But why lie about it?
Is it because her mother wouldn’t approve?
She was a virgin. She couldn’t hide that.
She also couldn’t hide the fact she’d been fairly determined to get rid of her innocence, because I was content to wait.
This is a nightmare.
If Adaia catches wind of this, she’ll have me murdered.
“Maybe you can use this,” Eris points out. “You were talking about kidnapping the younger princess, after all.”
I shoot her a glare. That was before I realized she’s the woman I’ve been searching for all my life.
“Or not,” Thalia says swiftly.
I tug the mask from my pocket, rubbing my fingers over the sequins. “Can you please—the both of you—just give me a moment alone?”
Eris slams the goblet down, bows her head and then vanishes.
Thalia, however, pauses before me, her eyes on the mask. “This doesn’t mean it’s the end of everything,” she whispers. “I know how much she means to you.”
“She means nothing.” My voice is raw. “Because she’s a stranger.”
Thalia kisses me cheek. “You’ve spent five hundred years wishing her to life. Don’t give up now, just because we’ve faced a brief setback.”
“We?” I can barely say the words. “I thought you were all for the alliance with Ravenal?”
Thalia sighs. “Fuck Ravenal. It was a good plan. But this is forever, Thi.” She steps away from me a little wistfully. “You don’t throw the god’s gifts in their face.”
“Even if they’re your enemy’s daughter?”
She bites her lip. “Maybe it’s time for peace? Maybe this is how we finally win it?”
I tap the mask against my lips, breathing in the scent of Vi. She’s all night-blooming Sorrow flowers and sweetness; moonlight and roses. “Maybe.”
The problem is, I know Adaia far too well to ever believe she’ll agree to peace.
6
Iskvien
Exhilaration buzzes over my skin as I head for my mother’s tent, my wet hair knotted at the base of my skull. I washed and dressed before the summons came, but the fact remains that something irrefutable changed within me last night.
Before I kissed a stranger, I was Iskvien, a caged princess facing a marriage she despises.
Now there’s a throbbing beat of defiance in my chest. No, no, no, it says, in time with my heartbeat. I know the cost of defiance. To deny this contract with Etan will earn me untold punishment, but the wildness within me can’t be tamed.
I don’t know what to do.
Last night was just a dream, a mirage, but it feels like a jolt of magic injected straight into my veins. It was more than I ever expected it to be, and now that I’ve known the touch of another man, I can’t help thinking that I could never submit to Etan.
I can still feel my stranger’s hands on my skin. I can taste his mouth. The imprint of his cock between my thighs.
I am worth more than this. I will not have my future stolen, simply because my mother will score some political points.
Now I just have to tell her.
Sounds echo from within Mother’s tent as I approach.
Something strikes flesh with a whistling grace, and a harsh grunt fills the air.
I know that sound. Mother’s got her whip in hand. I’ve felt the bite of it once or twice, but the worst part is when she coils it around her hand, length by length, her eyes locking upon you as she advances.
My body refuses to move another inch and a cold sweat breaks out down my spine. She can’t know what happened last night. We managed to lose the ever-present guard who follows me at all times. But what if… she found out?
What if my handsome stranger knew who I was?
What if he said something to someone and they told Mother?
It’s ridiculous. The amount of coincidences to achieve such a thing are too great.
But my feet itch to turn around and vanish back into the tent city.
So much for defiance. One flick of the whip and you’re already looking for ways to submerge into the Old Iskvien.
I force a slow breath through my lungs. It’s chilling how easy it would be to let defiance smolder to ashes. Be brave, be brave, be brave.
Besides, it’s too late. The guards are looking at me and one of them draws the canvas flap back, ushering me inside.
If I make her wait, she’ll only have me dragged before her.
I duck into the gloom of the tent.
There’s a stranger on his knees, his brown hair sweat-drenched and bloody, and his shirt clinging to him in strips. Raw flesh encircles his wrists—a sure sign of weeks worth of manacles, if not months.
“Fuck you,” the stranger says, tilting his head back. He pushes off his knuckles and knees and—
“Ah ah ah, Finn,” Edain says, setting one hand on the stranger’s shoulder and forcing him back to the floor. His eyes never leave my mother’s back, and the way he’s fingering the knife in his other hand makes me wonder just who he intends to use it upon. “My queen said you were to remain on your knees.”
The stranger laughs under his breath. “Is that what you do for her, Pet? Does she make you get on your knees too? Do you grovel before her and—”
Edain moves so fast it’s a flashing blow. The stranger’s head whips to the side, where it remains for a moment as if he’s gathering his breath. “You shouldn’t speak of my queen like that,” Edain says, but there’s a flare of rage within his eyes.
It’s not loyalty.
It’s not for the insult to the queen.
Does Edain despise his role as much as I do?
“Iskvien.” Mother’s chest heaves as she coils the whip. “Where have you been?”
Picking grass out of my hair. I take smooth, cautious steps closer, trying to read the room. “Bathing. As one does when one wakes.”
Andraste sits stiffly in a chair beside Mother’s throne, her gaze
