tilted her head back, looking right into his blank mask as he remained unmoving, only a few inches away. Questions appeared in her eyes, along with suspicion and confusion, but then they vanished.
Her hand twitched, as though she almost reached for the necklace, but she resisted. Grasped her own skirt instead, as if she had to physically prevent herself from touching the gem.
But then, without making a single move, she reached out through their link.
There was an uncertainty about her that he hadn’t sensed before, a hopeful sort of question that quickly made itself plain.
She felt lost and alone. Something about the king’s words had unmoored her completely, and she was looking for something, anything, to grab on to.
It could not be him. Never him. He’d stumbled enough, thanks to his incomprehensible need to protect her—a need that went far above and beyond the king’s command.
No more. He had to put some distance between them. Had to convince her that he would not—could not—be her ally.
So he lowered his walls and let her in.
She staggered backward for the second time that day.
The Raven hardened his heart against the shock and pain that filled her eyes. He knew exactly what she would find.
Fury—bright and burning like a forge-fire. Rage—icy cold and implacable. Self-loathing—a dark quagmire that would swallow up anyone unlucky enough to approach it.
She was supposed to recoil and withdraw.
But she kept searching. Pushed past the surface emotions that clouded his mind and found more.
Confusion—a glowing tangle of emotions that wasn’t as hostile as it should have been.
Concern—a strange, banked glow that the Raven himself hadn’t even realized was beginning to separate itself from the confusion.
Enough.
He slammed down his walls again, and as he did so, the princess hastily broke the link. She blinked several times and tried to pull herself together.
The Raven wasn’t sure what would have happened had a pair of footmen not entered the hallway some distance away and glanced towards them.
“I’m going to be late,” Evaraine said, obviously struggling to keep her voice level. “I must return to my room. Change. Luncheon with the queen.”
Whatever was between them seemed to dissipate, and the Raven found himself pointing towards the balcony. As if to say, “All is well, carry on.”
So she carried on. Wrapped up her doubts and questions and fears, made her way to her suite, and dressed for her luncheon. They arrived late to the luncheon, then were forced to go directly to her audience with the Minister of Finance, from which she was dragged to a dress fitting.
And through all of them, the Raven trailed silently behind her as though nothing had happened. As though he didn’t care one way or another what her future would bring.
He had never told himself a more audacious lie.
Despite all his efforts to the contrary, he’d begun to care very much indeed.
Chapter 13
Leisa couldn’t even begin to count the number of mistakes she made. Afterward, she had little memory of the no-doubt fascinating dissertation on the Garimoran economy, nor any idea what the queen had nattered on about for nearly two hours. She did recall dropping a teacup, stubbing her toe on a ceremonial suit of armor, calling the Minister “Sir,” and threatening to remove most of the flounces from her nascent ballgown with a pair of embroidery scissors.
But mostly, all she could do was try to prevent her fear and confusion from choking her. Try not to constantly look over her shoulder at the shadow that lurked behind her. Try to pretend that everything was all right, and she was feeling perfectly fine, thank you.
Nothing was all right, and she had no idea what she was feeling.
In the midst of her worry, she could sense the Raven hovering closer than ever, which only made it worse. She had no idea why he did so, and the uncertainty made her want to scream at him. Force him to talk to her. Or maybe just make an attempt on her life so she would know whether he had figured out the truth.
Whatever the truth was.
What sort of magic did Leisa have? Were the Five Thrones really all agreed that mirror mages were dangerous? And was this the real reason King Soren insisted she keep her magic secret? Because he thought she could be dangerous and intended to use her, or because he believed she would be the target of hatred and wanted to protect her?
She had no idea what to make of any of it. Melger had referred to