That sends a jolt through me. Is that a threat? I move quickly, leaning over his desk, my palms braced against the wood, my voice low, in warning. “I want your word he won’t be harmed.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You have it,” he says, matching my tone. “I won’t touch a hair on his head. Nor will anyone else, not while Calore is in my country. You have my solemn promise. That’s not how I operate.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because it would be ridiculously stupid to remove the buffer between our alliance and Maven Calore. And you aren’t a stupid person, are you, Premier?”
That cat smile widens. He nods.
“Won’t it be good for the little prince to see something different?” Davidson cocks one manicured gray eyebrow. “A country without a king?”
See that it’s possible. That the crown, the throne—they aren’t his duty. He doesn’t have to be a king or a prince. Not if he doesn’t want to be.
But I think he wants to be.
“Yes” is all I can say. And all I can hope for. After all, didn’t I first meet Tiberias in a dark tavern, where he pretended to be someone else so he could see what the world really looked like? See what should change?
Davidson leans back, clearly finished with me. I do the same. “Consider your request granted,” he says. “And consider yourself lucky we have to return to Piedmont first anyway, or else I might not be so amenable to retrieving a metric ton of Barrows.”
He almost winks.
I almost smile.
Halfway to the barracks, I realize I’m being followed through the fortress city. Footsteps trail close behind, nimble and even along the winding street. The fluorescent lights cast two shadows, mine and someone else’s. I tense, uneasy, but not afraid. Corvium is crawling with coalition soldiers, and if any of them are stupid enough to wish me harm, they’re welcome to try. I can protect myself. Sparks ripple beneath my skin, easy to unleash. Ready to loose.
I turn on my boot heel, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. It doesn’t work.
Evangeline stops smoothly, expectant, her arms crossed and dark, perfect eyebrows raised. She still wears her opulent armor, the kind better suited to a king’s court than a battleground. No crown, though. She used to spend her free time fashioning tiaras and circlets from whatever metal she could get her hands on. But now, when she has every right to wear one, her head is bare.
“I trailed you through two sectors of the city, Barrow,” she says, tossing back her head. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of thief?”
My incessant laugh from earlier tugs again, and I can’t help but smirk, huffing out a breath. Her bite is familiar, and anything familiar feels like comfort right now. “Never change, Evangeline.”
Her smile flashes, quick as a knife. “Of course not. Why change perfection?”
“Well, please don’t let me keep you from your perfect life, Your Highness,” I tell her. Still smirking, I step aside, clearing the way for her. Calling her bluff. Evangeline Samos did not seek me out to trade insults. Her behavior in the council chamber made her motives very clear.
She blinks, and a bit of her boldness melts. “Mare,” she says, softer now. Pleading. But her pride won’t let her do much more than almost beg. That damn Silver spine. She doesn’t know how to bend. No one ever taught her, and no one would ever allow her to try.
Despite everything between us, a sliver of pity arrows through my heart. Evangeline was raised in the Silver court, born to scheme and climb, made to fight as fiercely as she guards her mind. But her mask is far from perfect, especially compared to Maven’s. After months of reading shadows in his eyes, I see Evangeline’s thoughts reflected in hers clear as daylight. Pain radiates from her. Longing. She has the feel of a predator in a cage with no chance of escaping. Part of me wants to leave her trapped. Let her realize exactly what kind of life she used to want. I want to believe I’m not that cruel. And I’m not stupid. Evangeline Samos would make a powerful ally, and if I have to buy her with whatever she wants, so be it.
“If you’re looking for sympathy, keep walking,” I mutter, gesturing again to the empty street. A useless threat, but she bristles anyway. Her eyes, already black, darken. The gibe works, pushing her into a corner, forcing her to speak.
“I don’t want an inch of it from you,” Evangeline snaps. The needle edges of her armor sharpen with her anger. “And I know I don’t deserve it either.”
“Definitely not,” I snort. “So you want help, then? An excuse not to go to Montfort with the rest of our happy crew?”
Evangeline’s face twists into another biting smile. “I’m hardly idiotic enough to owe you anything. No, I’m talking about a trade.”
I keep my face still, my eyes locked on hers. I channel a little bit of Davidson’s serene, unfathomable blankness. “I thought you might be.”
“Good to know you aren’t as dense as people seem to think.”
“So, what do you have?” I ask, wanting to hurry this along. We’re leaving for Piedmont, and then Montfort, tomorrow. We don’t have the luxury of our usual barbs. “What do you want?”
The words stick in her throat. She drags her teeth across her lips, scraping away a bit of the purple stain. In the unforgiving light of the Corvium street, her makeup seems harsh, more like war paint. I suppose it is. The purple shadows below her cheekbones, meant to sculpt her features into impossible sharpness, seem sickly in the dark. Even the shimmering white powder on her skin, smoothing her moonbeam complexion, has flaws. Tear tracks. She tried to cover them up, but the evidence is still there. Uneven color, a hint of black paint from her lashes still leaving their mark. Her walls of beauty and lethal magnificence have deep cracks.
“But that’s easy, isn’t it?” I answer my own question, taking a step closer. She almost flinches. “All this time, all your scheming. You have Tiberias. You have a third chance to marry a Calore king. Become queen of Norta. Achieve everything you’ve ever worked for.”
Her throat bobs, swallowing a probably rude response. We don’t have much practice being civil each other.
“And you want out,” I whisper. “You don’t want to be what you were born for. Why the sudden revelation? Why throw away what you used to want so much?”
Her restraint breaks. “I don’t have to explain myself or my reasons to you.”
“Your reason has red hair and answers to Elane Haven.”
Evangeline tenses, fists clenching, and the scales of her armor tighten, responding to her sudden emotions. “Don’t talk about her,” she snaps, revealing her weakness, the easy leverage we can use.
She closes the distance between us. Evangeline is several inches taller than me, and she wields this slim advantage well. With her hands on her hips, eyes glaring, her shoulders square against the city lights, I’m entirely in her shadow.
I blink up at her, tilting my head. “So you want to go back to her. And what, you think I can stop Tiberias from marrying you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps back, rolling her eyes. “You’re a good distraction for Calore kings, yes. But I’m not delusional. Cal won’t break our betrothal. Maven, maybe. You certainly influenced his decision to cast me aside.”
“As if you were ever really going to marry Maven,” I tell Evangeline slowly. I saw more than she realizes, back in Maven’s court. Her family took the monumental slight too well. The Kingdom of the Rift was planned long before I nudged Maven in any direction.
Evangeline shrugs. “I was never going to be his queen after Elara died. Excuse me, after you killed her,” she says quickly. “She could hold his leash, at least. Keep him in check. I don’t think anyone alive can do that now, not even you.”
I nod in agreement. There is no controlling Maven Calore.
Though I certainly tried. Bile rises in my throat at the memory, my attempts to manipulate the boy king, playing on his weakness for me. And then Maven traded House Samos for peace, for the Lakelands, for a princess just as deadly and probably twice as cunning as Evangeline. I wonder if he met his match in Iris Cygnet, the quiet, calculating nymph.