Luminous

115 - The End Begins (1/3)

The King and Queen ushered Prince Halcyon towards his future bride. The poor girl slipped between the folds of her mother's dress, as if she knew the fabric was paler than what was visible of her cheek. The Prince, for his part, struck an expression of incredulity so perfected it would've been at home on the face of a curmudgeonly old sap.

"Are you waiting for next Fest? Ask her hand!" The King hissed, panicking.

"She's but a baby!" The Prince hissed back. "When I asked for younger I meant me young, not young young—Agh!"

Halcyon jolted and drew his right foot closer to its pair, seething in pain. The Queen remained deadpan. Lady Kyrel urged her smile back as she steered the coyly squirming Serella towards the Prince.

"Give her a decade, your highness. She'll blossom into the perfect rose."

Halcyon stared down his nose at his young bride, looking as if he'd want nothing more than to make known his lack of love for flowers, but his smarting foot must have protested, for he sighed heavily and sunk to his knee, his hand extended.

Kyrel smiled as Serella eagerly laid her hand in the proffered palm and the prince bowed his brown head to kiss it. Her first smile for Serella that Kellis had seen—she'd found a use for the spare, finally. It froze at the sound of his footsteps, then continued to widen when she spotted him among the crowd.

She dipped the Corbyns the deepest curtsy she could manage, then waddled over. Motherhood had piled more flesh onto her once tight cheeks, lent glow to her hair like streams of golden silk, yet sucked warmth and life from her round blue eyes.

"Kyrel, what is the meaning of this?" He whispered. Her back to the King, Kyrel abandoned her smile. Her eyes flared.

"I was born to wait on queens. To bear sons of dukes." She spat. "Not some fat old knight drudging in the far-flung fringes of the kingdom."

Kellis shook his head in disbelief. His heart cracked in flames of fury. He'd always pitied her destiny, refrained from placing blame on either their father for choosing duty or her for resenting it, then she'd gone and sold her family off with glee—

"Gold runs thicker in your veins than blood, it seems. Father was wise not to trust you with the truth."

Kyrel's beautiful face twisted, hatred replacing triumph.

"I paid for dear Brother's freedom—for you to sard his wife on his seat—" She jerked her head at Sylvia, "—with all I would have been. I fulfilled your duty. I atoned for his sin. Now I reap my dues."

"What have you done to Simon? To Sytus?" snarled Kellis through gritted teeth.

"What of Serulda? Won't you ask after her as well?" Kyrel pouted, a hand over her heart in mock petulance, then sighed, "but of course, only the men count. A rose for every hundred thorns in the side."

She leaned in, her cheek dusted with powdered ice brushing his jaw, her lips rouged with blood his earlobe, whispering each word with relish,

"—But the rose wilts. Thorns fester. And boil."

With a hiss, she withdrew. Her smile brightened as she watched him seethe.

"If you'd given me Coris when I asked, perhaps you would've saved one of your precious sons." She cocked her head, then spun away,

"Savor your last Fest, Kellis. It's been twenty years a-coming."

She hobbled away, laughing with the King as they watched wee Serella teaching the Prince a clapping rhyme. A doomed memory of what his sister once was. Or what he had mistaken her to have been.

Sylvia's hand throttled his wrist, dragging him out of mourning and the raucous party onto the balcony. She cast her eyes at the doorway, her chest heaving.

"All this to lift the Ban!" She shook her head, eyes blazing with determination. "He won't get rid of us so simply. We have the majority."

Kellis shook his head, his voice low and dead,

"He gave Amplevale the title of future queen. Why make such a trade if he'd be defeated?"

Sylvia froze. Her eyes widened as chilling truth snuffed out her faint hopes.

"Someone turned?" She rasped.

"And we have until the dance ends to turn someone over."

Silence fell as they digested it, the steady beat of drums from the hall chipping at the dwindling time. They had no clue which of their anti-miner allies had defected. They must seduce an opponent—but who? And how?

Sylvia gasped, and his heart leaped.

"Graye—" She breathed, tugging at his sleeve. Kellis gaped as his swelling heart froze in his chest. He couldn't believe his eyes—she was ecstatic. "Alden made the offer to him first! Now he begrudges him for it. He's our only chance—"

"For what, Syl?" Kellis snapped. He snatched her arms, rattling her back to sanity, "So he can ruin our sons a second time over? He knows next to nothing about The Axel, and already he plans to overthrow the king! We can't join him!"

"WELL, WE CAN'T STAY PUT, EITHER!" Sylvia screamed. She tore her flesh from his claws, her voice breaking with tears as she jabbed a trembling finger at the party. "If Kyrel gets to speak, they will die! You know The Axel is the dowry! And she'll tear our boys open to get it!"

Fists clenched, Kellis turned sharply away. The price was clear. If he chose Graye, it might mean the end of Latakia, but if he chose Latakia, his sons could very well die.

Sylvia's nails gouged into his arms, her fierce voice choked with sobs as she commanded,

"You must stay on the Council, Kellis. Or there won't be a future for any of us."