Ethel isn't the only person that doesn't attend supper tonight. Lady Cordelia and King Thurstan are also notably absent. The air of the room is heavy with tension, and what little conversation takes place is whispered in hushed tones and accompanied by flickering eyes that dart around the table to make sure that the speaker's unintelligible words upset no one.
Even the prince, who is normally lively, is subdued. He doesn't speak much, and I catch him casting several glares towards Lord Dustin. Not once does he look at me.
Once the meal is blessedly over, I hurry upstairs, pausing when I hear the sound of stifled sobs. I follow the noise, which brings me to Lady Cordelia, whose tearstained face is illuminated by the milky beams of moonlight that stream through the large window she stands under.
"Lady Cordelia?" I ask, stepping forward impulsively. It may be unwise to engage in conversation with her, when we have never spoken before, but she is a large piece of the puzzle that makes up Prince Adrian. Perhaps I can garner some information from her while she's in such a vulnerable state. I know I'm taking advantage of her, but I don't have time to be mercifulâand I see it as fair recompense for her taking advantage of Durnwall to keep her coffers overflowing.
"Oh!" she gasps. "Lady Nyx...you startled me." She wipes the tears from her face with a lace handkerchief. It's no wonder that Adrian has taken such an interest in her; even when crying, she's beautiful. Her soft cheeks are flushed and her large hazel eyes are unmarred by their current redness.
I curtsey. "My apologies. I wanted to see if you were all right."
Suddenly, she rushes towards me and throws her arms around me as her body shakes with sobs. "You are too kind, Lady Nyx."
I stiffen, unsure of how to handle this. Large displays of emotion are not something that I'm accustomed to.
She releases me only after a full minute has passed. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this, especially since I've never had the opportunity to have a proper conversation with you."
"Don't worry," I tell her. "This is as good a way as any for us to become acquainted."
Cordelia laughs, a delightful, light sound that makes me overly conscious of the coarseness of my own. "Yes...but I'm afraid we may not be able to speak for long. I have to oversee the packing of my things."
"You're leaving?" Genuine shock cuts into my voice. I know that she was supposed to stay at least a week longer.
Nodding tearfully, she says, "I've been a fool."
"The prince broke your heart," I say bluntly.
"No, it's nothing like that. We never loved each other."
"Then why..."
Cordelia dabs at her fresh tears. "We're dear friends, so I never expected him to send me away. He says it's for my own good, but...oh, I am lonely in Bellvemarre. If he had asked me to marry him, I would have said yes, if only to escape my solitude."
I find it hard to believe that the prince is looking after her best interests by doing this. He's probably upset about finally having to face the consequences of leading her on for so long. And, if he can't run away, at least he can get rid of Cordelia. "I'm sorry."
"I only wish he would tell me what's happening. He's so closed off. I thought he trusted me, but he won't tell me anything. He insists that he's only trying to keep me safe, but I can't get through to him that I'm willing to share the burden."
"Surely, he has his reasons," I mumble.
"He's frightened, I think."
My ears perk up at those words. I never thought that Cordelia could be of much use to me, but here she is. Her tongue is as loose as Dustin's. "Frightened? Of what?"
"Being alone, of course," she says. "He's as lonely as I."
It's a fear, yes, but I doubt it's his greatest. "Why wouldn't he ask you to marry him, then? Neither of you would be lonely anymore."
"Perhaps we are too idealistic, but we both wish to marry for love," she explains. "You must understand this, Nyx."
I nod, though I have no interest in marriage whether it's for love or otherwise. "You really don't love each other?"
"I'm afraid not."
I wonder if mere loneliness could have prompted them to spend so many nights together. Though I am used to being alone, I have sometimes craved the feeling of a warm body lying next to mine. I have longed for someone to share the night with. But I don't think I could let someone in without love. And love seems so unattainable.
I don't believe her. She must have some affection for the prince, otherwise she wouldn't put up with him for so long. And she wouldn't be so upset over cutting her visit short.
We are silent for a few moments. I am the one who breaks it. "I wish you the best, Lady Cordelia. If there is anything that I can do to help, please ask." When I make this offer, it feels as though someone has a death grip on my throat. It's difficult to force the words out, but I know that faking kindness towards her is far more beneficial than allowing my hatred to shine through. And, in a way, I do pity her. At least my happiness is not contingent on Adrian's company; there is nothing more pitiable than that.
She smiles. "Thank you. That means the world to me."
We both curtsey to each other and then she turns away, entering the nearest bedchamber.
I'm surprised by how amiable she seems, even while distraught. Is that only because of my affiliation with the duchess? Does she treat her servants differently? From our short conversation, I find her ostensible kindness incompatible with the way she extorts money from the people of Durnwall. Usually, I can tell when people are false; in fact, it's rather easy. Despite her obvious lies, Cordelia was almost certainly genuine in her kindness towards me, which makes her greed seem strange.
She must know of my parentage. If she looked down on those of lower birth, she wouldn't have been so open with me. But, in that case, why does she care so little for the people of Itoria?
I shake my head and continue down the hall. All that matters is that she's given me something to work with.
Once I reach the prince's room, I slide on the Immaterial Ring and pass through the doors, shuddering at the hollowness that immediately plagues me. While the prince is gone, I look at the papers strewn over his desk. I try to pick one up, but my discarnate hand passes through it. Since I don't know exactly when he'll return, I don't take the ring off. Looking through his belongings isn't worth the risk of being caught.
I do notice something of interest, however: the ring box is sitting atop a stack of papers. He kept it, then. He has no intention of proposing to Cordelia, yet he kept the ring. I wonder why he didn't return it to his father.
The doors fly open and the prince bursts inside. He storms towards the desk and I jump out of the way just in time for him to grab the ring box. So he meant to wait until supper, to see if his father showed up.
His guards and Lord Dustin are at the doors, each wearing a comically nervous expression on their faces.
"Adrian, your father will be terribly angry if you disturb him while he's resting," Dustin says, his voice pitched almost an octave higher than normal.
"He'll be angry no matter what I do," Adrian snaps. He shoves them aside and strides down the long hallway, making his way to the East Wing. I follow him along with the others, wondering if it was my words that prompted this. Adrian is walking so quickly that I have to trot to keep up; he is certainly upset.
Once we reach his father's chamber, the guards step in front of the door to block his entrance. It's strange that they would so readily allow Lord Dustin inside, but not the prince himself. I can't blame them for not trusting him, but their behavior leaves a sour taste in my mouth. King Thurstan is Adrian's father, and it seems wrong to disallow him from seeing the man whenever he wants.
"Let me past," Adrian commands. "I need to speak to the king."
"No one is to enter this chamber tonight," one of the guards says coldly. "King's orders. He needs his rest."
"I am his son!" Adrian shouts. "Let me pass. He cannot hide from me forever."
One door opens, but it's not by a guard's hand. King Thurstan strides from the room, fully dressed in splendid velvet robes lined with brocade silk. Unlike earlier, his cheeks are full and his eyes bright. He stands on two solid legs, kingly strength radiating from him. This is not the same man I saw languishing on his lavish bed earlier. Whatever magic has produced this illusion is as strong as that of the Immaterial Ring.
Adrian's anger immediately fades. He steps back from his father, and I'm shocked to see that he almost cowers from him. Though his posture remains straight and his expression defiant, fear flickers in his eyes and he clutches the ring box in one white-knuckled hand.
"Son." The king's voice is laden with disdain. "I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me."
"I do, Father." Adrian holds the box out to him. "I wish to return this to you."
The king raises one eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Lady Cordelia and I are not a good match."
"No matter." The king makes no move to take the ring from him. "You would be surprised by how many women have expressed an interest in you."
"Have they? How...flattering." It's something I would expect him to be pleased about, but instead he looks unhappy, and his voice is dripping with honeyed sarcasm.
"If you refuse to have Lady Cordelia, then I suggest you consider the Duchess of Vaelune."
I can't believe what I'm hearingâthis is a union that the king endorses? I suppose Ethel must have made her interests known, but it's hard to imagine that the king would be content with such a pairing. She is at least twice the prince's age, and was friends with his mother. I know that Victor has promised her the prince's hand already, but I didn't expect the king to support his son marrying her. In my opinion, Lady Cordelia is far more suitable. And if part of the reason why he wanted Adrian to marry Cordelia was her leadership ability, his willingness to pair him with Ethel makes even less sense. Perhaps her province is doing well, but the duchess has run her own finances to the ground.
Adrian is shocked as well. "The...the duchess?"
King Thurstan nods. "Vaelune possesses one of the largest armies in Itoria, and with the increasing threat of Frayden attacks on our southern border, her guaranteed support would be invaluable."
"The duchess and I would be an even worse match."
"Keep the ring, Adrian."
"Butâ"
"Now," the king interrupts, "I want you to return to your room."
"I hoped to speak with you in private, Father."
"I won't warn you again." King Thurstan regards him with a cold stare, one that even I find myself shrinking under.
Adrian nods stiffly. "Good night, then."
"Good night."
King Thurstan withdraws into his room again, and I slip in before the door can fully shut. I watch intently as the king rips a slim golden chain from around his neck and drops it onto his bedside table. The illusion vanishes instantly, and he once more becomes the shriveled shell of himself that I saw earlier today. His exhaustion is apparent in his drooping body and haggard face, and he collapses onto his bed with a heavy, wheezing sigh.
So his enchantment is just like mine. I wonder if his servant got it from Aliza Baxter and, if so, what she charged him for it. It seems like it takes as much from him as the Immaterial Ring does from me. At this moment, the pain around my finger is almost unbearable, and the numbness of my body makes it feel as though I'm not even standing on the ground.
I walk back to the doors and step through them. As I do, it feels as though I leave a piece of myself behind, lingering in the king's room. I am phantasmic as I float down the corridor, returning to the West Wing. The journey feels uncommonly long; this castle is too huge for its own good, and the king and the prince are on its most polar ends.
The distance leaves me exhausted and I dread having to pass through the prince's doors as well, but I force myself to. Again, it feels as though I lose another piece of myself. I am even lighter now, as though all my physicality is gone. There is very little of myself left to ground me.
Adrian couldn't have reached this room long before me, but he's already in his nightclothes, slumped against his plump pillows and drinking straight from a bottle of wine. I stand by the door, watching as he finishes the whole thing in a mere twenty minutes, then tosses it aside and starts on a new one.
Cordelia said that the prince is frightened of being alone. I suspected that he was frightened of his father's death. But this doesn't look like fear to me; it looks like anger mixed with melancholy. I wonder if he means to sit here and drink all night. I wonder if, someday, he will drink until he dies.
Whatever he does tonight, I won't be here to witness it. I pass through the doors again and duck into the first alcove I can find, yanking the ring off of my finger. Gasping in pain, I drop the ring and fall to my knees. The sudden return of my body leaves me reeling, and I am unbearably heavy from my own solidness. Now, it feels as though I might sink straight through the ground.
Half-blind, I scrabble for the ring, letting out a soft cry as it burns my fingertips the moment I touch it. I shove it into my pocket and drag myself to my feet, forcing my wobbly legs to carry me down the hallway. I have to lean against the wall for support, unable to ignore the incessant pounding in my head nor the hateful weakness in my limbs. I can't remember where I'm going, or which way the correct direction is. The hallway seems to stretch before me infinitely, a passage without end. Resigned, I allow myself to crumple to the ground. There is no point in continuing when I don't even know what I'm looking for.
I don't know how long I sit there, leaning against the wall and trying to breathe, before a face appears in front of me. It belongs to a girl, one who looks familiar. To my immense frustration, I can't remember what her name is.
"Nyx," she murmurs. "Nyx, are you all right?"
I stare at her stupidly, wondering who Nyx is. Then, suddenly, everything comes rushing back in a jumbled miscellany of information. Oh, gods. Marley was right: if I keep this up, I will lose myself. I can already feel myself slipping away.
"I'm fine," I tell Morwen, forcing myself to smile. "Just tired."
She helps me up. "Come on; you need to rest."
I agree. And, once I am rested, I'll have to do this all over again.