Chapter Text
“It’s completely safe,” the witch said, turning the crystal in her hands. “Not a crack on it. It’s not going to explode, no matter how worked up you get.”
Finley did not know the witch. She was a short, paled-skinned woman, white hair and eyes giving her an unsettling pallor, and she hadn’t introduced herself. She was the closest witch on hand when Sir Kiln had called for one, and for all the inconvenience she now sighed over, she’d trembled as she’d taken the crystal from Finley’s hands.
“Are you sure?” Finley asked, keeping her distance from the crystal, healing light slipping between the witch’s fingers. “It was flickering and there was this sound coming from it—”
“There’s no indication of sound woven into this crystal. It was enchanted for healing, not—” The witch waved a hand, grasping for an example. “Alarms. Weren’t you recently close to an explosion? There’s every reason to think your injuries haven’t healed, considering what you are.”
Finley bit her tongue. Had she been alone with the witch, she might’ve protested that being a foil didn’t mean all damage was permanent, but Princess Alexandria was standing over them, Sirs Mazur and Kiln at her sides.
“Fine. Maybe the crystal isn’t going to explode right now, but that doesn’t mean it should be left that close to Prince Iyden,” Finley said. “Can’t you replace it?”
“There’s really no need,” the witch pressed.
She stepped closer to Finley, pressing the crystal to her hands. Finley balled them into fists, wanting to smother the shaking. The witch smoothed her thumbs over the crystal, searching out the imperfections that weren’t there, sneer on her face all the while. Her hair, once vibrant, seemed lank in Finley’s presence, and her white eyes did not glow.
All her power deserted her like salt sifted into warm water. Finley wasn’t surprised the woman resented her.
“Have Luna start over with another crystal and instruct the healers to replace it,” Sir Kiln said.
For as little as she’d spoken, Finley felt the ghost of an ally in her.
“Your Highness?” the witch asked, turning to a higher authority.
“Do as Sir Kiln instructs,” Princess Alexandria said. “For all your insinuations that my foil has hit her head, there was something unusual about that crystal. Whether it is fine now is of no matter. We won’t be taking any chances, especially not around Prince Iyden.”
The woman cast a neutral mask over her frustration and slipped from the room with a bow.
Deeming the threat neutralised, Rydal took the opportunity return to their prince.
“Well, that was rather fruitless. I was on the cusp of making Prince Iyden spill all his secrets before everything went awry. Still, there was something peculiar about that crystal. Sir Kiln, see that it gets to Luna, won’t you? The woman we just spoke with appears to believe that white hair alone gives her the skill and authority of a royal witch,” Princess Alexandria said.
Sir Kiln’s expression did not slip, but there was a fondness in her obedience, in the slight bow of her head, that Finley did not miss. Fondness, and beneath that, a sheen of remorse pulled taut.
“I ought to accompany you to your chambers, Princess,” she said, suggested, confident enough to march into a prince’s chamber and snatch the crystal over his head, but not bold enough to make demands of her charge.
“Finley can do that well enough,” Princess Alexandria said. “Your time would be much better spent finding whatever dungeon Luna is being kept in.”
Sir Kiln nodded. Whatever shared past divided them fell like a curtain, and they were princess and knight once more. Sir Kiln carried the crystal out of the room, door closing quietly behind her, and Finley fiddled with the chain her amulet hung from.
For the two-and-a-half days Finley had spent in the princess’ presence, they had not once discussed the first crystals, or whether they were malfunctioning, sabotaged, or both. Finley considered her question carefully, hands mostly steady, and the princess announced their departure the second before she opened her mouth.
Princess Alexandria’s chamber was two doors down from the library, but felt miles away. Two guards were stationed outside of it at all times, and the inside looked as novels had led Finley to believe a royal ballroom might. Here the carpet was patterned, stylised vines and leaves stretching to the print on the wallpaper, and all the furnishings, from the sconces to table legs, were either painted gold or made from it.
The paintings were akin to those in the library, either masterful copies or true originals, with frames so large they may well have been doorways into the past. Everything was perfect in its presentation, not a speck of dust touched the highest shelf or lowest skirting board, and there seemed to be nothing personal within.
Finley had spent the last two mornings and evenings there in much the same way she had the library. Princess Alexandria was interested only in work, mercifully took all her meals in her chambers, and dismissed Finley as an afterthought, once she had decided she would not venture beyond her door for the rest of the day.
Rosa appeared not long after their return, carrying a tray of hot tea. She schooled her expression, no longer on the cusp of bursting out into laughter at the sight of Finley in the royal chambers, and set down the tray at Princess Alexandria’s elbow.
“Her Majesty wonders if you might join her for dinner,” Rosa asked, voice soft, words well-enunciated.
It wasn’t the Rosa Finley knew.
“Her Majesty is well aware that I’m busy taking care of half her kingdom,” Princess Alexandria said, not looking up from her desk.
Pouring tea for her, Rosa said, “And I’ve brought a copy of tonight’s menu, Princess.”
Princess Alexandria looked sharply up at her. Rosa beamed, aware that she’d done a good job.
Taking the menu, Princess Alexandria said, “Oh—any of it will do, Rosa. Bring whatever is easiest for the cook,” and returned to her work.
Rosa hovered for a beat longer, then took the menu from the desk.
“And for Finley, Your Highness?”
“Finley?” Princess Alexandria said. “Oh, Finley. Yes, I suppose we oughtn’t let her starve, lest the lights in this place start exploding.”
Finley took the menu from Rosa and stared at the swirling penmanship. It was difficult to believe that such lengths were went to for every meal; in a matter of minutes the thick, cream-coloured paper would be screwed into a ball and disposed of.
Rosa rocked on the balls of her feet, smiling with all her teeth, now there was no princess to see. Finley murmured she’d have the same as Princess Alexandria, found it awkward to thank her, as though she somehow outranked her, and slumped into her seat.
“I’ll have my bath an hour after eating,” Princess Alexandria said as Rosa made to leave. “And tell Ocari to send up new towels. I don’t like whatever my current ones were last washed with.”
After dinner and the bath that followed, water rushing from taps in an adjoining room, Finley inspected the chamber as well as she could. Thankfully, Princess Alexandria had no better idea of what Finley ought to be doing, so she simply dulled all the crystals in the room, checked them for cracks, and declared them safe when no music rang from within.
The princess dismissed her, door sliding locked behind Finley. Finley hurried back to the infirmary, twice asking directions from helpful guards, where she was summarily informed she was being discharged.
Finley didn’t stay a moment longer than she had to. She hurried out of the palace, through the first doors offering an escape, and embraced the sudden cold that left her breathless.
She hadn’t appreciated how warm crystals kept the palace until she stepped outside. Her uniform was not made to guard against the cold, but she trusted her boots to withstand the scattering of snow lining the grass, and breathed in all the fresh air she could. It wasn’t the same as getting to sink her fingers into the earth and put her back into work, but after the last few days of confinement, it was damn near.
Night covered the royal grounds. The countless tiny lights of Sunspire hung along the horizon. It was far too dark to return to the scene of the explosion, as though all the debris wouldn’t have been cleaned away and she’d be the one to stumble across some vital piece of evidence, but she didn’t head straight for her quarters.
Across the grounds, beyond the summer houses and walled garden, was a temple, little bigger than a shed. In truth, it had once been a shed, extended bit by bit over the years, walls reinforced.
Finley slipped inside the square, unremarkable building. Old benches served as pews, three on each side of the storage-turned-holy place, and a plinth stood at the far end, silhouetted by the one, large window. A monolith rested atop it, perfectly plain and rectangular, there to project the image of god upon.
Religion was a relic of Thisia’s past. It was an old superstition, once called on to justify wars and thrust monarchs into power, but now all sensible, learned people knew that divinity spread through all the universe, indivisible. Anyone who sat upon the throne and called herself queen invoked her own divine blessing. If there was divinity in all, that divinity could be trusted to rule.
God was scarcely called on, save for harmless blasphemy.
Finley pulled the amulet from beneath her shirt. She rubbed her thumb across the embossed surface and traced the familiar, soothing shape of the barn owl.
Hardly anyone came to the temple. Once, there had always been someone at Finley’s side, but of late, she was the only one who kept the temple clean. The occasional courtier who visited, looking to draw attention and scandal their way, didn’t care for the simply piety of dusting.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Finley said to herself, her amulet, the monolith. To the person who wasn’t there. “But no one else does, either. I guess there’s relief in that—they panicked and grabbed the first foil they saw, and all I have to do is sit around for a few days. Or weeks, probably. But I don’t belong up there. I look weird, dressed like this.”
No answer came.
Finley hadn’t sought one.
The temple calmed her, and she headed to the servants’ hall with a tired smile plastered on her face. Everyone wanted to speak with her, to ask about the explosion they’d spent the last days cobbling hearsay together about, to tell her how brave she’d been – oh, but she could’ve let the princess get battered like the prince, surely! – and if not for Yda, Finley might’ve answered all their questions.
Yda ushered Finley to the familiar, bare stone of their shared room, to her narrow bed in the far corner. Finley laid down, starkly aware of how much less comfortable it was than the infirmary bed, and was asleep before Yda could ask if she needed anything.
Rosa woke her the next morning, hanging through her open doorway before knocking. She dragged Finley out of bed, threw her uniform at her, and tugged her to the servants’ hall, where she’d set out breakfast for the two of them.
Finley’s head pounded with the symptoms of not enough sleep, though she’d kept the same hours for the last twenty years, and the rabble of conversation from the maids and footmen and cooks did little to help. If she didn’t eat with Yda, Finley tended to take her breakfast to a secluded bench outside.
Elbows bumped hers, people leant across the enormous, ancient table to talk to her, and Rosa’s chatter was incessant.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days. I couldn’t believe it when I went to wake the princess and you were hovering in the middle of the living area! You were a gardener, weren’t you? I knew you were a foil, of course, everyone does, but I never thought of it as something you could use. Maybe there’s a point to it after all!” Rosa said, crunching her toast. “I finally have an ally in all this! No one believes how bad the princess really is. I’m the laughing stock of the palace, you know: a princess’ personal maid, yet I hardly ever have anything to do. The queen’s maid knows half of her secrets, you know, sometimes she’s in that chamber all day, and the queen listens to her suggestions on what to wear. Gods, the princess is awful. Such a bore!”
Finley doubted Rosa would be any happier if Princess Alexandria kept her within arm’s reach all day, tending to every insignificant task she could so easily do herself. All Finley heard from the indoor servants was how utterly incapable of taking care of themselves the nobles and royals were, how the lesser courtiers sought to blend in by pretending they could not button their own shirts.
She had chosen to work outdoors for a reason.
“At least you have plenty of time to yourself,” Finley said.
“Until the princess is in a bad mood – a worse bad mood – and then she has me rearranging her wardrobes until one in the morning,” Rosa said, rolling her eyes. “Oh. But she’s back in her chambers today. Wait until you see those!”
“What do you mean? We’ve been there the past few days.”
Laughing, delighted, and making sure the person to her left was listening, Rosa said, “Finley, don’t be ridiculous. Those were guest chambers, hardly fitting of a princess. Why she was there I don’t know, but she’ll be back in her own rooms today.”
Finley finished her breakfast, confused but not concerned. The princess was the sort to live at the mercy of her own whims and likely wanted to be close to the library. As she so often pointed out, it was her palace, and so she had every right to stay where she pleased.
Finley asked Rosa no more questions, knowing she’d get everything but answers from her.
After breakfast, Rosa busied herself giving orders to a few of the maids who were to put the guestroom back to rights, and suggested Finley brush her hair through again.
She did so, keeping her hands busy.
She needed to stick close to Rosa, at least until she memorised the way to the royal chambers she thought she’d already spent a scattering of days in.
Rosa, lady’s maid to the Princess of Thisia for six years, drifted through the palace with as much ease as any noble and far more purpose. Finley tried counting the turns they took, putting a finger up when they went right, keeping one down whenever they veered left.
After two staircases, each wider than her and Yda’s bedroom, they came to a final set of six stairs, leading to a large landing. Again, two guards were stationed either side of the double-doors. One nodded Rosa and Finley through, and the other yawned widely.
The princess’ chambers were considerably larger than the guestrooms she had been staying in. Taking in her surroundings, Finley wanted to kick herself for thinking a princess would resign herself to something so plain and impersonal as the rooms that had made her dizzy with awe only yesterday.
Rosa pulled back an immense pair of curtains, spanning the twelve feet from floor to ceiling, and pinned them back with silky, braided ties. Behind, a window taking up an entire third of the back wall let in pale morning light, winter sun low and sharp. The princess’ personal collection of books was a library in and of itself, taking up a quarter of the main chamber, with a sliding ladder on rungs to reach the higher shelves.
Her study was close to the bookshelves, with a writing desk large enough to hold meetings around, and a number of armchairs set out for reading. A vanity was positioned where the light best reached it, and a fireplace so large Finley could have easily climbed into it was the focal point of a low table, a wide settee, with yet more armchairs backing onto it.
But that was not all: two settees sat face-to-face in the centre of the room, as though none of the other eight places to sit were adequate. Fresh flowers were placed on a coffee table between them, and the wood bore not a single scratch or red wine ring.
Rosa fluffed life into a few of the cushions. Finley tilted her head back, warily taking stock of the chandelier that hung above them, adorned with crystals. She stepped back and light flooded out, reaching the far corners of the room. More troubling than the handful of crystals far above her head, out of her reach in an emergency, was the crystal in the corner of the room, next to an adjoining door.
It was larger than those that had ended as dust and shards in the palace grounds.
Finley trusted that a witch, perhaps even the royal witch, had checked the crystals for defects, though her ribs still ached at the sight of it.
The door beside it clicked open. Princess Alexandria emerged, far more at ease in her own chambers than the ground-floor guestroom; she remained in her nightclothes, a long, cream and green nightshirt that reached her knees, hair still pinned atop her head.
There was a softness to her expression, still mired in sleep, that Finley almost thought she imagined. It was there for a second, then it was gone; the princess shook her head and greeted Rosa with a demand for a dressing gown.
Cold though it was, the princess did not send Rosa to start a fire. The wood carefully stacked by the hearth was there for decoration, for like most, Princess Alexandria relied on a heating crystal Finley made sure to keep a safe distance from.
The princess sat at her vanity, squinted at her reflection, and began unpinning her hair. There were no mirrors downstairs, nothing so valuable as that. Finley shuffled a little to the side, wanting to catch a glimpse of herself.
“I’m not a child. Would you leave me alone?” Princess Alexandria said when Rosa held out a hand, offering to take the hairbrush from her.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Rosa said, all poise once more. “I’ll have breakfast and your letters brought to you. Is there anything else you need?”
“There isn’t. For once, I’m going to spend much of the day alone,” the princess said, tugging the silver brush through her long, wavy hair. “Enjoy actually getting to be in my chambers, that sort of thing. No interruptions. That includes you as well, Rosa. Surely you have better ways to spend your time. Don’t bother bringing me the dinner menus; pick whatsoever you wish for me. You know me well enough by now. Oh, and ensure I have a grapefruit with my breakfast, not an orange.”
Rosa bowed and left the chambers so silently the door did not even click.
Finley remained on the spot, hands clasped behind her back, while the princess brushed her hair through. She took in the paintings, most land- and seascapes, with the exception of a portrait of a young woman Finley had no reason to recognise, encased in a simple wooden frame and almost lost amongst its peers. Rosa returned with a breakfast tray garnished with correspondences, left once more, and still Finley stood there, silent, awkward.
Putting her hairbrush down after a solid several hundred strokes, Princess Alexandria reached for the topmost letter and caught Finley’s reflection in the mirror.
“Oh. You. I’m not certain I’ve need of your services today,” the princess said, lifting the tray and moving to the mirrored settees. Flashes of rushing into the grounds and picking up a rake filled Finley’s mind. “Although who’s to say I won’t be accosted, or that I won’t be called away on some emergency. Fine, fine. Stay. Just take a seat, won’t you? It’s unnerving, having you hover there. Help yourself to breakfast.”
Taking a small, silver knife, the princess cut a grapefruit in quarters and began taking large, loud bites of it.
“I ate downstairs. Thank you, Princess,” Finley said.
She shuffled over to an armchair. Not so close that she would give the impression of considering herself company for the princess, but hardly in the furthest reaches of the enormous room.
Princess Alexandria shrugged with one shoulder.
“As you will. I suppose you eat the same food as we do, considering where it’s prepared.”
Finley couldn’t help but laugh. Princess Alexandria’s gaze shot over, and Finley tried covering it with a cough.
“We don’t. We get toast, porridge, that sort of thing. Butter and jam. We don’t get grapefruit or meat with breakfast,” Finley explained.
“That’s horrid. Is Ocari trying to starve you?”
It was utterly impossible to tell if she was being serious.
Avoiding an actual answer, Finley said, “Why were you staying in guestrooms for the last few days, Princess?”
Princess Alexandria finished her last grapefruit quarter in little more than a bite. There wasn’t a drop of juice on her face.
“Because you had recently been near-obliterated by a crystal, and being what you are, there was no easy fix for healing you. I can’t imagine dragging you up and down all these stairs would have been good for you,” Princess Alexandria said.
“Oh,” Finley said, having not imagined such an answer. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you, Princess.”
Princess Alexandria hummed, added her grapefruit skin to the pile, and began reading through the letters that had amassed for her overnight. When she was done with them, she stared at her desk, considering sliding straight into work, but took a detour at the last moment. She picked two books from her personal collection, dropped one on the arm of Finley’s chair, and returned to her settee.
Finley latched onto the book, eager for the hours to melt away. The princess had given her a novel, one with a much more promising premise than Thisia’s sewage system.
After an hour of vaguely companionable silence, the chamber doors flung open. There was no knock, no announcement, and Luna came pouring in. Finley started, first because of the intrusion, and then because it was Luna, hair and eyes aglow, radiating a power that Finley could so easily diminish. She had not seen her since they were both stood around a crystal, preparing for an onslaught of shrapnel, and it left her extremities cold.
Princess Alexandria had no such reaction. She glanced over, confirmed who had barrelled into her chambers, and returned to her book.
“I thought I’d never get to see you again!” Luna said, closing the door behind her and kicking off her boots. “They’ve been keeping me away from you, I know they have. Coming up with ridiculous jobs for me to do whenever I so much as thought of visiting, as though I’m the only witch in Sunspire. I take it that was Queen Briar’s doing.”
Princess Alexandria turned a page before answering.
“It certainly wasn’t my idea. I’ve spent more than half my life trying to be rid of you and I know a losing battle when I see one,” she murmured.
Hands on her hips, Luna said, “Oh, don’t be like that! We’ve so much to talk about. I don’t remember the last time I went three days without seeing you.”
“Was there ever such a joyous time?”
Luna had no trouble telling whether the princess was being serious or not. Not only had she shown herself into the royal chambers without invitation, but she actually took a seat next to Princess Alexandria, sitting with her back against the armrest. Without looking up from the pages she was trying her utmost to lose herself in, Princess Alexandria lifted the book, letting Luna slide her feet into her lap.
After a good deal of throat-clearing from Luna, the princess closed her book, dropped it on the coffee table, and idly placed a hand on Luna’s shin.
“Well, what is it? Have you figured out the cause of this little inconvenience, or are you here to finish the job with whatever crystal you’ve hidden up your sleeve, you wretched woman?” the princess asked.
Luna laughed, stretching her arms above her head.
“No and no. What sort of royal witch am I? All I can tell anyone is that the explosion happened for no apparent reason, and we all may or may not be in danger! It’s all very reassuring.”
“If my cousin decides to have you fired over this, I’ll give you a good recommendation.”
“God, Lexi. You’re in a terrible mood this morning. It’s a good thing I turned up when I did! I hate to think of you sitting up here all alone, sulking, terrified your chandelier might explode above you,” Luna said.
Finley had watched the conversation with more fascination that she’d consumed the book the princess had given her. Finley had convinced herself that Princess Alexandria was never easy around anyone, but had not even entertained the idea of someone being easy around her. Yet Luna stretched out on the settee, making herself at home, and had dropped more than her royal title in the privacy of her chambers.
“I’m not alone,” Princess Alexandria said, tilting her head towards Finley.
Luna looked across the room, eyes wide with delight, worry, then delight once more. Finley coloured, certain she’d been caught eavesdropping. Luna sprung from the settee and hurried across the room, reaching down to take both of Finley’s hands between her own.
“Finley!” she said, voice warm and bright. Her eyes may have dulled around Finley, but her smile did not. “Goodness, it’s wonderful to see you! I’ve wanted to talk to you since—well, since the whole explosion business, but as I was saying to Lexi, I’ve been purposefully kept away. How are you? You look so much better than I feared you would. I’ve barely been sleeping, wracking my brain for how I might help you, but all I could think of was crystals. And that’s what got us into this whole problem-slash-solution in the first place, isn’t it? Goodness! How are you? Is Lexi treating you well?”
“I—I’m fine, thank you,” Finley said, getting to her feet to be level with Luna. “I’ve not really done much more than rest these last few days, which has helped. And Princess Alexandria has been very kind.”
Luna scoffed, squeezing Finley’s hands.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Finley. I know Lexi has been delighting in torturing you. Did you know that the palace witches – and not a few courtiers! – currently have a bet going on about all this? Half of them thought she would’ve scared you away by now.”
Finley blinked rapidly, not certain how to answer in the princess’ presence. Not certain how to answer it in Luna’s presence. She hadn’t time to notice it before, not with the world narrowing around her, but Luna was remarkably pretty.
It went deeper than her unusual white hair and eyes, contrasting against her warm, brown skin. Her round face was friendly and inviting, her every expression animated, and she was altogether beautiful, fat, graceful and grounded, and far closer in rank to Finley than a princess could ever be.
“Well. She’s been—Her Highness, she’s been very accommodating,” Finley said, eventually.
Luna laughed, patted Finley’s face, and pointed her back into her seat, concerned for her health.
As Luna settled back on the settee, Princess Alexandria said, “Now who’s the one torturing my foil, hm?”
“Hush, you. I don’t have much time to spend here today, what with having a hundred more things than usual to do. Let’s skip to the good part: what have I missed?” Luna asked.
“You can read through my letters, if you’re that fascinated in my day-to-day. I, unfortunately, have little of worth to report. I spoke with Prince Iyden yesterday, very almost got him to admit that he was here for a reason, before all that drama with the healing crystal.”
Luna, familiar with the crystal in question, nodded thoughtfully.
“Then you still have no idea why King Lucian sent a delegation here?” she asked.
“Not in the slightest. Clearly, he isn’t making desperate grasps at a political marriage between Thisia and Sine; I expect the man is smart enough to send his daughter, in that case.”
“Princess Rada? Have you ever met her?”
“Indeed. A good, oh, seven-and-twenty years ago. She didn’t quite have the princess part figured out, back then,” Princess Alexandria mused. “Did you ever meet her?”
“I did! A little more recently, about nineteen years back. We’d both figured out a few things, by then.”
Princess Alexandria idly pet Luna’s knee, finding comfort in what looked to be an easy, familiar habit.
“Unlike my esteemed cousin, I have absolutely no conviction in the palace’s favoured rumour that the Sinites sabotaged the crystal themselves. Not only are they not used to working with crystals of the sort, but a dead prince would not hand them a war they could win. They won’t wriggle free of being a protectorate that easily.”
Luna tapped her chin and said, “And Prince Iyden’s father actually cares about his son.”
“Imagine that.”
Overcome by the urge to steer the conversation away from matters Finley was certain she wasn’t supposed to overheard, she blurted out, “I heard that Sir Mazur came to slay the Beast.”
Both Princess Alexandria and Luna stared at her, having almost forgotten she was in the room. Finley sunk into the cushions, wishing she’d bit her tongue.
“Well. That’s a unique take on the matter. However, Kiln last slayed the Beast six years ago; we’ve another four years before we need to send another poor soul down there. And we’ve certainly never sent a Sinite,” Princess Alexandria said. “Where do you servants come up with these ideas? Still, unrelated to this visit as I expect it is, that’s a fascinating proposal. Did you know that many Sinites – and Thisians, I expect – think our Beast the metaphorical sort? They believe that what dwells in the labyrinth is a mere manifestation of our power, a story to scare misbehaving children, a threat to exert our control with.
“It isn’t, naturally. Left alone, the Beast would grow, devouring us all. But it would be interesting if Sir Mazur held such a desire. It might work in Thisia’s favour; if one of their knights journeyed into the labyrinth and saw the Beast with their own eyes, the non-believers might think twice about their convictions.”
There had been celebrations in the palace, when last Sir Kiln slayed the Beast, and even the servants had been given wine from King Nicholas’ personal collection. How anyone could believe the Beast was anything but a literal monster, trapped in a labyrinth beneath the palace, was beyond Finley; they need only look at the quality of the crystals, imbued with its power, to see the truth of it.
“I really do need to check on the labyrinth crystals soon,” Luna sighed. “But as it happens, Finley, I’ve been speaking with Rydal myself, recently.”
“Rydal, is it? Luna. Don’t,” Princess Alexandria said sharply.
“What?” Luna protested.
“You can’t fall for every emotionally unavailable knight you meet,” the princess scolded. “They’re not to be here for long, and I know you all too well. I’m not spending the next six months listening to you whine because Sir Mazur isn’t replying to any of your daily letters.”
“Have some faith in me, Lexi. I’m gathering intel, that’s all!”
Not believing her for a moment, the princess said, “What about Finley? She’s pretty-ish.”
Finley adjusted herself awkwardly in her seat. Things were better in the library, where her chair faced away from the princess.
Princess Alexandria turned her eyes on Finley, as if considering her own words. After a moment of piercing judgement, she said, “Rather pretty, actually, supposing you don’t object to freckles. You’d think all that time out of doors would be dreadful for one’s complexion.”
Letting out a laugh of horror, Luna prodded the princess’ cheek.
“A foil and a witch! Now there’s a love-story for the ages!” she said. “I’m not courting your foil, Lexi. And besides, you’re right! Finley is pretty. What’s the chances of her not being taken, anyway?”
Gripping the arms of her chair to avoid drowning in her own discomfort, Finley forced a laugh and said, “I’m not.”
“See?” Princess Alexandria asked.
Luna thwacked the side of her arm before hopping to her feet.
“I’d love to stay and chat all day, but I’m not going to help you torture poor Finley. She’s the only reason any of us are alive!” Luna said.
“Not so. I was far enough from the crystals to survive a second explosion,” the princess said, rising from the settee.
Luna sighed, long-suffering, but was mollified when Princess Alexandria leant towards her, allowing her to kiss her cheek.
“I’ll be back before you know it!” Luna said, putting her boots back on by the door.
“Don’t rush yourself. I hear my aunt is soon to return, so my time will be stretched in even more directions. Go, make eyes at your knight.”
Luna shot the princess her deepest frown, which soon turned to a smile. She waved at Finley, promising to see her soon, and left Princess Alexandria to her contemplation, stood in the centre of the room, not quite staring out the window.
Finley had just retrieved her book, certain the excitement of the day was over, when Princess Alexandria clapped her hands.
“I really won’t have this much time to myself for some weeks to come. I ought to make the most of it,” she said. After a pause, as if she could see into Finley with the sparrowhawk’s eyes, as if picking apart the most vulnerable part of her, she carelessly said, “Let us go to the stables. I haven’t ridden in days.”