Young Immortals

Seven: Games

I sit in my room, practicing shading sheets of metal on old papyrus. Aerwyna requested I put her coronation portrait on hold to draw matches from the upcoming tournament, so I want to make sure I know how to capture the light's reflection on the steel. 

Just as I get into a rhythm, the quill slips from my hand, and when I retrieve it from the floor, I spy a card wedged half way under the bottom of my door, sitting there for who knows how long. Its message didn't take long to read.

east wing stairwell, nine o'clock

– S

I turn to the clock, which reads ten minutes until eight. Cursing, I stuff my satchel with art supplies, throw on a cloak, and hurry out of my room. Silas is already leaning against the railing when I arrive, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, silver as the blades strapped to his back. 

As soon as he sees me, he starts walking. I hustle to keep up with his long strides, making sure not to walk at his side like an equal, but a few paces back like a Copper.

"What am I drawing tonight, Your Highness?" I ask. 

I don't know what he wants from me tonight – no doubt it will be strange and terrible – but I feel better than I have in weeks now that our arrangement has a fixed ending.

"I'm having an argument," he replies. "All you have to do is play along."

I squint at Silas' back, my brows pushing together. "You want me to lie for you?" 

While the word of a Copper is worth next to nothing, mortals are useful for espionage and whatnot because we, unlike fae, can lie.

"Whatever you must do to play your part."

We leave the castle and cut across the courtyard, and my steps stutter when I see who awaits us. Out of the many tables overlooking the gardens, only one is occupied — occupied with the queen and her ladies in waiting. 

They are too busy chatting over wine and miniature pastries to notice our arrival. We are almost in the clear when Silas kicks one of the chairs, making a loud screech that startles the ladies. They whip around to see Silas wince dramatically, pretending to right himself from a stumble.

"Prince Silas!" one of the ladies in waiting exclaims. "Were you about to sneak past us without saying hello? And neglecting Her Highness, no less!"

"Sorry," Silas says with a sheepish grin. It is the first time I have seen him wear an emotion resembling anything close to shame. "I've been horribly busy lately. So much to do and so little time to do it."

And with that, the ladies-in-waiting's stern expressions melt, Silas' sins forgotten in half a second. Only the queen's face remains flat, her lips pursed into a thin line.

"I can imagine," the first lady-in-waiting says, her mouth turning into a suggestive grin. "No doubt you've been fielding off the waves of ladies joining us for the coronation's festivities. Just this morning, my son found ten handwritten notes stuffed into his dueling gear, sprayed with perfume and kisses. I cannot imagine how bad it is for you."

"I pay the attention no mind."

"Why?" The second lady in waiting gasps, leaning forward. "Have you made your choice yet?"

"I have indeed." 

Something cold slides between my fingers. 

I look up from the floor to find Silas raising our joined hand into the air for the whole world to see. Adding to my horror, he gazes at me adoringly, his eyes shining like stars. Then he turns to the queen, with a bright, innocent smile, like a child proudly showing off their drawing, waiting for their mother to stab it on to the wall. 

The queen looks like she wanted to stab something, alright. Her face empties of all colour and her posture goes ramrod straight. Her ladies-in-waiting are too startled to move, looking between Silas and the queen as if searching for clues on how to react.

"Enough," the queen grits out through a clenched smile. "Not everyone understands your brand of humor. If you keep jesting like this, someone will get the wrong idea."

"Jesting?" Silas cocks his idea, his brows pushing together. "But I thought you wanted me to settle down."

The queen is clearly furious, but she has no idea how to bring her son to heel – until she lays eyes on me. I school my expression, but it's too late. The mask does not leave everything to the imagination. She can still see my eyes, for example, which must have told a story of their own, because her whole posture instantly relaxes. 

"Oh," she says. "I know her. She's that copper you saved from my knight's sword. Is this how you're making her repay you?" Her lips curve into a grin. "Look at how she pales, trembling like a leaf. The next time you play your little games, you ought to pick a copper that can at least fake a smile."

Silas' jaw ticks. He drops our joined hands, ending this poorly thought-out ploy. At least, that's what I thought he was doing, until he grabs my jaw, tilting my head back. My hand goes slack with shock, and my satchel hits the ground. 

Then his lips are on mine, proving that Silas is a great actor. He must be, to swallow his kind's natural disgust of mortals and kiss me with enough passion to fool his mother and her closest friends. That's what I try to concentrate on – the politics of the situation. Not the fae tilting my head, one hand in my hair and the other on my back, pushing my chest flush against his. All the blood in my body rushes to my head. 

Instantly, I'm back in the cave – overwhelmed, breathless, nausea rising up my throat. Just when I'm at my tipping point, ready to shove Silas away even if it damns me, he pulls back. Then I remember our audience. The courtyard is dead silent. Not even the crickets dare to chirp. While the ladies-in-waiting are frozen to their seats, the queen's glare stays fixed on her son, her face thunderous. 

"Have it your way," she snaps, shoving up from her seat. "You don't want to choose a sensible wife? Fine. Take whatever girl you want, but it won't be one from Court or with my blessing."

Silas manages to keep a straight face while the queen storms out of the courtyard, her ladies in waiting scurrying after her, but the moment they move out of sight, he cracks up, laughing like we are co conspirators. 

"I've never seen Her Highness lose control so thoroughly." He ducks down, picking up my satchel. "It's a wonder she didn't try to strike someone dead — say, are you hungry? Should we swing by the kitchens on our way out?"

I stare at him, my chin trembling. 

"No!" I burst out. "No, I'm not hungry! No, I don't want to go to the kitchens with you! I don't want to do anything with you!" I blink rapidly, but hot, angry tears still prick my eyes. "Any copper would have happily helped you with that stunt, there is no reason to coerce me when I was only supposed to be your scribe!"

I was so flustered that toward the end of the speech, I was fighting to breathe, much less get the words out. 

Meanwhile, he's staring at me like I've grown three heads, off put by my big reaction. "You think I'm corrosive? Like I have some kind of disease?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then don't cry where I can see you." He settles my satchel back over my shoulder while I stare at the gardens, anywhere but his face. "It dulls my mood." 

Silas strolls past me, leaving me standing alone in the courtyard.