Light fingers rested on her shoulder. She met his gaze, and the compassion she found there crumbled what tenuous control she had cobbled together. As she dissolved into tears anew, he knelt with her, cradled her to him, and let her cry.
“Your sister spends a lot of time with her cousin,” Jaoven said.
Lisenn looked up from the flower she had bent to smell, her attention following his across the garden to the broad fountain where Iona and Aedan sat.
“Too much time,” she said simply.
That drew his attention from the pair. Frowning, he asked, “Why too much? Do you think him a bad influence on her?”
A tinkling laugh escaped the crown princess. “Aedan? He’s a puppy and nothing more. Are you concerned about what might influence Iona?”
She asked the question innocently enough. Jaoven, sensing a trap, said quickly, “No. I hardly know her.”
“Were you not at school together when she lived in Capria?” Lisenn strolled around him, her emerald green dress swishing.
“There were a lot of us there,” he replied, evading the question.
“Ah. I wish I could have gone to such a school.” She paused at a rosebush, cupping another flower to smell, but as she bent to the task she flashed him a coy smile. “Would you have gotten to know me if I had?”
“The crown princess of Wessett must always be known wherever she goes.”
Again she laughed. “Well spoken. But the second princess of Wessett was not known?”
He had walked straight into that one. However, Denoela and Clervie had already informed him of Lisenn’s ignorance concerning her sister’s time at the Royal College, and of what they had disclosed. “I’m sure, as the second princess of Wessett, she would have been. She didn’t care to be known to us, a difficult creature to approach.”
“Is she still a difficult creature to approach?” Lisenn asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Jaoven said.
She snapped the rose off at a joint in its stem and twirled it between two fingers. “You jumped in a river after her.”
He dismissed the implication. “I would have done the same for anyone.”
“Really? You would have done the same for me?”
Was she testing him with this question? Did she worry that he might hold a preference for her younger sister when his engagement to her was mere days away from an official announcement?
He touched her elbow and looked her straight in the eyes. “Absolutely I would.”
Lisenn’s smile blossomed, dazzling in its brightness. It should have sent a jolt of warmth through him, but Jaoven felt only the same, steady numbness he had felt ever since his return to the capital.
Only scant moments had disrupted this odd, all-encompassing calm: when his eyes had met Iona’s across the courtyard yesterday afternoon; when she had entered the dining hall last night; when he saw her enter the garden on her cousin’s arm only moments ago, wearing a dress the color of dusk.
This was bad. He needed to focus on his duty, on the lovely young woman standing right in front of him. Forcing a wry smile, he said, “Of course, I hope you would be wise enough not to fall into a river in the first place.”
She chuckled. “Yes, I do tend to play things safe. I have not my sister’s dramatics. I suppose that’s a luxury afforded her as a second-born.”
“I wonder that she’s out in the garden,” Jaoven said, staring across the expanse of manicured lawns and walks. “After so many days away from her studio, one would expect her to lock herself in and make up for lost time.”
An aloof air settled on his almost-affianced. “Perhaps her precious light has already shifted.” She stroked the deep red petals of her rose, thoughtful. After a silent breath, she said, “You seem terribly preoccupied with my sister. Should we change the terms of the treaty agreement?”
He wrenched his gaze from the pair across the garden, his pulse spiking. “No. How ungentlemanly of me, to allow my mind to wander. I am quite happy with the agreement as it stands.”
“Well, so long as it’s your mind wandering and not your heart,” Lisenn said, her lips curving in a winsome smile. “But what about Iona draws your mind, pray tell?”
He floundered for how to respond without revealing the treacherous thoughts he refused to admit to anyone, let alone the woman he was supposed to marry. “It’s the treaty. We worried, you see, that she might… perhaps… sabotage our efforts.” With the excuse thus determined, he babbled on. “I think my advisors have told you that her time in Capria was not exactly pleasant. It has been a great worry of ours that she might work against us in this treaty.”
Enlightenment dawned upon Lisenn’s pretty face. “I see. You needn’t worry about that. Iona has no diplomatic influence.”
“It was more her familial influence we worried about,” he said with a frown. “You’re not at all angry that she received poor treatment on our shores?”
“As I understand it, you didn’t know who she really was. And besides that, she returned hardly worse for wear. Why should I hold a grudge on her behalf when I know none of the particulars?” She blinked, almost as though inviting him to fill in the gaps of her knowledge.
Jaoven, eager to abandon the subject, said simply, “You are all graciousness, Your Royal Highness. Shall we return inside and check on the progress of our treaty?”
He offered her his arm, and she slid her own snugly into the crook of his elbow. They exited the garden, leaving behind the stem of a rose with its petals torn and scattered like drops of blood.
Chapter 18
The royal ball loomed ever nearer. Iona, in the haze of trauma from the loss of her art, passed the time mostly unaware. Aedan kept her company each day. He cajoled her to sketch him as she had first intended, in a garden setting rather than posed among symbols of his family’s pomp and history, but she had no inclination even to pick up a pencil.
She had lost too much. She needed time to grieve, not to dive back into a new project. Until Lisenn was gone from Wessett’s shores, anything Iona created might be as maliciously destroyed.
Bina took her to the royal tailor the morning of the ball, for one final fitting of a dress she had never seen. When the man brought out a gorgeous, scarlet frock, her wandering thoughts shifted into painful focus.
With a tightening throat she said, “That’s Lisenn’s.”
The tailor shook his head. “The crown princess is wearing pale rose.”
Her panic escalated. “I can’t wear that color.”
“The queen chose it specifically for you, Your Highness. It will compliment your complexion, I promise.”
She looked to Bina, but the maid was no help. “If your mother chose it, you don’t have much choice in the matter, little dove.”
“But—! I can’t wear red to the announcement of my sister’s engagement. It will draw too much attention to me.”
The tailor cleared his throat. “Your sister’s dress is a masterpiece, if I may say so. It will garner the attention of the room. And while the color of this gown is exquisite, it should be no more attention-getting than any other dress at the event. Bright colors are the fashion in spring.”
With similar persuasions, the pair of servants coaxed her into the dress. It fit well, only a few minor adjustments needed and plenty of time to accomplish them before she would have to ready herself that afternoon.
“You’re going to get me killed,” she said to Bina in the hall on the way back to her room.
“Your mother chose that dress,” the maid replied. “I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know the color until he pulled it out of his workroom.”
“Then my mother is going to get me killed,” Iona muttered. The queen had rarely intervened with her decisions on clothing. What had prompted it this time?
Perhaps she disapproved of Iona’s drab color palette for such a festive event.
But red?
“You love that color, and you look a dream in it,” Bina said. “If your sister co
mplains, your mother can answer for the choice. I think you should take this opportunity and enjoy it to its fullest. Who knows when we’ll have another royal ball?”
Aedan said much the same thing when he came to visit. “It’s always been strange how muted your clothing is in comparison to the rest of your family, Io. If your sister thinks you’re not drawing attention in grays and browns, she’s wrong. And you would look definitely out of place if you tried to wear anything in that color range to a royal ball.”
Between him and her maid, she almost convinced herself that the red dress would blend into the crowd they expected to see tonight. When she surveyed herself in her full-length mirror a quarter hour before the event, however, her anxieties rose anew.
The woman staring back at her, a beauty with upswept golden hair, seemed like another person entirely. Bina, after much argument, had woven a scarlet ribbon through her coiling locks, but the flowers she intended to include remained unused in their vase on the vanity.
“You’re breathtaking,” the maid said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
Iona could not disagree, but neither could she exult in the feeling.
With fluttering heart she followed a page to the antechamber where members of the royal family and their esteemed guests would gather before the evening began. Voices carried from the broader ballroom, the buzz of a crowd who had arrived in their finest to celebrate. Strains of music overlaid their excitement. Iona glimpsed colorful gowns in the brightly lit corridor, and the knot around her heart loosened a degree.
She would blend in among this crowd, surely.
A servant opened the antechamber door, cutting off her view. She trained her gaze forward and crossed the threshold into the smaller crowd.
Conversations died mid-sentence, a dozen stares fixing upon her. She saw Jaoven first, devastatingly handsome in his Caprian formal wear. Her lungs cinched as their eyes connected. His lips parted, his jaw going lax. She had actively avoided him since their separate returns to the castle. In an act of self-preservation she averted her gaze now.
Beside him stood Lisenn. Her dreamy gown, pale rose as the tailor had foretold, sparkled almost as much as the diamonds at her throat and in her crown. The blush that bloomed upon her face completed the picture she posed, fueled though it was by a deep and abiding wrath.
That moment by the river flashed before Iona’s eyes. If Lisenn were within distance of shoving her—
“Oh, my dear.” Queen Marget approached like a golden cloud drifting through the gathered nobility. She grasped her younger daughter’s shoulders and dropped a kiss upon her cheek. “I knew you would look stunning in that dress when I chose it. I’m so glad you wore it.”
She spoke just loud enough for the rest of the room to overhear, and another knot loosened in Iona’s heart.
“Thank you,” the princess murmured. “It’s beautiful.”
Her mother smiled, tucked Iona’s arm into the crook of her elbow, and guided her across the room to join the king.
Belatedly the younger daughter registered her parents’ clothing: the red sashes across her mother’s golden dress and her father’s black suit, the gold accents in his piping and buttons. They made a matched pair, and Iona’s dress complimented their palette to a shade.
She glanced across the room to Lisenn’s delicate pink gown and again met Jaoven’s eyes instead. Self-conscious, she jerked her attention back to her parents just in time to hear her father say, “So this was your doing, Marget?”
Was he angry, or merely curious? Regardless, her mother smiled a tranquil expression. “Yes. I thought the color and style would suit her.”
“As it does,” King Gawen said. He surveyed Iona from head to toe, his brows raised. “You look beautiful tonight, my daughter. I hope it may prove an enjoyable evening for you.”
She had not spoken to him since their encounter in her studio. His compliment now conflicted with the sting of resentment in her heart. Confused, she nevertheless lowered her gaze and spoke her thanks.
A chime signaled the hour. Her parents stood in front of the double doors that led into the ballroom, with Lisenn and Jaoven taking the position directly behind them. Iona—third in this column, and alone—played with her fingertips and pretended not to notice her sister’s frigid glances, nor the more aloof ones from the Caprian prince. The beautiful couple would garner everyone’s attention tonight. A younger princess in a lovely dress was hardly worth note with the crowns of two kingdoms set to combine in such a stunning pair.
When the doors swung wide, a fanfare announced the royal family’s arrival. Iona trained her gaze forward, unfocused, registering only blurs of color: the pale pink roses against Lisenn’s dark hair, the gold of Jaoven’s epaulets against the Caprian blue of his coat.
They processed into a room of dazzling lights and brilliant hues. The king and queen positioned themselves at the head of the room, with Jaoven and Lisenn to the right and Iona to the left. Although she had attended countless state functions over her lifetime, she felt conspicuous in a way she had never experienced before. She searched the crowd and found a familiar face in Aedan, who met her gaze with an encouraging smile.
Beside him, the lovely Besseta beamed, nodding her approval over the distance. The merchant’s daughter, dressed in a vibrant lavender-colored gown, looked perfectly at ease among the upper nobility.
Iona’s heart squeezed tight. She needed Aedan to marry his pretty love, to have a long and fruitful life, not to be cut down for treason in an ill-fated plot against the crown.
She needed Wessett’s alliance to Capria, Lisenn’s to Jaoven.
Her father’s voice rang out across the room. “People of Wessett, we welcome you tonight. We welcome, too, our distinguished guests from across the channel, and hereby declare to you a union between our two kingdoms. What centuries ago tore asunder shall knit together again. I present to you my daughter, Crown Princess Lisenn of Wessett, and Crown Prince Jaoven of Capria, whose marriage shall take place two days from now, and in whose coupling the thrones of Capria and Wessett shall once again unite.”
Two days. Iona’s stomach clenched. Two days could pass in a blink or drag for an eternity. Why could they not have married tonight, with everyone already assembled, and then set sail in the morning? Then it would all be over. The deed would be done, and she would no longer cling to this strange, buried shred of hope that something—anything—would intervene.
But she fixed a pleasant smile to her lips despite her inner turmoil. Applause rippled across the room. Word of the treaty provisions had long since circulated through the capital and beyond, so the news itself took no one by surprise. Even so, Iona recognized the universal approval as a façade. Aedan, whose plotted coup rested on Lisenn’s departure from the island, cheered as loud as anyone else. How many others here shared his convictions? How many would oppose him?
Her father continued to speak of the hopes that Capria and Wessett both brought to this alliance, of the strength and tradition each country could offer the other. He ended with, “The crown of Wessett looks forward to prosperity and peace in the coming years. And now, to start our celebration tonight, we invite Prince Jaoven and Princess Lisenn to open the dance.”
The crowd parted and the couple descended the dais to the center of the room. A strain of music played upon the air, and the evening officially began. Guests paired off and joined the royal couple on the broad floor. Iona’s own parents deigned to participate in that first dance. She, in contrast, backed up to the wall, fruitlessly hoping to blend in.
A figure sidled next to her, Clervie dressed in deep blue finery. The Caprian wore her hair only half up, the style unusual for such a formal occasion. Her black eyes rested upon the graceful display out on the floor, though her head angled toward Iona.
“Back home, a woman wearing red to someone else’s engagement announcement would start a scandal.”
“Was that before or after the war?” Iona asked.
Clervie glanced her way, a w
ry smile touching her lips. “Both. We do have some sense of propriety still. You do look lovely, though.”
“I’ll convey your compliments to my mother. The dress was entirely her doing.”
“An excellent excuse.”
Iona tamped down on her instinctive annoyance. “I suppose I could have not come, but here in Wessett that would have created a greater scandal than a red dress.”
A chuckle escaped the younger woman. Iona shifted her attention from the dance floor, focusing on Clervie in full. “Is there a reason you always wear your hair down?”
The lady’s amusement turned rueful. “I suppose, since we’re discussing social blunders, that’s fair game. I’m missing a chunk of hair at the nape of my neck, a souvenir from the war.” She half-turned, lifting the curtain of dark tresses to reveal a deep scar that jutted upward, pink and knotted, into their midst. Whatever had caused such an injury, Clervie was lucky to have survived such trauma.
She let her hair fall back into place again. “It’s only apparent when I wear it up, so for vanity’s sake I always leave it down. But don’t look so concerned on my behalf. I have great hopes of loose hairstyles becoming quite the fashion in the next few years.”
“It suits you,” Iona said.
“Just as your red dress suits you.”
Elouan approached them, his advent cutting off any response she might make. He tipped his head toward his compatriot, but it was Iona to whom he extended his hand.
“Would you do me the honor, Your Highness?”
Instinctive distaste flashed across her face, to which he openly chortled.
“You needn’t worry, Yanna. I won’t hunt you down if you run. Your lack of dancing makes it look like you disapprove of our kingdoms uniting, so I thought to correct that misrepresentation. Unless you do object?”
Her expression flattened. She glance to Clervie, but the girl only waved her away, unconcerned at being left alone. In resignation, Iona placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the floor.
The Heir and the Spare Page 18