Page 79 of Feralheart

A servant appeared at my side with a tray. “Drink?”

I shook my head, and the servant moved on to Reece.

Across the room, through gaps in the crowd, I caught one more glimpse of the prince.

He wasn’t watching me anymore. He was watching his mother.

And his hands had closed into fists.

CHAPTER TWENTY

FEN

Meckard no longer stood by my shoulder, and the lack of his presence gutted me.

My aide had been dismissed before I’d finished washing the arena’s dust off. No audience granted or explanation offered. A steward had simply informed me, with a bow, that Terrant would be attending me going forward.

From the time I was six, Meckard had known how I took my tea, which nightmares woke me, and what my face looked like the year my father died. And in twenty-four years he’d never once written any of it down.

My mother would’ve dismissed him with nothing. No wages, no letter of character.

What she didn’t know was that I’d stopped trusting her a long time ago. I’d secretly put funds aside. Within a week, Meckard would be living in a new home, and his pension would arrive each month. Both with no name attached. But he’d know anyway. He’d taught me most of what I knew about doing things quietly.

If people were going to be made to pay my debts, the least I could do was set things up for them in advance.

Terrant stood where my aide belonged and watched everything I did with careful, patient eyes. He poured competently. He anticipated my needs well. He’d been chosen by someone who knew what a prince required.

My mother hadn’t spoken a word to me since the arena. She didn’t need words. She had a staff list.

I’d bought this ruling. At the rail, leaned in close, I’d given her the only argument she respected.

“Disqualify a commons for surviving,” I’d said, “and every soul in Shaleside learns two things at once. That the trials can be beaten, and that we cheat when they are winning. Let the woman fly, and the Scorching will finish what the crowd paid to see. A martyr starts fires. A casualty settles bets.”

Mother had nodded, acting pleased. But she must’ve seen through the prince I’d pretended to be.

By sundown, Meckard was gone, and I’d been tasting my words ever since.

The queen honored her concessions the way she honored everything—by letting someone else pay for them.

First my words, struck from a council record. Now my closest aide. She was working her way inward, one ring at a time.

We both knew what lived at the center.

I stood near the west wall of the ballroom, a glass of wine in my hand I hadn’t touched, and watched Eradin pretend she belonged here.

I couldn’t look away.

The storm-gray dress didn’t do a thing for her. It had been well-made, but it was not elite. No embroidery. No house colors.

Just a commons woman dressed for display.

If I’d dressed her, she’d be wearing silk in rich colors. Burgundy. Red. Cream that would never come close to matching her skin.

Her chestnut hair had been pulled back from her face in a simple style. I would’ve coiled it up on her head and woven in jewels that would glisten like stars. Left a few curls dangling beside her face.

My gaze fell to the trial mark on her hand.

She was a servant playing dress-up in a world that wanted her dead.