Lover's Curse (Red Queen Awards Winner)

Chapter Twelve - Affectionate Trigonometry

Millions of girls float on their one quote                                                                    Living on their last hope, on their last hope                                                                           - The State of Dreaming by Marina and the Diamonds

Iris

Tiberias cannot stop moping.  He barely smiles at his grandmother.  His head hangs at a permanent angle, always fascinated by the ground.  He won't laugh at any of my excellent jokes.

It's annoying.

"Does she love him?"  Tiberias finally speaks once we arrive inside the gates.  Anabel nudges him forward, past metal columns and ominous guards.  I might have exchanged one prison for another.  "He wrote her letters when we were on the run, and she kept them.  Read them in the middle of the night, over and over, crying.  They were friends once."

"Please don't involve me in your melodramatic teenage love triangle."

"She's being tortured."  He glares.  "What mind fuckery does it take to convince someone it's better to be tortured than not?  It's a reasonable concern."

I roll my eyes.  "Do you think her an idiot?  Use your head."  I scoff.  "Mare knows what kind of man he is.  No amount of poetry can erase that.  Perhaps she has plans you don't know about."

Tiberias sighs.  "Of course.  She had to make herself a martyr."

"Wonder who she learned it from."

"We're here."  Anabel guides her grandson away from me, halting in front of a bedroom far less grand than his station should merit.  "Don't get comfortable.  Maven's troops have been marching towards Corvium, and a clash is inevitable."

"I am no stranger to battle."  I lean against the wall.  "Tiberias, on the other hand, hasn't trained in weeks."

He rolls his eyes.   "I'm beginning to understand why Maven threatened you."

"I know.  Neither of you have a sense of humor."  I huff.  "Barrow does.  Can't fathom how either of you attracted her."

"Did you talk to her?"  Tiberias lingers in the doorway.  Anabel has retreated, choosing to inform others of our arrival rather than escorting me to my chambers.  It seems poor manners run in the family.

"Occasionally."  I study my nails.  "She understood what court did not.  I could relax my guard and discuss what mattered to me without fear of violence or interrogation.  She was a suitable companion."

"Did--?"  He hesitates.  "Did she ever talk about me or Maven?"

"Self-centered, I see." Eye roll. "She barely mentioned either of you, as she should. Empty wind bags, both of you. Learn some manners."

"That's not what I meant." Tiberias grits his teeth. "You're not listening to me."

"I don't owe you answers."

He slams the door in my face.

My room is severe, black and silver coiling around one another in columns along the side, punctuated by the occasional window.  Metal spikes gleam on every surface.  These people would turn on me the instant they stood to gain.

I reach for my vapor to soothe me, but a portion of the air is conspicuously dry.  There's a body in the way.  "Lady Evangeline, I'm not an idiot.  Keep your shadow wench to yourself."

"Princess Evangeline."  She appears in the doorway, arms crossed.  There's a new smugness to her posture, one I hadn't thought possible.  "You're addressing an equal, nymph."