by Nora Flite
“You still haven’t said where there is, or what it . . .” Trailing off, I rounded the last corner. The path spilled out onto a flat section of beach that was white as bleached bone. It was surrounded by glassy, polished rocks that curved up in layered pieces—like a giant hand was cupping us. “What’s this?” I asked, marveling at the beauty of the land. It had been eroded by the waves over what must have been millennia.
“I wanted you to see my favorite spot. I thought maybe you’d understand my feelings about Torino if you did.”
She reached for my hand. Smiling, I let her take it, enjoying the tight warmth of her grip. Nova guided me down to the soft sand, then farther, until we were perched on the rock edge and able to see the waves foaming only a few feet below. We were sheltered, but the salty spray sometimes flicked up into our faces when a particularly huge wave rolled into place.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and though we’d stopped moving, I kept hold of her hand.
“Earlier,” she whispered, “I asked you what you imagined this country would be like. You never answered me.”
We were standing shoulder to shoulder. The setting sun had fallen low enough that it looked like a giant egg yolk sinking into the water. Crimson light cast Nova in a halo that made her auburn hair into bright embers.
My hand unlinked from hers; she ran her fingertips across my palm as it did. Gently I captured her chin with two of my fingers, turning her toward me. “I thought it would be terrifying here.” Her skin was warm. Pulling her closer made it a furnace. “I thought I’d hate it.”
Her tongue glided over her plump bottom lip. “And you don’t?”
“How could I? This place allowed me to meet you.”
In my shadow her eyes were like polished rocks at the bottom of the sea. There were a million puzzles buried in her pupils. Suddenly . . . I thought she looked incredibly sad. Her expression was full of multiple lifetimes that stretched on and on, and the old rocks around us only enhanced this vision.
My chest constricted around the buzzing of my heart. Another second, and I would have crumbled under her stare. Where was all this pain coming from?
Finally her eyes closed.
Finally I brushed my mouth on hers.
“Thorne,” she whispered on my vibrating skin. Her tongue moved curiously, testing me—and I let her. Nova was both confident and uncertain. She touched me like she kept expecting me to evaporate into thin air. There was an eagerness to her palms on my shoulders . . . a wonderment in how she experienced me.
Waves crashed in my ears with an insistent rhythm. The heavy noise mixed with my breathing. Mirrored my desire to smash myself on Nova until I left the same impression on her that the water had eroded into the cliffs.
But for everything I gained in this long-lasting kiss . . .
I wondered why I felt like I was missing something.
- CHAPTER FIVE -
HAWTHORNE
The cathedral rose into the pale pink sky. In the distance I could hear the song of sea birds. No matter where you were in this city, the coast wasn’t far away.
A long path made from steps cut straight into the rock led toward the cathedral. It wound tighter the closer to the building I got. There was a large crowd gathered around, but all of them were prevented from getting close to the funeral by the many guards.
Each step was staffed by a man who openly displayed a rifle. Some of these guys were ours, but the rest, as far as I could tell, were all members of the royal guard. Who else could they be with their stiff-shouldered blue shirts, their embellished golden buttons down the front?
At the sight of my fast approach one of them frowned. “Hold up,” he said, blocking my way.
“It’s fine.” Glen stepped into view higher on the steps. He waved me forward. “He’s got clearance.”
The unnamed guard’s frown shifted into a confused, openmouthed gape. I felt him eyeing me with curiosity. “You heard him,” I said, pushing by. “Let me through.”
Glen’s shadow slid over me. Behind his ear the early sun had begun to show its face. “My condolences,” he said gravely.
His pity didn’t sit right with me. “I didn’t know my uncle,” I said quickly, like I wanted it to be clear no one had to feel sorry for me. I wasn’t suffering. Even the strangers surrounding the cathedral, even these nameless guards, all of them had more right to feel sad than I did.
My father’s friend hesitated—then looked away.
After that no one stopped me.
At the top of the stairs I smoothed my black suit. The huge door was partly open; I nudged my way inside. The entry was stuffed with so many flowers that the floral smell burned my nostrils. Through a second set of arches was a welcoming glow.
The interior of the church took my breath away.
Tall candelabras had been arranged beyond the threshold, lighting up the long black banners draped from ceiling to floor on the walls. Each of them was embroidered with a simple design. When I saw it, I placed a hand on the right side of my ribs. On the banners was the same symbol that had been etched into my flesh the day I’d turned eighteen; the crown was a rich crimson, the edges sharp, knifelike tips pointing toward the sky.
Stained glass curved overhead in a gorgeous display of skill and piety. The pews that flowed toward the front of the room were carved from burnished oak.
There were a number of people lining the walls and seats; everyone was dressed in stark black as a sign of respect.
Searching the wide room for my father, I saw another familiar face first. She would have been easy to miss but for the fact that she was staring right at me. Nova’s hair was wrapped in a netlike veil pinned to her tightly wound bun. The long-sleeved dress hid her curves and most of her wringing hands. But nothing hid her wide eyes.
What the hell was she doing here?
The people around her swayed; more eyes were on me now. I knew them, too. After all, I’d sat down with the Valentines just six months back in an attempt at flimsy peace. Now they were here. And Nova was with them.
In a gut punch that made me ill, I remembered who she was. It was strange that I’d forgotten . . . but the woman I’d met yesterday was nothing like the shy, mousy girl who’d sat with her family as we talked about how to go forward without trying to murder each other.
That Nova Valentine hadn’t left an impression on me. This one had.
What had changed her so much in such a short time?
“Thorne,” a feminine voice said. Twisting, I stared at my mother in her thick swirls of dark lace.
“Mom?” I asked, coming forward and taking her hands. “What are you doing here?”
She embraced me; her cheeks were wet from tears. “I’m weak. I flew out soon after you and your father. Lulabelle offered to stay behind and help, though I’m not sure she’ll even try to work out any new deals, you know how she is, but . . . Screw the business, I couldn’t handle the idea of him facing this without me.” She placed her hand on the middle of my back, guiding me deeper into the church. “I should have stopped by your hotel room, but I arrived after midnight and hated to wake you. I knew I’d see you this morning, here.”
I was barely listening. It took everything I had to stop staring at Nova. I felt her eyes on me as I approached the lower pews. My mind was jammed—I kept playing that meeting on repeat. I’d met Nova before . . . Even if I’d forgotten, I doubted she had. Why hadn’t she reminded me about it?
The anxious threads of paranoia were abruptly chopped when I lifted my head to see what was at the front of the church. Sitting on a low platform was a shiny coffin covered in gold filigree. It was so saturated in color that my father was easier to spot than normal.
He, too, was all in black. It made him seem like a shapeless shadow from behind. I watched him as he gazed down on his brother. It hit me then. The last time they’d seen each other, Hester had been alive. He’d been so much more than this emaciated corpse.
Ice traveled the length of my spine. A bomb had b
een rolling in my chest since I walked into the cathedral; it exploded until I thought it would fill up every crevice in my body.
Two siblings forced apart by greed.
This was a tragedy . . . This was beyond cruel.
I felt grateful to my father. Even if he’d fled into exile to save his own skin, he’d prevented his children from enduring the same game of royal chess that he’d grown up with.
On the sidelines I caught motion; Nova was leaning forward from the straight-backed row of her family. Her perceptive eyes were stuck on me—like she was waiting for me to cry. Like she expected me to. My nose burned as I sucked in air. On stiff legs I headed over to my father. My mother grabbed my elbow, pulling me into a seat beside her. “Leave him,” she pleaded.
I didn’t resist her firm grip. But her command broke me out of my stupor. “Why the fuck are the Valentines here?” I hissed into her ear.
She looked straight ahead. “We’ll talk about it after. This isn’t the time.”
I burned with a wild need to confront them. To stalk over there and stare down Kurtis Valentine and his whole brood. To ask them what their connection was to Hester . . . to Torino.
To ask her what she was up to.
Nova, I thought, my hands tightening into fists in my lap. Were you playing with me yesterday? Did you kiss me as part of some trap? I hated not knowing. I prided myself on staying ahead of the game. But I hadn’t just stumbled, I’d fallen flat on my face.
My father approached us. He dropped bonelessly on the opposite side of my mother. The priest approached the casket; Maverick was staring that way, his eyes dry, his skin ashen. I saw my mother take his hand. He clutched it.
As the priest went on about life, death, and the power of heaven, the small crowd made quiet sniffling sounds. A high keening cry soon started from a corner. There was a woman covered head to toe in black silk and a nearly opaque veil. She was sobbing, hugging herself; my eyes narrowed when Kurtis Valentine’s wife, Valencia, hurried over to talk to her.
“Austere Fredricson,” my mother whispered in my ear. “The king’s widow.”
I felt a tickle of suspicion seeing Valencia holding Austere close, talking to her in a soothing way. Their behavior was too familiar. How did they know each other? How did the Valentines know anyone in this country? They were a Boston Mafia family. Dangerous, powerful, rich like mine . . . but clearly that wasn’t all. There was more happening here.
I was determined to understand everything.
- CHAPTER SIX -
HAWTHORNE
“They’re snakes,” my father said. He leveled his glare on me—and even knowing his anger wasn’t for me but the Valentines, I stepped back. “Everything they’ve been up to makes sense now.”
“Tell me.” I bit the words in two, narrowing my eyes in Nova’s direction. She had the grace to turn away.
My father led me and my mother farther into the cathedral. He didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Glen brought me up to speed yesterday. It seems that my brother fell in love with the queen around thirty years ago. She was visiting with her family . . . with her sister, Valencia.”
That information made me dizzy. “Austere is Valencia Valentine’s sister?”
Crinkling her lace-gloved hands into a ball, my mother scowled. “They’ve been involved with Torino since the start. That’s how they knew who you were, Maverick,” she said, looking at her husband.
Back in the States, my father had changed his surname from Fredricson to Badd, so our royal blood would remain a secret. Not many knew who we really were—though telling a girl that you’re a prince in hiding is easy-mode for a good time. If you like things easy, anyway.
Maverick’s nod was ponderous. “The real issue is that, ten years ago, it became clear that Austere wasn’t going to produce an heir.” He studied me closely. “How much did you listen to what I told you about the rule of succession to the throne?”
“Let’s not make this about me. Get to what matters.” I want to talk to Nova.
His forehead tightened with new stress lines. “Hester has no children. His death means that the next in line would be me or Costello, in that order.”
The stomping in my veins grew into a parade. My mother covered her mouth. “That’s why they threatened us . . . why they kept interfering with our lives. The Valentines were benefiting greatly from Valencia’s sister being the queen. They knew she’d be removed from the throne if someone with a better claim appeared.”
My mind was working through the details. I felt a bony hand clutch my heart. “All this time they’ve been worried we’d come back to Torino and take the crown?”
Maverick was looking over my head. I followed his eyes; the entire Valentine family was watching us from the same wall they’d been lined up against at the start of the funeral. “Yes,” he said grimly. “They’ve been in the shadows, observing us, knowing this moment was coming. Without an heir, the Valentines have no claim to this kingdom.”
“Unless all of us are dead and out of the way,” I said. “This was what their bullshit ‘truce’ was all about. They wanted us to stay far away from Torino, they probably thought Dad was aware of the situation and was just biding his time until he could return. And here we are. Just like they were afraid of.”
I was suddenly counting the number of guards in the room. I didn’t think the Valentines would do something so rash as to try to kill us in front of an audience, but after learning how long they’d been watching us, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Nova.
Why had she spent so much time with me? What was her part in all of this?
A firm hand clasped my shoulder. I looked up at Maverick curiously. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time for us to find out what they want.”
“We know what they want. They want us dead.”
My mother gave me a somber look. “They had this whole time to attack us again, and they didn’t.”
“They knew we were on edge,” I said, chasing reasons. “It’d be suicide to attack us so soon after the mess with Darien and Gina.”
She reached for me with that familiar pity that I was so sick of. “Thorne . . .”
All at once I had to get out of the room. I couldn’t stomach a conversation with the Valentines. I was resistant to the idea that talking could solve anything with these people.
But mostly . . .
I couldn’t face the woman who’d looked into my eyes, held me close, and kissed me while knowing how stupid I was.
“Hawthorne!” My father kept calling to me as I walked away. Ignoring him, I strode through a side door of the cathedral. I didn’t know where it led, just that it would take me away from that stuffy room with its grand art and two-faced people.
A small set of steps—weathered by the salty air and coated with moss—took me into a tree-shaded graveyard. The monuments were all huge, many of them decorated with swords or life-size men in crowns. This was the cemetery that Hester would be buried in. The place my corpse will be laid to rest if Maverick takes the crown. The idea made me shiver.
I sucked in the clean air like it could heal me. I was too many things at once. I couldn’t settle on feeling angry, or betrayed, or dejected. Pressing a hand to my ribs, I looked up at the foliage spreading over me. A few small birds chirped, darting around and back again, free of the weight of family affairs. Leaning against the cool stone of the cathedral, I shut my eyes and listened to my heart. It sounded like the ocean waves I’d heard last night.
When I’d first kissed Nova.
She’d been so welcoming . . . her mouth hungry, pliant, and silken. I’d wanted to kiss her until the stars rose above, then beyond that, until they sank into the sea for the last time in eternity. Ocean spray had made her taste like a wonderful secret from the abyss. A treasure discovered by me and only me.
“Hawthorne?” a voice called gently. As if it had escaped my daydream.
When I opened my eyes, I saw it wasn’t my imagination.
No
va was standing in front of me.
- CHAPTER SEVEN -
HAWTHORNE
The shadow of the church made her look muted and gray. It reminded me of how my mother had appeared the other morning as I’d left our home. That same vibe of empathy . . . of a sadness that wasn’t entirely about me.
I didn’t move off the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
Nova’s eyebrows crept higher. “That’s not fair. I did tell you, you’re the one who didn’t recognize me.”
My mouth fell open.
“I was positive you did at first,” she went on, staring me down. “The longer you spent with me, the more I realized you had no clue. I was kind of offended.”
I shook off her mild jab. “I’m bad with faces.” It was a lame excuse, I grabbed for another because I desperately needed to make sense of how I had forgotten. “We weren’t properly introduced at that meeting. You were sitting at a table with a bunch of your family under pretty tense terms.”
Her smile grew. It was as tempting as if she’d inched her dress up to expose her thigh. “There were a lot of distractions that day.” She pulled in some air, let it out. “It felt awkward to say anything once I knew you didn’t recognize me.”
Dammit, her honesty was disarming me. I wasn’t ready to let go of my distrust yet. But talking was so effortless with her. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you. In my defense, you don’t act at all like you did months ago.”
That froze her smile in its tracks. “How do you mean?”
My memory ran back that day to me. “You were quiet. Shy, even.” I traced her body with a pointed look. “You weren’t shy yesterday.”
She shifted under my scrutiny. “What we did—the way I acted with you—it was something I’d always wanted to do.” She clamped her mouth shut, looking at me with her eyes stretched wide, daring me to smother her bluntness with my usual sarcasm.
Whatever armor I’d put on had already rusted and fallen away. I softened my tone, wondering if she’d hear my heart thudding. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve been crushing on me for months?”