Come to think of it, have I ever seen her fly? She rode into Kumulus on a Pegasus. The times I visited her in Nimbiss, we were always inside the castle. She insists on taking the stairs everywhere she goes. I’ve seen her with wings, though. Has she ever glamoured or recalled them in my presence? Could it be… “You don’t have any wings.”
“I do!” Her feet kick, but there is only air beneath her slippers. “They’re just…they’re glamoured.”
Liar. If she doesn’t have any wings, that means, “You’re Tuath, aren’t you?” A Tuath princess hiding in plain sight. Finally, after all this time, fate has smiled upon me. Boris would never uphold an alliance with Nimbiss if he knew their princess wasn’t Scathian.
Leeri swings herself in a pitiful attempt to hook her foot around one of the balustrades. “I’m not Tuath,” she screeches. “My parents are both Scathian, I swear it.”
“If you’re Scathian, then where are your wings?”
One by one, her fingers come unlatched. Her eyes bulge when she realizes there is nowhere to go but down.
“I can do this all night, Leeri.” I nod toward her white knuckles and fingers that must be cramping by now. “But the same cannot be said for you. Tell me the truth, and I will help you.”
Her forehead presses against the marble; tears glisten on her pale cheeks. After a few unladylike curses, she finally breaks down. “I-it’s true. I-I was born without w-wings,” she gasps through a broken sob.
Yes. Yes. Yes.“And your element?”
Her right hand slips, leaving her dangling by the left. I should probably feel bad about torturing her, but she brought this upon herself. If she’d been honest with me from the beginning, maybe we could’ve found a way out of this together.
Leeri tries to catch the ledge once more, but her arm must be too weak. “I-I wield none,” she cries.
Her hold finally gives way. A terrified shriek rips from her throat as she plummets toward the clouds far below. I catch her easily enough and bring her trembling form back to the balcony, keeping a hand on her elbow until she stops shaking and can stand upright on her own.
Thank the fates or the stars or the gods—whoever is looking out for me tonight. “I believe it’s time to discuss a new arrangement.”
Leeri’s gaze remains pinned to her slippers, her shoulders curled and vibrating. Gone is the confident woman who first arrived at this castle, replaced by a meek, demure ghost.
“I will not be marrying you,” I say, my tone as unyielding as the marble beneath our feet.
Her head snaps up, panicked eyes searching for a break in my resolve that doesn’t exist. “Please, Senan. You don’t understand. If I do not wed a Vale prince, my father will—” She bites her lip, cutting herself off.
I shouldn’t feel bad for her, and yet I do. Perhaps all of this love nonsense she spouted was her way of hiding her true feelings. Because what I see in her eyes right now isn’t love—it’s contempt.
I should know. I’ve looked at myself the very same way for the last four years.
If she needs to marry a Vale prince, then perhaps I can help her with that. “I was not lying when I said my younger brother holds some affection for you. However, in light of this new discovery, I don’t think it would be fair to expect him to uphold this alliance in my stead.”
Tears tumble down her cheeks, and a strangled sob wrenches from her chest as she seems to shrink even smaller.
“Unless…”
Her eyes lift to mine, filling with something akin to hope.
“Unless you tell Rhainn the truth.” I would love Allette no matter what she was—Scathian, Tuath, noble, servant, her position in society makes no difference to me. My soul and hers are bound together, destined to collide. Maybe my brother will feel the same about the princess.
“Rhainn deserves to know that you possess neither wings nor magic,” I say. “If you choose to keep your secret, then there will be no alliance. I will make sure of it.”
Leeri nods, using her sleeve to wipe her cheeks. “You won’t tell the king?”
I won’t be telling Boris a damn thing. “Not unless you choose to play false with my brother.”
I leave her there with a decision to make.
Her future may be uncertain, but mine has never been more clear—or more hopeful.
I cannot wait to tell Allette the glorious news: The wedding is off.
Fifty