Broken Throne - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,141

quiet corner of the palace. The noise is almost too much, grating on my nerves. Every happy shout could be a scream, and the smash of a glass somewhere makes my entire body jump.

Evangeline puts a cool hand to my arm, grounding me. This isn’t a battlefield. It isn’t a Silver palace either.

It reminds me of Summerton, of Archeon, of Silver cities where places like this would never allow Reds to enter, let alone serve us. But both kinds of blood are here, evident in their varying shades of skin. Cold bronze, warm ivory, icy porcelain, vibrant copper. Many still have their military uniforms, either coming off shift or enjoying break time. I recognize the white and green of politicians too, seeking refuge from the delegations.

One of the bars is quieter than the rest, and dimmer, full of alcoves clustered around a main bar. More like a tavern than a cosmopolitan meeting place. Those, I remember. Those, we had at home. It’s where I met the prince of Norta, though I didn’t know it at the time.

And, of course, that’s where Cal is sitting, his back to the street, half a drink in hand. I’d know his broad silhouette anywhere.

I glance at myself, my velvet clothing discarded for a training suit. There’s dried sweat on my body, and my hair is probably still on end from all the static electricity.

“You look fine,” Evangeline says.

I huff at her. “Usually you’re a good liar.”

She raises a fist and fakes a yawn. “Watching over you is very taxing.”

“Well, you’ve certainly earned a break,” I say, gesturing to one of the tables at another bar. “I can handle myself for an hour or so.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t argue and sets off toward the loudest, shiniest, and most boisterous bar on the street. A flash of scarlet ripples at a seemingly empty table on the curb, and suddenly Elane is sitting there, a glass of wine in hand. Evangeline doesn’t look back as she waves me on. I scoff to myself—that meddling magnetron probably had her shadow girlfriend keep tabs on Cal so she could shove me at him when he was alone.

Suddenly I wish I had more time. To think of something to say, to rehearse. To figure out what the hell I want. I could barely speak to him this morning, and the sight of him last night left me haunted. What will this do to both of us?

Only one way to find out.

The seat next to him is empty, and high up. As I climb into it, I thank my body for remembering its agility. If I fall out in front of him, I really might die of embarrassment. But I stay level, and before he can even turn to look at me, I have his glass in my hand. I don’t care what it holds. I just drink, steadying my nerves. My heart hammers in my chest.

The liquid is slightly sour, but cold and refreshing, with an edge of cinnamon. It tastes like winter.

Cal stares at me like he’s seeing a ghost, his bronze eyes wide. I watch as his pupils dilate, eating up all the color. His uniform jacket is unbuttoned, hanging open to the fresh air. He doesn’t need a scarf or coat to keep him warm right now, just his own ability. I feel it at my edges, ready to wash over me.

“Thief,” he says simply, his voice deep.

I look back at him over the rim of his glass, finishing the drink.

“Obviously.”

The familiar words hang between us, meaning more than they should. They feel like an ending, and a beginning. To what, I can’t say.

“Is the great Tiberias Calore skipping out on his delegation?”

I reach, putting the glass back in place in front of him. He doesn’t move, forcing my arm to graze across his. The simple touch explodes through me, down to my toes.

The bartender passes by, and Cal motions with two fingers, silently ordering for both of us. “I’m not a king anymore. I can do as I like,” he says. “Sometimes. Besides, it’s another trade debate right now. I’m no use.”

“Me neither.”

It’s a relief to know that, for now, no one else is relying on me. Not to speak, stand, or be someone else’s flag bearer. When the bartender puts a full glass down in front of me, I drink half of it in one gulp.

Cal watches my every move, a soldier surveying a battlefield. Or an enemy. “I see your brothers taught you drinking.”

I grin,

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