average human’s Reviews > One Small Echo > Status Update

“You’ve insulted me enough with this position,” he snarled out. “We will not continue this battle of wills. You successfully removed yourself from the marriage market, but you won’t keep them from me. Especially not the Whispering. You may own these soldiers, but don’t forget: The Godsguard is in service of me. I own you. Have the two girls sent to me this morning, before your psychotic training does any damage for the day. I’ve made my decision, and I need their faces fresh and pretty for your brothers to make their decision.”
The Whispering.
King Grigori had chosen her, and the reason was clear.
He didn’t even think of her as a human. He thought of her in terms of her monster, who he believed was a violent and bloodthirsty city-swallower.
This can’t be happening.
Maybe we should show him— Hymn hesitantly began, but she was already shaking her head.
Absolutely not. If they find out you really are just a helpless, tiny little bab⁠—
Okay, he interrupted, the multiple descriptors were a bit unnecessary, I’m actually not a bab⁠—
She continued with what she was saying. They’ll probably kill me just to set you free and capture you for study. The king doesn’t care about me. He cares about power. He doesn’t want trained soldiers from the Godsguard; he wants fresh, untapped power before it can be shaped or influenced. Imagine if he discovers you’re helpless. He wouldn’t need me to keep you contained anymore. He could just kill me and capture you.
Hymn made a disgruntled sound. If he killed you, he would have direct access to me. But that won’t give him control over me.
Eiko inwardly rolled her eyes. You saw that library? You saw how there was a book in Chasin’s language that basically covered every possible word that could mean injury or death? They know how to hurt monsters, Hymn. They know how to kill monsters. I’m sure they know how to capture and torture them—having one small enough to contain would be all they needed.
“Of course they’ll have a choice,” King Grigori scoffed in response to whatever Chasin had signed. “Corvan will be free to choose the pretty one, whose pretty head will so prettily bear a crown and whose pretty little womb will happily spit out pretty little babies, and Ceran will choose the powerful cripple, because that will be the only remaining option, and I want her blood carried down through my line.”
Wow.
Eiko entirely forgot to pretend-polish her cane. She was too deep in shock. And King Grigori was in for a big shock if he thought Rion was about to do all of those happy things very happily.
Maybe he was talking about Vana? Hymn ventured with a wince in his voice.
Right. He used the word “pretty” a hundred times, and he wasn’t talking about Rion. Absolutely, you’re so right.
Have you always used deep sarcasm as a coping mechanism? Is it a Stonesigh thing?
Yes, and probably, she answered. Do the other monsters not use sarcasm in the Quiet?
They mostly just talk about how hungry they are.
She bit down on her lip, suppressing a shudder. And they eat people, right?
And each other.
Light above. She winced. You could have made something up, you know. Wait, does that mean you⁠—
He’s coming, Hymn warned quickly. The king is coming!
She dashed back to the library, slipping into the hall just as she heard the door to Chasin’s office open. King Grigori slammed it so hard, her teeth clattered together, and then he was storming off down the hall. Thankfully, in the opposite direction.
She remained where she was for a long moment, just trying to will her heart to stop racing. She was painfully aware of what she had overheard—of course she was—but she also didn’t have the room in her head to sort through that particular shitstorm just yet. It was … too much. Too unbelievable. Too far above her head in terms of what she thought she would ever have to deal with.
She waited and waited, and when it finally felt like she had filed all her complicated emotions away for later and willed her heartbeat back to normal, she made her way to the closed door of Chasin’s office.
She lifted her hand to knock … before lowering it again. She needed to settle her second sight first, just in case it exploded into her head in a painful flurry and she wasn’t able to mask her reaction in front of the commander.
She coaxed the vision back to her eyes, keeping the colours at bay, and found herself mostly still in darkness. Just a little more … She pulled the vision further, until it reacted with the golden rays of sun streaming in from the skylights above, falling down to illuminate …
An open door.
Chasin stood right there, a mere handspan away.
It took everything inside her not to flinch and stumble back a step. The way he had opened the door and moved so close without her noticing had goosebumps exploding along her arms. She stood there frozen as his eyes dropped to her hands. The sun slanted right across his face, throwing his fierce countenance into sharp relief. If she ignored the chill cooling her blood and the scent of death that clung to him, it would be easy to say that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Up close, she could make out the tinges of gold he carried everywhere, marking him as one of the princes. His eyes weren’t truly black, but a very dark amber, so shadowed they appeared pitch, but the tendrils of gold were just enough to separate his iris from his pupil, which appeared swollen. His hair wasn’t truly onyx, but a gold burned and charred almost to black.
There wasn’t a single scar on his face, but the terrible mutilation of his throat peeked above the high collar of his gambeson. A gambeson she hadn’t been given with her uniform. Perhaps because he wanted her arms and hands bare for constant inspection.
This is getting awkward.
Tell me about it, Hymn agreed.
Am I supposed to lift my fist and knock against his chest?
Chasin was observing her closely, cataloguing her with that dark stare again. Free to roam across her person with the false understanding that she couldn’t see him in return, his eyes inched over her face and traced the set of her jaw, the nervous press of her lips, the lines of her cheekbones. His attention swept down her neck, his eyes narrowing slightly as he surveyed the fit of her uniform—even her boots. His stare darted back up again, his head cocking infinitesimally at the curls breaking free to spring about her face. She had been so preoccupied with her uniform that she really had done an atrocious job of taming the wild tangle of her hair.
He had no expression on his face, no emotion behind the coldly appraising, sharply intelligent survey of her person. She couldn’t tell if he was displeased, disgusted, or if he quietly approved.
He reached out, like he would touch one of the riotous curls breaking free around her face, and something in his stare darkened, his pupils expanding further. A terrible cold sank deep into her stomach. It was a flash of violence, of sudden tumult, there and gone so swiftly she could have imagined it, if not for the shiver of power rubbing the wrong way against her skin. It sent ice shooting through her veins, and she rubbed at her arms, unable to fight the sensation or the shiver that took over her body.
Chasin eased back, more shadow than man, and closed the door in her face.
It made no sound.
Not even a creak or the softest click.
Her breath trembled from her chest, and she tucked her cane into the crook of her left arm, raising her fist to knock on the door. It opened again, and this time, Chasin barely even looked at her. He took the bell piece from her left hand and gripped the top of her cane, drawing her bodily into the room, just far enough that he could push the door shut behind her again.
His office had bookshelves built against one wall, tomes ordered so neatly that she assumed it had to be a system, though it certainly had nothing to do with size or colour. Subject, then. The other wall displayed so many weapons that she had to force her eyes to keep aimlessly wandering, instead of sticking and widening in shock. She caught the sharp edge of an axe, rows of daggers, strange arrows of dark stone, and maces. Everything was black, made of glittering obsidian.
Against the floor-length window at the far side of the room was a desk facing the door. Two faded armchairs were turned towards the desk, beside them a breakfast cart.
Everything was designed for practicality over comfort, but the wood of the furniture was richly oiled, the grain twisting in beautiful patterns, and the dark stone of the weapon-wall reflected the sunlight in a strangely beautiful way. The scent of parchment and leather permeated the space. The rug was new.
Hopefully not because someone bled on the old one.
Hopefully, it wasn’t the last recruit Chasin’s monster had decided to hunt.
Chasin walked to the breakfast cart. On it was a clay pourer with steam curling from the short spout, two short, clay cups on small, matching saucers, and a random sprig of … blueberries? No, not blueberries.
“Careful, Eiko.” The memory hit her in a rush, the feeling of dirt coating her fingers as she crouched beside Rion’s mother in her garden causing something in her chest to ache.
“Those are bilberries,” Mei said, as Eiko traced the little berries growing close to the ground.
Mei took her finger and traced a tiny, bell-shaped flower. “They produce the same flowers, but the bilberry flower is slightly rounder, see?”
“Yes.”
“Blueberry flowers are usually pink, but bilberry flowers are more of a greenish-pink. And see, the berries are much smaller …”
That was a bilberry sprig on Chasin’s tray. The rich scent of coffee danced with the barely perceptible tang of the berries as Chasin filled the two cups, pushing one of them into her hands.
Books, leather, death, berries, and coffee.
Chasin wasn’t exactly an aphrodisiac. More like a Venus flytrap.
She tried to contain her excitement as she pulled the hot clay cup up to her lips, inhaling deeply. Rion always saved up to buy her a small bag of coffee beans for her birthday. It only ever lasted a week, especially as she was forced to share it with her brother. And whoever walked past and caught a whiff of the expensive drink she was brewing.
It was always Ren walking past.
He would rearrange his entire day to make sure he accidentally strolled by their cottage at the exact time she woke up. He just happened to have this urge for the entire week following her birthday.

By pure coincidence.
Thoughts of Ren had her stomach flipping nervously and some of her frozen blood heating again. They probably needed to talk, but neither of them were really the “talking” type. That was why they had been sleeping together in secret for two years and still hadn’t discussed whether they were in any sort of relationship.
Chasin was staring at her, his nostrils flaring gently.
Everything about him seemed to be in direct conflict. His size contradicted his gracefulness. His height and the impossibly broad line of his shoulders contradicted the streamlined cut of his muscles, revealed by the tight wrap of his leathers. His power was so vast she could feel it, and yet it was somehow contained inside him. A mere man. The immense span of his power, his body, his glare, his presence—it was all contradicted by his inability to speak—or choice not to speak. She wasn’t sure which it was. Perhaps a balance of both. Perhaps he could, but it cost him. Like with her second sight, maybe he only had a limited reserve of speech inside him, and he was more comfortable in the silence, just as she was more comfortable in the dark.
They had both been regarding each other quietly for several moments now, as she drank the coffee, squirming a little as the bold liquid warmed her belly. This coffee wasn’t like the stuff Rion bought her from the Stonesigh market.
She could taste dark chocolate, molasses, and something woodsy like walnut or toasted grain. She could easily drink that entire little jug he had on his tray, but she tried not to stare directly at it as she drained the cup.
As soon as she was done, Chasin pushed off his desk and approached her again, taking the cup from her hand. He leaned down, planting his face close to hers, his eyes narrowing on her lips.
What the fuck is happening here?
I know what this is! Hymn was zipping around in a sheer panic. He’s about to kiss⁠—
“Poison,” Chasin whispered, that damaged voice lifting the hair across her exposed arms to stand on end.
“W-what?” she stuttered.
What? Hymn shouted. He stopped his zipping immediately, barely even daring to peek out at Chasin.
The commander pulled a small vial from his pocket, a clear liquid visible within. He pressed the tiny cork to her bottom lip. “Antidote,” he rasped.
What. The. Fuck?
Did he just poison you? Hymn was trying to dart around in panic again, but mostly failing, as he refused to travel far from the safety of her ribcage.
She swallowed, raising a shaking hand for the vial. Chasin pulled it away. Of course he did. She wondered how fast his reflexes were. If he had no idea about her second sight, she might be able to surprise him. She could grab that shiny black axe on the wall and put it through his skull before he had time to react.
That will release his monster, Hymn said. The one that’s hunting us.
I’ll only lodge it halfway. The monster stays inside if he stays alive, right?
Right, Hymn replied dryly. Let’s keep skull splitting as a backup plan. Something tells me you’re not going to be able to take him by surprise.
“What is this?” she demanded. “Some sort of … hazing ritual? An Eclipse thing?”
The antidote vial made a disappearing act so fast she didn’t even catch where he put it. He picked up one of her hands and placed it over his, as he made a gesture.
Yes.
She knew that one; she had learned it the day before.
Wait … it was an Eclipse thing?
“You do this to everyone?” she asked, frowning even deeper.
Yes, he signed, his gloved hand forming the word beneath her hovering touch. It was a strange and intimidating kind of intimacy, and she had no idea how to stop the slight tremble in her fingers, which he could now feel as well as see, making it doubly embarrassing.
“Is this a test?” she asked nervously.
Yes, he signed again.
Great. Because she was so good at tests. It wasn’t like she had failed every single one she had been given since arriving in Goldmoor. Fighting to keep her temper under control—and mostly losing—she blurted, “What in the bloody dark do you want me to do?”
He made a series of gestures with his hands that she had no hope of translating, and then grabbed her cane, leaning it against the wall. He took both of her hands, his touch still surprisingly gentle, almost like he thought he might accidentally hurt her with his sheer size and strength compared to her … lack of such things.
Bit full of himself, isn’t he? she asked Hymn.
You mean the large warrior-prince who looks like he could eat you for breakfast? Hymn returned dryly.
Chasin was forming the same series of gestures he had made, but this time, with her hands.
She frowned, feeling out the shape of the unspoken words. As soon as he was finished, his gloved hands slipped away, and he waited.
She was starting to grow dizzy.
“T-that’s it?” she asked. “I just … say whatever that is? Like an oath or something?”
He set a single, gloved finger to her chest and signed a now-familiar gesture against her undershirt, right above her leather breastplate. The mesh material of her undershirt was so thin that she could feel the shape of the word against her skin, despite the gentle pressure of his finger.
Yes.
He was so gentle with her despite having just poisoned her coffee. It was utterly unsettling.
“What does it mean?” she hedged, hoping he would use his voice to explain to her.
He didn’t.
He didn’t even bother signing it.
He dug the vial from his pocket and tapped the tiny cork stopper against her bottom lip again.
She was starting to sweat, her stomach cramping.
For the love of light.
She signed the unknown words he had taught her, and he unstoppered the vial, straightening to his full height. Suddenly, he loomed over her, all gentleness gone; he became a maelstrom bearing down on a spindly sapling, the press of his power threatening to bow her body, the sharp intelligence in his eyes darkening into cutting authority. He tipped the vial up, forcing her to quickly tilt her head back so that none of the clear liquid spilled. It ran across her tongue, tasting nutty and syrupy.
He rolled his eyes at her as she desperately drank down the entire vial, and then he returned to his desk and leaned against the edge. He picked up his own coffee cup, and … drank?
Okay, now I’m really confused, she told Hymn.
“You failed,” Chasin whispered, drawing a frown to her face as she crept unwillingly closer, hoping she had misheard him. When she was right before him, he reached out, his gloved hand flexing. It paused in the air between them before he plucked up her hands like they were contagious. And then he spoke again, but this time, he signed the words he spoke, her fingers moving with his, shaping to the words he formed with a mix of fear, confusion, and curiosity. “I know you’re blind, but there are other ways to tell when someone is lying.”
It was the most he had ever spoken aloud, and the spasm in his jaw hinted that even that much might have caused him pain—but she was a little too preoccupied with failing another test to really focus on feeling sorry for him. He had just pretended to poison her. And then pretended to cure her. And now he was rubbing it in her face. He had convinced her so thoroughly that her body had begun to react to a poison it hadn’t even ingested.
How embarrassing.
“Half-Moon are the w-warriors.” His voice cracked painfully, and a spasm travelled across his face. His fingers flexed beneath hers, like he was fighting off the urge to shove her away, or shove her out the window behind his desk. “Crescent are the spies. We are the killers. To be an efficient killer, you have to b-blend in. We’re quiet. We watch. We listen. We know when we’re b-being lied to.”
The way his voice kept crackling and breaking had her dumb heart threatening to break. She wouldn’t ever be able to shake the memory of him as a boy, and it was that memory that fuelled her sympathy now. She knew how much he had endured to get those scars. She knew he should never have survived them. She knew it hadn’t been his choice.
She tried to shove away the memory, the sympathy, the ache in her chest.
He just pretended to poison you, Hymn reminded her, trying to be helpful.
“And one more thing,” Chasin continued, with his damaged voice and deft hands. “Every killer should have a vast knowledge of poison.”
He dug the empty vial out of his pocket, tracing the cool edge of glass across her cheek. There was the tiniest little glimmer of satisfaction sparking to life in the infinite black of his eyes. A hint of … triumph.
She turned towards the sensation of the cold glass against her cheek, utterly dumbfounded, dread settling with a heavy weight in her stomach.
He didn’t …
I think he did, Hymn hissed, his confusion dropping away into anger. He poisoned you. With the fake antidote. The coffee was just … coffee.
The selectively mute commander had just rendered her speechless for the third time that morning. She had never bitten her tongue so much before in her life. Maybe that was why all the Eclipse soldiers were so tacit. It had been scared into them through endless psychological torture.
“No,” she croaked, touching her throat. Right now might be a good time to throw up.
I’m resistant to poison, Hymn grumbled. Maybe you are now too? This has to be another trick. Another test.
“Mute’s Mercy,” Chasin said, tucking the empty vial away again. “One of my own creations.”
Cute. It has a name.
“I’m impressed,” she forced out, her voice sounding like pure honey compared to his, even squeezed through anger. “I’d be even more impressed if there was … you know … a point to all of this? Or did you just wake up bored this morning?”
His lips twitched. He picked up her unwilling hands again, forcing her to feel the signs for the words he spoke, his voice quiet as a whisper. “You will need an antidote every morning for a week. Here. Sunrise.”
She was breathing heavily, anger simmering and boiling up from the pit of her stomach. Hymn was buzzing around furiously—not brave enough to rant too loudly or leave his hiding place, but he wasn’t happy. Eiko understood that this was just the way of the Godsguard. Survival wasn’t guaranteed—it wasn’t even likely—but something about all of this just felt … personal. Off.
Pretending to poison her? Pretending to cure her? Actually poisoning her with the fake cure?
It was … messed up.
“Is this because of last night?” she asked stiffly, “Because⁠—”
No, he signed against her chest, this time not bothering to also speak the word. Luckily, “no” was one of the signs she remembered from the night before. He signed something else, too, but she really only knew yes, no, and all the most violent descriptors for killing a person.
He pointed at the door and signed a short gesture that she decided probably meant “fuck off,” or something, and she stumbled from his office, her throat squeezing in a painful panic.
She found her friends in the mess hall, craning their necks as they nervously searched the room, ignoring their plates of food. There was an untouched tray sitting beside Rion, before an empty seat. Eiko began walking that way but then realised she couldn’t exactly make a beeline for her friends in a vast hall full of strangers. Not as an apparently blind woman. So instead, she gritted her teeth and made her way to the serving buffet, hoping one of her friends would spot her quickly.
Just as she reached for a tray, she felt a strong grip wrap around her elbow. “We got you food already.” Kaito led her to their table with a stiff jaw and hard eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, because his voice had also sounded off.
The others watched their approach. Ren looked guilty. That wasn’t a good sign.
“What were you doing last night?” Kaito demanded, as he guided her to the empty seat beside Rion and sank down opposite her.
“Last night?” she forced a confused frown. “Uh … I don’t remember, so anyway, uh, the commander just poisoned me, and the King of All has decided to sacrifice me and Rion’s wombs to his sons.”

57%

Eiko gave her a guilty smile, releasing her grip on the second sight and immediately tripping down a staircase. Luckily, it was only a few stone steps, but she lay sprawled at the bottom in complete shock for several seconds before the pain began to radiate from her elbow and thigh.
“Eiko!” Rion chased after her, swearing gently. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean⁠—”
“Eh, it’s my fault.” Eiko waved away her concern, allowing Rion to help her back to her feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
The attendant made an offended choking noise, like he couldn’t quite believe she had just made fun of a person with a disability—even though that person was herself—like that sort of behaviour was utterly uncouth so close to the noble gates of Brightfort. But he wasn’t blind, so he could learn to mind his own business.
“Oh shit, you’re bleeding.” Rion began fussing over her elbow, but the attendant only cleared his throat and began walking again, silently demanding they follow.
“There really is nothing I like more than being summoned like a dog to the foot of a powerful man,” Rion muttered, bending her head to deliver the low words against Eiko’s ear.
Eiko snorted. “But your pretty womb is happy, right?” she whispered back. “It’s getting very prettily excited to make pretty little gold babies, right?”
“So prettily excited it’s borderline obscene,” Rion agreed. “Someone really should cover my face. I’m not sure the prince will be able to wait for our wedding night once he sees just how gorgeously excited I am.”
They both fell into a fit of giggles, but Rion quickly snapped her mouth shut—presumably, the attendant was giving them looks over his shoulder. Eiko sighed, leaning close to whisper again.
“Is there a way out of this?”
“I don’t think so,” Rion grumbled back. “The princes themselves didn’t seem very excited about the prospect—how are we supposed to refuse when they couldn’t?”
“So this is happening, then?” Eiko forgot to whisper, the words coming out flat and disbelieving.
She was about to be engaged to a prince. If she didn’t die, or if none of them found a way to change the king’s mind … she could end up married to a prince.
Her.
Her.
The woman who stabbed peas instead of scooping them and was ridiculed to her face by fancy nobles for using big words like “barbaric” and having dumb, simple dreams like wishing for a horse.
She was going to be engaged to a prince.
What was he going to do? Keep her locked inside so that nobody could ever hear her speak or see her stumble down a set of stairs?
I thought King Grigori was clear on what you would be doing, Hymn said helpfully. You will be breeding, as he wants your power mixed in with his bloodline.
Yes, thank you, very helpful. I meant when I’m not being bred.
Then no, I don’t think he will keep you hidden. From the time I spent in Goldmoor—though it was during his father’s reign, so things might be different now—it was customary for the wives to be put on display. It was the mistresses who were kept hidden.
This was definitely a “one problem at a time” scenario. She barely had time to contemplate an unwilling betrothal; she couldn’t jump ten steps ahead of a wedding and start worrying about a mistress.
Or … a lover.
Her lover, specifically. The one who definitely already existed.
Shit.
“Shit,” she repeated out loud. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“You mean the worst-kept secret in Stonesigh?” Rion asked glibly. “The one you insisted was a hateful rumour for two years?”
Eiko gnawed on her lower lip in shame. “Maybe.”
“Everyone knows about you and Ren,” Rion told her, patting her hand. “Everyone except your stone-headed brother, who would absolutely murder the both of you. Ren is like a brother to him. That’s like his sister and his brother … you know.”
“It’s called fucking.”
“It’s called incest.”
“We’re not related.”
“According to Kaito, you are. According to him, it’s incest.”
“Please lower your tones,” the attendant hissed as they passed through one of the Brightfort halls and began climbing the first of a thousand staircases.
“Apologies,” Rion demurred smoothly.
Eiko waited a beat too long to add her own clumsy apology, and by then, it was too late, so she just kept her mouth stuffed with bread, polishing off the delightfully soft, buttery roll before the second staircase.
By the fourth, she was already hungry again.
They were led to another sitting room and directed to sit once more. Eiko coaxed her second sight back into focus, drawing just enough to pull the illuminated sections of the room into focus—and the attendant, as he shifted busily around, pouring out little cups of tea and arranging shiny little cakes on a platter as he waved away the castle servants who had brought the fare into the room. Once the servants left, they were alone with just the attendant who had led them there.
Rion was clinging tightly to her hand and didn’t even glance at the tray of tea and cakes the attendant set before them with a little snap, like dammit, this time someone will eat these cakes.
Not wanting to let the man down, Eiko quickly snatched one up that had been glazed in something shiny to make it look like molten gold. She bit into it, the inside warm, pillowy, and soft, with a custard centre. She tasted vanilla, wild honey, and just a little bit of citrus.
“Oh my sun.” She groaned around a mouthful of the cake. “Holy shit, this is good.”
The attendant just stared at her, a small sigh of despair slipping from his lips.
She polished off that cake and reached for another, making a show of feeling around the platter instead of plucking the cakes up like she could see them perfectly well, which she could, as the sun streamed through most of the room from the windows and mirrored reflections, leaving only the corners shrouded in shadow.
Her next cake was studded with tiny, ruby-red stoneberries; the berries popped in a familiar explosion when she bit into them, making her pause mid-chew, as aching nostalgia spread through her, immobilising her. The hardy stoneberries only grew in the dust-choked, dry valley corridors of the Fingers, back in Stonesigh. She had snuck out of the schoolhouse with Rion and Ky on more than one occasion to run wild through the maze, the brambles from the stoneberry bushes catching at their clothes.
They always returned with red-stained fingers and red-stained mouths, and Kaito and Ren were always there to roll their eyes and quickly clean them up before any of the adults noticed the evidence of their exploring. Eiko swallowed hard, the cake threatening to lodge inside her throat and choke her.
All the people she cared about were with her. She hadn’t left anything behind. They were what she cared about … and yet, for a horrible moment, she couldn’t shake the sensation that she had forgotten something. Like stepping out of the house and feeling a breeze, knowing her coat was still locked up in her wardrobe. She suddenly felt naked, caught unawares.
Things had been moving so fast, and she had been coping mostly with humour and denial, but the truth was … she had left behind an entire, uncomplicated, pain-free life, and she had walked into a very complicated and very much pain-filled one instead.
Rion squeezed her hand, and Eiko forced the cake the rest of the way down her throat, shoving the horrible sensation of homesickness aside.
Oh well. She needed fuel for her second sight, and the cakes were bloody delicious.
She bit into another, the little butter cake’s glassy crust crackling under the pressure of her teeth to reveal an impossibly soft interior, the caramelised sugar melting on her tongue along with the buttery crumb. A spiced cake was next, the glaze making her fingers sticky.
Rion squeezed her hand. “What is happening right now?” She was staring at Eiko in utter confusion as Eiko chased the spiced cake with two massive gulps of tea—enough to almost drain the entire cup.
“Need the fuel,” Eiko muttered, as the attendant delicately covered his mouth. “This isn’t poisoned, is it?” she asked the attendant, as she finished the cup of tea and clumsily clattered it back onto the saucer—deliberately not looking at where she was aiming, to keep her blindness convincing.
“Light protect me,” the attendant groaned, rubbing his mouth. “No, you have not been poisoned.”
“Well, in that case.” Eiko reached for the teapot—was that solid gold?—but the attendant almost hissed at her, brushing her hands away.
“Sit back—” he snapped, before clearing his throat and adopting a polite tone. “Please, allow me, Miss Eiko.”
She eyed him nervously as she felt around for another cake. The man was one small slight away from losing all his cool. She finished the cake, drank another cup of tea, and then sat back calmly, copying Rion’s posture: hands folded demurely on a crumb-free lap, eyes downcast but definitely watching the door in her periphery.
“How are you not ill right now?” Rion asked beneath her breath.
“It burns calories,” Eiko whispered back, hoping her friend would understand what she was referring to. Rion glanced up, her amber-brown eyes flicking between Eiko’s, one elegant brow arching up.
“Don’t push it,” she pleaded quietly, before turning back to the door. “You already have dried blood on your elbow.” She left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but Eiko understood.
She didn’t particularly want to start bleeding from the eyes in front of the royal family—or even the attendant, for that matter.
People might question why. It wasn’t exactly normal.
King Grigori was preceded by a softly spoken attendant, who barely had time to announce his presence before he was striding bodily into the room, the golden threads that pieced together his navy-blue surcoat catching the glimmering light of the sun. At his shoulders, the fabric broke into darker panels of deep slate brushed with charcoal, embroidered faintly with pale threads in the pattern of unfurling white roses, heraldic in style. A matching rose motif was worked in silver at his collar, its bloom half-concealed by the curve of his mantle. Corvan and Ceran followed their father into the room, their faces threaded with tight scowls, like they had spent the morning arguing with the king just as Prince Chasin had. Unlike the king, they were dressed more plainly, in dark trousers, riding boots, and loose linen shirts.
I guess King Grigori did the rounds, Eiko joked to Hymn.
They look as pissed as Chasin, Hymn agreed. But Chasin isn’t being forced to marry.
Because he was smart enough to find a position in the castle that forbade it entirely, Eiko pointed out.
How long do you think King Grigori will allow him to remain Commander of the Godsguard? Hymn wondered. It’s a sacred position—usually, for life. They’re only replaced when the former commander dies.
Eiko was pulled from the internal conversation when Rion suddenly stood, shocking Eiko into quickly copying the movement. Rion curtseyed and greeted the three men. Eiko quickly copied her, mumbling along with her greeting.
“Where’s my bloody wife?” King Grigori suddenly spat, completely ignoring Eiko and Rion. “She was supposed to be⁠—”
“Here,” a smooth, cool voice spoke from the doorway, Queen Noemi drifting into the room like a shadow, quietly clicking the door closed behind her. She wore a long, high-collared gown of deep obsidian silk that seemed to swallow all the light in the room. It was cut close to the body, regal and restrained. Along the hem, climbing from toe to hip, trailed an embroidered lattice of white roses, stylised in angular, almost thornlike designs—each petal needle-sharp, each stem barbed in silver thread. A real rose, pale and blooming, sat pinned at her throat, the only sign of softness.
Rion jumped up again. Eiko copied her again. They curtseyed and did their quiet greetings again. Queen Noemi surveyed them with a small, tight smile. “How precious. Sit, girls.” She waved at the couch and moved to sit opposite them. “How would you like to be princesses?”
Yikes. No time to waste.

Eiko froze, wondering if this was a trap.
“We wouldn’t even dare to dream of such a thing, Your Grace,” Rion answered softly, her eyes on her own lap.
Eiko chose silence, also staring at her lap, until she felt the burning of the queen’s stare threatening to singe the edges of her uniform.
“Wouldn’t dare to,” she quickly mumbled in agreement with Rion. “Your Grace.”
Rion’s shoulders moved slightly, like she might have just quickly swallowed down a laugh. It was a very bad habit of theirs—absurdly laughing through their fear.
“You are lovely, of course,” Queen Noemi continued. Eiko knew exactly who she was talking to, and it definitely wasn’t her. “But you …”
Okay, now she’s talking to me.
“You will need quite a lot of polishing,” the queen sighed out, like the task ahead was already taxing her. “You will both need training in the ways of the court. How to dress. How to speak. How to please your future husbands.” Spew. “And how to manage staff.”
I could use some staff.
What for? Hymn asked.
I dunno. Stuff.
Are you okay? You sound unperturbed, but your insides are all wound up in tight knots.
I am very far from okay. I don’t know what to do right now. Can I refuse? Should I beg?
“Don’t even think of refusing,” King Grigori inserted, stalking over to the window to survey something more worth his attention. He was using that booming, jovial tone again, but there was a warning there too. He was pretending to make a joke, to point out that nobody would dare refuse, while subtly warning them to conform.
“We are humbled, Your Grace.” Rion bent her head even lower. Eiko quickly bent her head lower too. “And would not dare refuse. I only wonder what we’ve done to deserve such an honour, as I hardly feel like a suitable candidate.”
Damn, she was good.
The king made a sort of humming sound, like he was very pleased with Rion’s poise and delicacy. Eiko wanted to growl at him to keep his grubby royal hands off her best friend.
“The women of the Godsguard have made the ultimate sacrifice for the people of Lyra.” It was the queen who answered, her tone light and soothing. “To keep us safe from the Quiet and those who inhabit it.” Eiko wondered if the queen had a monster of her own. Her hands were covered in thin, black silk gloves. Noemi continued, “This is our way of honouring that sacrifice. The princes of Goldmoor have finished their campaigns with the Kingsguard, as is customary, and are now ready to marry. Instead of picking from the eligible highborn ladies of the court, we have decided that it would be far more honourable to give them wives from the sacred Godsguard. Warrior women, strong in their own right. Women who will do more for this city than simply sit, and simper, and plan parties.”
Eiko blinked at her lap in shock. What the hell did Queen Noemi have against ladies who simpered and party-planned? Simpering wasn’t easy. Eiko couldn’t simper to save her life, and she certainly didn’t know how to plan a party. A full day of brutal Eclipse training was actually a more comfortable concept than planning a royal party. Rion squeezed her knee, as though telling her not to get stuck on the party-planning stuff, but she was already there, already spiralling, already wondering what Queen Noemi did, if it wasn’t sitting around simpering and party-planning.
I think you’re missing the point. Hymn sounded amused. This is a cover story. King Grigori has already made it clear why he wants you to breed with one of his sons.
Right. Got a little lost there.
Rion was quiet. She was thinking. Turning over the situation, the queen’s explanation, the king’s warning, the silent presence of the other princes, who had shifted into the corner of the room to quietly converse with each other, standing still enough and far enough from the light streaming through the windows that Eiko couldn’t even make out their faces when she briefly looked up.
Rion was too quiet.
She couldn’t find a way out of this.
“If we are being chosen for our position on the Godsguard,” Eiko ventured quietly, “does this mean we will be expected to continue training in the barracks, while … training for court?”
“That’s correct,” Queen Noemi clipped, losing some of that softness when she addressed Eiko. The bitch was playing favourites already, and Eiko couldn’t even blame her. The differences between her and Rion were startling. “You will exemplify a new standard of royal woman: one who is exceptional in her role as a member of this family, a member of court, and one who is exceptional in her role as protector of this city. You will be expected to excel in both roles, however … impossible they may seem.” Her stare burned into Eiko. “You will have a month before your engagement is made public, but people will begin to gossip long before that, so failure is simply not an option. We cannot afford the embarrassment or the scandal.”
How had this been turned around so fast? How was Queen Noemi suddenly speaking to them as though they had come to her, begging to be married? And these were her terms, should she be prevailed upon to accept? What in the dark was happening?
Welcome to court, Hymn said. While you were learning to tie your boot laces, these people were learning every possible method of manipulation to get exactly what they want.
So much for equal, free education across the regions, Eiko muttered back. I could have used that class.
“We would never try to bring speculation on the royal family,” Rion promised.
“It’s settled then.” Queen Noemi stood, smoothing out her gown. There were gemstones set into her rings, and even more sparkling across her bracelet. More still dangling from her ears.
Eiko’s curiosity was piqued.
She knew she was being sold like livestock, but those were some really nice earrings.
The princes were both handsome—though a little scowly. Maybe she could make this work if she could get along with one of them, if she could grow to love one of them.
A staff to manage sounded quite nice, actually. A spattering of gemstones sounded even nicer. A nice, cushy room in Brightfort? A convenient excuse to escape Chasin’s brutal training whenever she wanted?
Sorry, Commander. My husband—the prince—needs me. You know the prince? Your brother? Yes, I’m a royal now too. Want to try poisoning my coffee and pushing me around again? I’m sure my husband—the prince—won’t like the sound of that. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Uh, Eiko? Hymn interrupted her fantasy. Is this the start of a breakdown or something?
Probably.
“Great,” Corvan drawled sarcastically. “All settled then, Mother?”
“Enough,” King Grigori snapped, turning away from the window, his tone sharpening again. “Why don’t you choose one of the girls to take for a stroll around the gardens, Corvan?” It didn’t seem like a suggestion.
Eiko stared at the golden prince—a grown man with a monster of his own, the crown prince—being bullied by his father, and it only increased her fear of the King of All. It immediately reminded her of Cairn. The lone guard on the Kingsweep. The man with the cane, whom they had all underestimated.
Appearances weren’t everything, and the king’s absolute sway over the people around him, who should have had power in their own right, spoke volumes.
Corvan approached the couch, and it was no surprise that he didn’t even look at Eiko. He stopped before Rion and held out his hand, tempering his scowl somewhat for her benefit. “Miss Shulin,” he said. At least he knew her last name.
Rion placed her hand in his, and he gently helped her up, steering her from the room. Some of the tightness eased from Eiko’s chest when the oldest prince didn’t immediately take out his anger on Rion. He kept it squarely where it belonged.
“Can that one even walk the grounds?” King Grigori asked offhandedly, slapping Ceran on the back as he strode for the door. “Keep me updated on her training, will you? Chasin isn’t the best at communication, and I’m too busy to walk to the damn Godsguard barracks every morning.”
The king left without even glancing at her, the queen following. The attendants filed out.
Ceran finally emerged from his shadowed corner, a sigh on his lips as he walked to the chaise opposite where she sat. He sank into a seat, his long, graceful fingers scraping down his handsome face.
“He meant it,” he said. “My father—he meant what he said about wanting to stay informed. Don’t let all his bluster fool you: He’s utterly obsessed with that monster you’re hiding away.”
Eiko’s brow furrowed. That was … awfully candid.
“You truly have no way out of this, I hope you realise.” Ceran dipped forward, muscled arms notching on his knees, as he examined her face. He didn’t try to catch her eyes but surveyed her like he didn’t need to guard himself or attempt any facade of politeness. What was the use when she couldn’t see him?
“I had gathered that, Your Grace.”
“Ceran,” he corrected with another sigh. “Might as well get on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, leaning back again, his eyes drifting down to her hands, to the thin gold lace that streaked her skin.
He was wearing gloves, his own lace hidden.
“This, as in⁠—”
“This union, this marriage.”
“He wants my power in his bloodline?” Eiko gave him the answer as a question, unsure if she was supposed to play along with the queen’s game or not.
Ceran’s firm lips quirked into a small smile. He really was very handsome. Strong but delicate features, his gold colouring dulled to a darker, more russet tone. Up close, she thought it made him more beautiful than Corvan. The dark gold of his hair deepened to ruby in patches, only in the light. His eyes were also a deeper gold than the almost-metallic sheen of his older brother and father. They appeared a wonderful, faceted chestnut, burnished copper in the light. He would have been almost too pretty, if not for the strong line of his brow, the dark slashes of his eyebrows, and the harsh set of his mouth—though it softened a little when he smirked.
“So you do see,” he drawled. “In some ways, at least. Why don’t we just speak plainly, Eiko?”
“Fine.” She didn’t even stop to consider if it was wise. “Then if you really must know, I’m a lowborn from Stonesigh. I wasn’t raised in preparation for a fancy, arranged marriage. I was raised thinking I would find a mountain boy I loved and we would live out our days raising little mountain children.”
“But mountain boys don’t have gold castles,” he joked, a little twinkle in his eyes. He wasn’t teasing her—there was a note of self-deprecation in the way he spoke. “I knew my wife would be picked for me.” He paused. “I’ve resented it. Every single day … but …” He shrugged lightly. “This is less boring than I anticipated.”
“What did you anticipate?”
“Someone like my mother. Someone who never says what they mean. Someone who couldn’t understand what it’s like to march with a battalion and fear that you may not return.”
“I wasn’t aware the Kingsguard actually … did anything,” she admitted.
He scoffed. “Thought we were all pompous little snobs, didn’t you?”
“I’m sure there are a few pompous little snobs. Admit it. You know one.”

His lips twitched almost unwillingly. “His name is Gaylon.” He shook his head, thinking something over for a moment before he said, “My brother is an idiot.”
She couldn’t help herself. “Which one?”
“The one who overlooked you and chose your friend.” He eyed her. “He always did have terrible taste.”
Eiko’s lips parted instinctively, but she managed to bite back her retort just in time. He was only trying to pay her a compliment. Perhaps he thought this was what ladies wanted to hear: that they were superior to their closest and dearest friends.
Doubtful.
But surely there was another reason. He was too charming for her to believe otherwise.
He tugged a timepiece from his pocket and then stood. “I have a few things to attend to, but may I walk you back to the barracks?”
Her heart did a little flop, which made no sense. Her heart didn’t flop. She wasn’t a flopper.
And she already had a lover … sort of thing.
Shit.
Ren.
Had she really been fantasising about gems and handsome princes only a few minutes ago?
She needed to talk to Ren.