“Of course, My Queen.”
Evret Hayle had been murdered by a power-hungry thaumaturge in the middle of the night, and Jacin still remembered how devastated Winter had been. How inadequate all of his attempts to comfort or distract her. He remembered listening to the sad gossip: how Evret had died protecting Levana, and how she had avenged him by plunging a knife into the thaumaturge’s heart.
They said Levana had sobbed hysterically for hours.
“Yes, well.” Levana sighed again. “As I held him dying, I promised to protect Winter—not that I wouldn’t have regardless. She is my daughter, after all.”
Jacin said nothing. His reserves of mindless agreements were running low.
“And what better way to protect her than to instate as her guard one whose concern for her well-being matches my own?” She smiled, but it had a hint of mocking to it. “In fact, Winter herself requested you be given the position as a member of her personal guard. Normally her suggestions are rooted in nonsense, but this time, even I have to acknowledge the idea has merit.”
Jacin’s heart thumped, despite his best efforts to remain disconnected. Him? On Winter’s personal guard?
It was both a dream and a nightmare. The queen was right—no one else could be as trusted as he was to ensure her safety. In many ways, he’d considered himself Winter’s personal guard already, with or without the title.
But being her guard was not the same as being her friend, and he already found it difficult enough to walk the line between the two.
“The changing of her guard happens at 19:00,” said the queen, swaying back toward the windows. “You will report then.”
He wet his throat. “Yes, My Queen.” He turned to go.
“Oh, and Jacin?”
Dread slithered down his spine. Locking his jaw, he faced the queen again.
“You may not be aware that we have had … difficulties, in the past, with Winter’s guard. She can be difficult to manage, given to childish games and fancies. She seems to have little respect for her role as a princess and a member of this court.”
Jacin pressed his disgust down, down, into the pit of his stomach, where even he couldn’t feel it. “What would you have me do?”
“I want you to keep her under control. My hope is that her affection for you will lend itself to some restraint on her part. I am sure you’re aware that the girl is coming to be of a marriageable age. I have hopes for her, and I will not tolerate her bringing humiliation on this palace.”
Marriageable age. Humiliation. Restraint. His disgust turned to a hard pebble, but his face was calm as he bowed. “Yes, My Queen.”
* * *
Winter stood with her ear pressed against the door of her private chambers, trying to slow her breathing to the point of dizziness. Anticipation crawled over her skin like a thousand tiny ants.
Silence in the hallway. Painful, agonizing silence.
Blowing a curl out of her face, she glanced at the holograph of Luna near her room’s ceiling, showing the progression of sunlight and shadows and the standardized digital clock beneath it. 18:59.
She wiped her damp palms on her dress. Listened some more. Counted the seconds in her head.
There. Footsteps. The hard, steady thump of boots.
She bit her lip. Levana had given her no indication if Winter’s request would be accepted—she didn’t even know if her stepmother was going to consider the request—but it was possible. It was possible.
The guard who had been standing statuesque outside her chambers for the past four hours, relieved of duty, left. His footsteps were a perfect metronome to those that had just arrived.
There was a moment of shuffling as the new guard arranged himself against the corridor wall, the last line of defense should a spy or an assassin make an attack on the princess, and the first person responsible for whisking her away to safety should the security of Artemisia Palace ever be compromised.
She squeezed her eyes shut and fanned her fingers against the wall, as if she could feel his heartbeat through the stone.
Instead she felt something warm and sticky.
Gasping, she pulled away, finding her palm stained with blood.
Exasperated, she used the bloody hand to push her hair back, although it instantly tumbled forward again. “Not now,” she hissed to whatever demon thought this was an appropriate time to give her visions.
She closed her eyes again and counted backward from ten. When she opened them, the blood was gone and her hand was clean.
With a whistled breath, Winter adjusted her gown and opened the door wide enough to poke her head out. She turned to the statue of a guard outside her door, and her heart swelled.
“Oh—she said yes!” she squealed, whipping the door open the rest of the way. She trotted around to face Jacin.
If he’d heard her, he didn’t respond.
If he saw her, he showed no sign of it.
His expression was stone, his blue eyes focused on some point over her head.
Winter wilted, but it was from annoyance as much as disappointment. “Oh, please,” she said, standing toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, which was not simple. Jacin’s flawless posture made her feel as if she were tilting backward, a breath away from falling over. “That’s not necessary, is it?”
Five complete, agonizing seconds passed in which she could have been staring at a mannequin, before Jacin took in a slow breath and let it out all at once. His gaze dropped to hers.
That was all. Just the breath. Just the eyes.