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“That’s exactly how I remember it. Except for what happened at the ball.”
I groan and set the quill aside, pressing a hand against my forehead. “So there is no divergence except for…” Another groan wrenches out. I tip my head back. The ceiling in my room also mimics the night sky. A soothing image if I were at all able to be soothed.
“Yet your stepmother said you left the day before the ball. Friday.”
She stares, her eyes wide again. Then she presses her lips together. “But I saw you that day.”
“In the morning. Friday morning to Saturday night is a lot of time. According to her, you were in a carriage by Friday mid-morning with no intention of coming to the ball.”
Seconds pass. Then she closes her eyes and wipes her hands over her face. “Nothing makes sense, Kirran. I wasthere.”
I fold my arms and lean back against the desk. She wasn’t at the ball. So how could she remember it? Certain autumn fey can manipulate memories and create illusions, but there are limitations, criteria that has to be met.
I resist a sigh. My gaze hooks on my bed — or, more importantly, the trail of my clothes leading to it. “What did I look like that night? What was I wearing?”
She stares at me long enough that I open my mouth to repeat myself, but she shakes her head before a word escapes me. “Crimson and black. And gold. At least part of a soldier’s uniform.”
An expected answer to a pointless question. Of course those would’ve been the colors I wore. Anyone would’ve known that, even someone toying with her mind. I can’t remember anything more specific to my wardrobe that night to use as a test.
“What did I say to you?”
Her expression pinches, and she averts her eyes. “I don’t remember all the words, honestly, but it was…awful. I’ve tried for years to forget how cold and cruel you were. I remember disgust and mockery and you laughing at me with your friends.”
I straighten. “Do you know who I was with?”
“No. I can’t remember any specific faces.”
“Men? Women?”
“Men, I think. Two or three. Maybe four. One definitely had black hair. I remember at least thinking that they all seemed about your age.”
Three or four young men my age, one with black hair. Also useless. It could’ve been any number of people. Nobles, soldiers, even some of my brothers or cousins.
I grit my teeth.Not that it even happened. Or would have happened. I never…
Like before, something jabs inside me, cold and hollow. Like a cavern opening in my chest.
What if it’smymemories that have been tampered with?
The thought chills my bones. Instinctive magic thrashes against my veins. Meddling with the perceptions and memories of a prince is an act of treason. Especially as it relates to matters of marriage and political maneuverings. If someone did something to either of us, if magic is involved, then it should be that someone’s head.
Alia stifles a yawn with the back of her hand and clears her throat. “So, I’m getting rather tired…” Hesitation ripples across her face, and she turns her head away. “You, um — you don’t expect me to stay here tonight, do you?”
“No.” It comes out harsh, and though I meant it with some harshness, it’s probably too much, because her shoulders tense. While I can trust Vaddik and Harran not to reveal anything, I would never hear the end of it if my father found out Alia had visited my quarters in the middle of the night.
But that’s not the only reason all of me tenses at the thought of her staying here.
I’m not ready to consider spending the night with any woman. Let alone this one.
I almost expect her to argue — though about what, I’m not sure, because nothing in her form implies she’d want to stay either.
Instead, she nods. “It’s just that you sent the guards away, and if I’m caught alone out in the upper halls…”
“I’ll escort you to your room.”
She blinks at me. Then she presses her lips together and, once more, pulls the shawl around herself.
“What? Don’t want me to know where you sleep?”
