I wake in Adrian's arms. The sun, only just beginning to rise, mixes with the indigo of the night's final vestiges, tinting the bedroom blue. Adrian, too, is bathed in the light, which seems to enhance the sublimity of his supple skin. I can't help but touch his smooth cheek, then allow my fingertips to trail down to his full lips. A blush colors my face as I remember these lips exploring every inch of my body. I wonder if he could feel my nescience with every move I made. In the heat of last night I didn't even think of my own inexperience, but now it embarrasses me. I am used to being capable, accustomed to taking full control. But last night, I had to allow Adrian to lead me.
He was gentle, though. Kind. I have never felt such ardency before.
I trusted him. Maybe I still do.
Adrian sighs, stirring to wakefulness. His eyes slide open, and he smiles upon seeing me. "I feared it was only a dream."
"A pleasant one?" I ask.
"A sublime one."
Once again noticing the charm around his neck, I ask, "Where did you get that?"
"It belonged to my mother."
"The queen?"
He nods without hesitation. "Yes." The lie flows smoothly from him, revealing that this response must be rehearsed.
I run my hand over his shoulder and down his back. The scourge marks are slightly raised, but I'm sure that they'll fade almost completely in time. Adrian will not have to bear the full-fledged remembrances of his father's cruelty and Dustin's ruthlessness forever.
"How did this happen?" I ask, feigning ignorance. It's a test: I want to see if he trusts me, too.
Adrian bites his bottom lip, his contentment fading. "It's difficult to explain."
"Try me."
"Later, perhaps."
Before I can argue, someone knocks at the door. Adrian is out of bed in a flash, yanking on his gold sleeping pants. He hands me his blue robe, and I wrap it around myself just as he answers the door. It has been perfumed, and smells of the sweet lilies that grow in the valleys of southern Itoria. Such a delicate scent is rare here in Durnwall; even our gentlest rosebuds have the slightest hardiness to them, a deep earthiness that comes from the rough soil they must prevail through.
A short, bespectacled man is standing on the other side. Though ostensibly calm, I sense his brimming agitation.
"Your Highness," he says, bowing low. "His Majesty wishes to see you. His time is near."
Panic rises in my throat. King Thurstan's death means that I, too, have run out of time. What will Victor do to me?
Adrian nods curtly. "Thank you, sir. I'll be there momentarily." He shuts the door, his face drawn.
"I'm sorry," I tell him.
"No matter." Slowly, he crosses the room and opens his wardrobe. His back is towards me as he rifles through his clothes, but I can see the tension knotting his shoulders.
"Adrian." My feet sink into the carpet as I approach him.
"What?"
"If there's anything I can do..." I rest a hand on his shoulder.
He whirls around, suddenly vexed. "Not now, Nyx. Let me be."
"I justâ"
"Quiet!" he snaps. "I do not wish to speak."
My mouth falls open. Has he fooled me into believing that he is something he's not? Have I surrendered myself to him only to be spited in return?
Silently, Adrian chooses a formal suit, almost exactly the same as the one he wore to his birthday feast, only in crimson. The jacket collar's embroidery depicts swirling feathers: a symbol of solemnity in Itoria. This is a garment he would only wear to serious events, such as meetings with the leaders of his country's provinces or visits of state with foreign dignitaries. Or, in this case, a farewell to his father.
He changes, still with his back facing me. As much as I want to put on my own clothes, I refuse to bare myself in his presence. Not with the volatile way his mood has shifted. To keep myself ostensibly busy while I wait, I twist my hair into a braid.
Once Adrian is fully dressed, he strides to the doors, but hesitates with his fingers resting on one handle. "You can stay here as long as you like."
I decide to take a chance. "Adrian."
He glances at me over the epaulette that adorns his shoulder. "Yes?"
"What do you fear?"
It's a presumptuous question, even after all we've done together. But I have to see if it will work.
Adrian flashes me a taut, dead-eyed smile, then leaves with my question still hanging in the air between us.
I expected this reaction. He is a prince, and remains as guarded as he ought to be. Disappointment still nags at me, though. Now I wonder if I am just another of his many conquests. Did he lie to me last night? He seemed genuine but, then again, I have thus far been unsuccessful in reading him. Maybe he tricked me.
Slowly, I dress. These clothes feel strange now, however. Tainted, almost, as though I've done something terrible while wearing them. It does feel as though I've made a grave mistake.
Ethel is waiting for me when I return to her room. She pushes Morwen, who is brushing her hair again, away and rushes towards me the moment I enter.
Grabbing me by the shoulders, she demands, "Where were you last night?"
"Working," I mumble. My eyes fall to her throat, around which hangs the diamond necklace that Victor gave her.
"You were with the prince?"
"Yes."
Ethel reddens like a ripening apple. "By the gods, Nyx, you'll ruin me."
"Only his guards know."
"His loose-tongued guards should be the greatest of your worries. They keep none of his secrets."
I shove her aside, finally drained of all patience. "What do you want from me, Ethel? You knew what my task was from the day we came hereâperhaps even longer than that. And yet you think that I can somehow circumvent Victor's strategy to discover the prince's secrets. A strategy that doesn't even work."
Fear pries Ethel's eyes wider. "It didn't work?"
Behind her, Morwen has gone as pale as a ghoul. Every freckle on her face looks like a speck of ink on parchment. I don't think that Victor's plan benefits her in any way, unless the duchess promised her a raise upon our success. She had to have bought Morwen's silence somehow.
"No," I say. "It didn't work. I don't know what to do anymore."
"Does he care about you?" Ethel asks. "Does he feel any true affection towards you?"
"I don't know."
"Think, Nyx!"
"I don't know!" I shout. You will doubtless find it hard to believe when I tell you that I have never felt this way about anyone beforeâthat's what he said to me. And he was right; it's near impossible to believe.
Distraught, Ethel begins to pace the room. "You must ask him if he truly cares for you."
"He's already confessed," I admit. "However, his actions indicate otherwise."
He had every excuse to be cold this morning, with the news about his father. But to snap at me after last night...perhaps he didn't mean a word he said in his confession. Maybe he only wanted me to warm his bed while he grieved. Cordelia said that he was lonely, and I witnessed him using her like a child uses a plaything. Callously.
"Tell me exactly what he said."
I remember every word, butâwhether true or notâit was so intimate that I prefer not to reveal any of it to Ethel. So I tell her flatly, "He said that I am his sun, moon, and stars. A day without me is like a year of torture."
Ethel shakes her head. "That's far too sentimental to be genuine. Do you realize that the king is dying, Nyx? We have lost all hope."
"Get your affairs in order, then. Sell your gowns and jewelryâincluding that." I gesture towards the necklace, a symbol of Victor's threats.
Ethel's hand flies to her throat. She glares at me indignantly. "How dare you even suggest it? You were supposed to disenthrall the prince. This is your fault."
"It's my fault that you squandered your fortune?"
I know that Ethel is trying to intimidate me when she places her hands on my shoulders again, glaring, but she is far too delicate for me to take her seriously. She can't hurt me. She doesn't want to, and she isn't capable.
"Listen to me," she hisses. "You must finish this. Tonight. We're out of time."
"Fine." She's rightâand I don't want to find out what Victor will do should I fail. Grey's warning was decidedly clear about that.
Ethel releases me, collapsing into her chair with a look of terror on her face. "I am destitute," she whispers to herself. "I have lost everything. Oh, the calamity."
Irritated, I leave Morwen to comfort her. I retreat to the safety of my own room and change into a soft linen dress, one of the more leisurely ones that Morwen altered for me. It's white, with gold trim. Not a color that I would typically wear, but I choose it mainly because it's comfortable.
Lying down on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Though I slept wellâbetter than I ever have beforeâI am utterly spent. There is much that I need to work through: Victor's retaliation, Ethel's obnoxious fretting, and, of course, what transpired between Adrian and me.
It's Adrian who remains at the forefront of my mind. I think of everything I've learned about him: the strange conflation of a harsh tongue and gentle mouth, the princely demeanor covering a bastard's birth. And, of course, the kindness that I never thought he could possess. He is prideful, yes, but not so much to prevent him from being generous towards those around him. Again, I wonder if he truly would make so rotten a king. Perhaps what I first took to be him mocking me were only jests, ones that sounded cruel coming from a man in so lofty a position as his when, really, he didn't intend to demean me.
But he still doesn't trust me. I know that from this morning. He has every reason not to, but it troubles me anyway. Last night, I had to trust him entirely. I had to surrender myself completely to him, and still he won't speak plainly to me. I can't tell if it's his pride or his ingrained secrecy that prevents him from doing so, but it irritates me all the same.
Adrian doesn't relinquish his hold on my mind all day. The hours pass slowly, in remembrances of his arms around me and his lips locked against mine. I can still hear every pleasured sound that escaped his lips and feel every one of his fingers pressed into my flesh. The mere memory makes me blush, and I despise the way I long for more, even after his standoffishness this morning.
There is no formal supper this evening, so the duchess and I dine together in tense silence. After nearly twenty minutes of trying to eat and finding myself unable to stomach even one mouthful of food, I go look for Adrian.
Ingram and the others are not guarding his room, so I look in the second place I know I might find him: the rose garden. Just as I expected, he's there, slowly walking the narrow path between rows of bushes heavily laden with vermillion blooms. They are exactly the shade of his clothesâthe same formal wear that he put on this morning. I wonder if he spent all day with his father.
"Adrian," I say.
He turns to me, and in the wan light of the moon, I see that his eyes are red-rimmed and his pallid face drained of all vivacity.
"Will you speak to me now?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"If you find yourself in want of tedious conversation, I would be happy to."
"Tell me what happened."
Adrian clasps his hands behind his back and keeps his face stoically void of any emotion. "He's gone."
I feel the Immaterial Ring's lingering coldness chill me to the bone. Unsure of what to say, I remain silent.
"With his last breath, he told me that his one regret was leaving Itoria in my incapable hands," Adrian murmurs.
"I think you're capable," I say. Perhaps with some guidance, he could be.
He sighs. "I fear I'm turning into my father."
I stare at him, clenching my jaw to keep my shock from showing. Has he just confessed his fear to me, unprompted? "Is that what you fear most of all?"
The way he looks at me, with intense, cut-glass eyes, is unsettling. "No. There are far worse things in this world."
"Like what?"
He counters with his own question. "Why did you come here, Nyx?"
"I wanted to see you." This is true enough, though I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate the reason why I wanted to see him.
"I'm sick of your lies," he snaps. "Tell me now what you want from me. I have opened my heart to you, and I wish for the same in return."
"What do you mean?" I ask, taking an involuntary step backwards. Glancing at his guards, I see that, though they have given us a few yards' berth, they are most certainly listening in. Adrian doesn't seem to care; I suppose he's used to their constant presence, bringing about a constant lack of privacy in even his most intimate conversations.
Lowering his voice, Adrian says, "I know that you're keeping something from me, Nyx. A girl with nothing to hide wouldn't carry a knife wherever she goes."
I swallow. "I've told you before: you're mistaken."
"And your eyes," he whispers, voice softened by uncertainty. "I have seen them before, when you were not yourself. I would never forget that shade of greenâlike the leaves of the ash tree when the sun shines through them."
My frozen heart drops. Does he know me, then? Did he recognize me as I stood over Lord Dustin's dead body?
"I've told you before," he continues, "I am utterly consumed by you. I don't care what you do to me, as long as you tell me the truth."
The fear has returned, and with a vengeance. Whatever I do him, he could retaliate with so much worse. I can't believe I ever trusted him. Do I hate him or myself more for that?
"Tell me about your scars first," I demand. "And your necklace. If you think I can't see through your own deceptions, you have deluded yourself."
He takes a deep breath in an attempt to quell his anger. "Relinquish your secrets first, Nyx. I have given my all to you."
I am burning with hatred. "You have given no more to me than you would any other girl, Silver Prince."
His pale cheeks color. "You are twice as uncouth as I first thought you were. I've met wild boars with better manners."
I want to hurt him the same way his distrust has hurt me. What's more, I want him to fear me the same way I fear him. "Do you want to know the true reason why the people of Itoria call you the Silver Prince? It's because you are cold as metal, yet you flow through Durnwall like quicksilver and infect the city with the poison of your presence. You do nothing to help us, and now you are to be our king. And a self-serving king is a malice to the crown."
"I told you already: there is nothing I could do before."
"And now it's too late. Your reputation is your own fault, Adrian, and now you will have to endure the consequences."
"Leave my presence," he says in a chillingly dark tone of voice. "I have no desire to argue with you on the night of my father's death."
I want to laugh; he's the one who began this argument. With a mocking half-curtsey, I say, "Good night, then, Prince Adrian."
Turning my back to him, I leave the garden while blinking back the hot tears that sting my eyes. I shouldn't be so distraught over a man like him. He isn't worth the trouble.
Surely, it's my regret that makes me feel this way. I have been tricked, just as Cordelia was. I wonder if the prince gave her the exact same lies he fed me. He probably did; I now have no delusions that I am in any way dear to him.
I curse my own stupidity. All of this was a mistake, and I have paid with a splintered heart. Everything that I have guarded so dearly up until this point is now gone, and I am left with nothing. The only thing I can do now is run.