drawn.

“Princess—what is it?” He grabbed her elbow. “Princess?”

“The walls,” she whispered.

A beat, followed by a low curse. She heard his gun being replaced in its holster, then he was in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. His voice dropped, becoming tender. “Tell me.”

She tried to swallow, but her saliva was thick and metallic. “The walls are bleeding. The chandelier too, and it got on my shoulder, and I think it’s staining my shoes, and I can smell it, and taste it, and why—” Her voice unraveled all at once. “Why does the palace hurt so much, Jacin? Why is it always dying?”

He pulled her against him, cradling her body. His arms were stable and protective and he was not bloody and he was not broken. She sank into the embrace, too dazed to return it, but willing to accept the comfort. She buried herself in the security of him.

“Take a breath,” he commanded.

She did, though the air was clouded with death.

She was glad to let it out again.

“It’s all in your head, Princess. You know that. Say it now.”

“It’s all in my head,” she murmured.

“Are the walls bleeding?”

She shook her head, feeling the press of his ranking pin against her temple. “No. They don’t bleed. It’s all in my head.”

His hold tightened. “You’re all right. It will pass. Just keep breathing.”

She did. Again and again and again, his voice coaxing her through each breath until the smell of blood gradually subsided.

She felt dizzy and exhausted and sick to her stomach, but glad her breakfast hadn’t come up. “It’s better now. It’s gone.”

Jacin exhaled, like he’d been forgetting to breathe himself. Then, in a strange moment of vulnerability, he craned his head and kissed her on the shoulder, right where the nonexistent drop of blood had fallen before. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said, with a new lightness. “No windows at least.”

Winter cringed, remembering the first time she saw the castle walls bleeding. She’d been so distraught and desperate to get away she tried to throw herself from the second-floor balcony—Jacin barely got to her in time to pull her back.

“Or sharp utensils,” she said, carrying it off as a joke. The time she’d stabbed a dozen holes into her drapes trying to kill the spiders that were crawling over them, once stabbing her own hand in the process. It had not been a deep wound, but Jacin took care to keep sharp objects away from her ever since.

He pushed to arm’s length, inspecting her. She forced a smile, then realized it wasn’t forced after all. “It’s over. I’m all right.”

His eyes warmed and for the briefest of moments she thought—this is it, this is when he will kiss me—

There was a cough from the doorway.

Jacin recoiled.

Winter spun around, heart thundering.

Aimery stood in the open door, his expression dark. “Your Highness.”

Catching her breath, Winter tucked a curl behind her ear—it must have fallen loose from the braid. She was warm all over. Flustered and nervous and aware that she should be embarrassed, but she was more annoyed at the interruption than anything else.

“Thaumaturge Park,” she said with a cordial nod. “I was having one of my nightmares. Sir Clay was assisting me.”

“I see,” said Aimery. “If the nightmare has receded, I suggest he return to his post.”

Jacin clicked his heels and left wordlessly, though it was impossible to tell if it was by his own volition or if Aimery was controlling him.

Still trying to compose herself, Winter fluttered a smile at the thaumaturge. “It must be time to leave for the docks?”

“Nearly,” he said, and, to her surprise, he turned and shut the door to the corridor. Her fingers twitched defensively, but not out of concern for herself. Poor Jacin would hate to be left stranded on the other side, unable to protect her should anything happen.

Which was an inane thought. Even if Jacin was present, he could do nothing against a thaumaturge. Winter often thought this was a weakness in their security. She never trusted the thaumaturges, yet they were given so much power within the palace.

After all, a thaumaturge killed her father, and she never got over this fact. To this day, a long sleeve caught from the corner of her eye too often made her startle.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked, trying to appear unconcerned. She was still recovering from the vision. Her stomach was in knots and warm sweat clung to the back of her neck. She wanted to lie down for a minute, but she didn’t want to appear any weaker than she already did. Than she already was.

“I have come to pose a rather interesting proposition, Your Highness,” said Aimery. “One I have been thinking on for some time, and that I hope you will agree is beneficial to us both. I have already suggested the idea to Her Majesty, and she has voiced her approval, on the condition of your consent.”

His voice was both slippery and kind. Always when she was in Aimery’s presence Winter wished to both cower away and curl up sleepily beneath his steady timbre.

“Forgive me, Aimery, my brain is still muddled from the hallucination and I’m having difficulties understanding you.”

His gaze slipped over her, lingering on her scars and on her curves, and Winter was glad she didn’t involuntarily shudder.

“Princess Winter Blackburn.” He slinked closer. She couldn’t resist taking a step back before she managed to stop herself. Fear was a weakness in the court. Much better to act unperturbed. Much safer to act crazy, when in doubt.

She wished she had not told him the nightmare was over. She wished the walls had gone on bleeding.

“You are a darling of the people. Beloved. Beautiful.” His fingers stroked beneath her chin, with the delicacy of a feather. This time, she did shudder. “Everyone knows you will never be queen, but that does not mean you cannot wield your own sort of power. An ability to appease the people, to bring them joy. They admire you greatly. It is important that we show the people your support for the royal family and the court that serves them. Don’t you agree?”

Her skin had become a mess of goose bumps. “I have always shown support for the queen.”

“Certainly you have, my princess.” His smile was lovely when he wanted it to be, and the loveliness of it curdled her stomach. Again, he looked at her scars. “But your stepmother and I agree it is time to make a grand statement to the people. A symbolic gesture that shows where you fit into this hierarchy. It is time, Princess, for you to take a husband.”

Winter’s muscles went taut. She had thought it might be coming to this, but the words in his mouth were repulsive.

She pressed her lips up into a smile. “Of course,” she said. “I will be glad to give consideration to my future happiness. I have been told there are many suitors who have posed an interest. As soon as my stepmother’s wedding and coronation ceremonies are complete, I’ll enjoy looking at the potential suitors and carrying out courtships.”

“That will not be necessary.”

Her smile was plaster. “What do you mean?”

“I have come to request your hand, Your Highness.”

Her lungs convulsed.

“We are perfectly matched. You are beautiful and adored. I am powerful and respected. You are in need of a partner who can protect you with his gift to offset your own disabilities. Think of it. The princess and the queen’s head thaumaturge—we will be the greatest envy of the court.”

His eyes were shining and it became clear he had been imagining this for a long time. Winter had often thought Aimery might be attracted to her, and this knowledge had been the seed for countless nightmares. She knew how he treated the women he was attracted to.

But she had never imagined he would seek a marriage, above the families, above even a potential Earthen arrangement—

No. Now that Levana would be an Earthen empress, it wouldn’t matter if Winter could make a match with the blue planet as well. Instead, to marry her weak, pathetic stepdaughter off to a man with such an impressive ability to control the people …

It was a smart match, indeed.

Aimery’s grin crawled into her skin. “I see I have left you speechless, my princess. Can I take your shock for acquiescence?”

She forced herself to breathe and look away—demure, not disgusted. “I am … flattered by your offer, Thaumaturge Park. I do not deserve the attentions of one as accomplished as yourself.”

“Don’t pretend to be coy.” He cupped her cheek and she flinched. “Say yes, Princess, and we can announce our engagement at tonight’s feast.”

She stepped away from his touch. “I am honored, but … this is so sudden. I need time to consider. I … I should speak with my stepmother and … and I think…”

“Winter.” His tone had a new harshness, though his face remained gentle, even impassive. “There is nothing to consider. Her Majesty has approved the union. It is now only your acceptance that is needed to confirm our engagement. Take my offer, Princess. It is the best you will receive.”

She glanced at the door, seeking what solace she didn’t know. She was trapped.

Aimery’s eyes darkened. “I hope you aren’t expecting that guard to ask for your hand. I hope you aren’t harboring some childish fantasy that to deny me is to accept him.”

She clenched her teeth, smiling around the strain. “Don’t be silly, Aimery. Jacin is a dear friend, but I have no intentions toward him.”

He scoffed. “The queen would never allow such a marriage.”

“I just said—”

“What is your answer? Do not toy with words and meanings, Princess.”

Her head swam. She would not—could not—say yes. To Aimery? Cruel, deceitful Aimery, who smiled when there was bloodshed on the throne room floor?

But to say no would not do either. She did not care what they might do to her, but if she endangered Jacin with her refusal, if Aimery believed Jacin was the reason for her refusal …

A knock prolonged her indecision.

Aimery growled, “What?”

Jacin entered, and though he wore no expression, as usual, Winter detected a resentful shade of red on his cheeks.

“Her Highness has been summoned to join the queen’s entourage in meeting with our Earthen guests.”

Winter crumbled with relief. “Thank you, Sir Clay,” she said, skirting around Aimery.

Aimery grabbed her wrist before she was out of reach. Jacin’s hand went to his gun, but he didn’t draw.

“I will have an answer,” Aimery said under his breath.

Winter placed her hand on top of Aimery’s, imagining herself unconcerned. “If you must have it now, then I’m afraid the answer must be no,” she said, with a flippancy that denied her true feelings. “But give me time to consider your offer, Thaumaturge Park, and perhaps the answer will be different when next we speak of it.”

She gave his knuckles a gentle tap and was thankful when he released her.

The look he gave to Jacin as they passed, though, spoke not of jealousy, but murder.