He quirked a smile. “I always forget you know everything.”
“When your mother is a proficient linguist and practically lives in the library…” she commented with a smile. “You’re giving me the moon?”
Breathing a laugh, he touched her cheek. “It’s my wish for the future. It’s you. Your name means the moon. It was the only thing I could think of that I want, that I felt was worth wishing for. I know I don’t deserve your love or regard—I never did, and that was part of the problem—but I wish that…” He trailed off, sounding so wistful that she couldn’t help moving into his touch. “I’d like to give you some joy and pleasure, Salena. To at least leave things in a better place between us. Instead of ending as we did. Would you let me try?”
She shouldn’t want this. She couldn’t seem to refuse him.
“How about just tonight?” she breathed. “One night when we forget the past.”
“I would love that,” he answered, long fingers trailing over her jaw. His eyes focused on her mouth, and he tilted his head, slowly closing the distance. Lena held her breath, anticipating.
Outside the door, trumpets blared, announcing the advent of the high queen. Saved by a well-timed fanfare, Lena thought wryly to herself. And she was a fool to have needed saving. Firmly, she stepped away from temptation. “I have to go.”
“Can I come with you?” Rhy asked, uncertain, searching her face.
She laughed, feeling the release of a burden she’d carried for far too long, and seized his hand, pulling him to the door. “Yes. We must hear Her Majesty’s speech.”
“Oh, joy,” he commented, sounding so much more like his usual self that she giggled, heady with relief that they’d finally put the hurt and heartbreak behind them. And he’d been in love with her. It didn’t change anything, but knowing that helped. At least she hadn’t been a total fool.
Lena found them a spot below the balcony where she’d watched the ball earlier with Gendra and Zeph, a good position to see and hear the queens.
“Salena,” Rhy breathed in her ear as he settled his hands on her waist, his body hot against her back. “What if we—”
Another fanfare drowned out his words. “Shh,” she hissed.
Everyone had fallen silent, turning expectant faces upward. A third, longer fanfare echoed, and into the ensuing quiet, a herald called. “All hail the High Queen of the Thirteen Kingdoms, Her Majesty High Queen Ursula.”
The crowd broke into frenzied cheering—except for Rhyian, still pressed against her—so she elbowed him hard in the gut.
“Ow!” he yelped.
“Cheer,” she tossed over her shoulder, glaring at him.
“Whee,” he said, perfectly deadpan. “Ooh. Ah. Look, it’s Danu made flesh.”
She successfully suppressed a laugh, turning her back on him to see Ursula arrive at the balustrade, waving to the people below. A lean blade of a woman, she wore a simple sheath of white-gold, bright as the midday sun—high noon belonging to the goddess Danu—and Salena recalled her mother saying that Queen Amelia had insisted on dressing Ursula and Andi. Ursula wore her deep-auburn hair coiled against her head, topped by the tri-point crown of the Thirteen Kingdoms that paid homage to the three sister goddesses. She smiled, thin as a sword’s edge, her steely gaze that of a warrior queen.
“And Queen Andromeda of Annfwn and Queen Amelia of Avonlidgh,” the herald declared as Ursula’s sisters joined her.
Ami had clearly run with the theme, dressing herself in palest pink to honor Glorianna, goddess of love and beauty. Elaborately beaded with tiny crystals, the dress caught the light, glowing like dawn, though dim compared to Ami’s own radiant beauty. The poets fell out evenly on whether her rose-gold hair, tumbling in glossy curls to her waist, resembled sunset or sunrise, though all agreed her eyes were the violet of twilight—intense enough to be visible at this distance.
On Ursula’s other flank, Queen Andromeda wore a gown of stunning black, though crafted of a shining material that shimmered with silver like the moon. Andi wore her hair loose in the Tala style, a cloak of night that gleamed with bloodred highlights, and her magic shifted around her like an unseen fog.
The three daughters of the old high king had long been likened to the avatars of the sister goddesses, and Salena had never seen the truth of that so clearly before this moment.
“Mother looks quite impressive,” Rhyian whispered in her ear, managing to sound impertinent despite the innocuous words.