War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,186

one. Davidson was right in Montfort. Like Reds, I am different from what my world demands I be. And I am not worse for it.

Under the table, Ptolemus grabs my hand, his touch kind but fleeting. I feel a burst of love for my brother, as well as another burst of shame.

One last chance, then.

“I assume Elane will come with us to Archeon,” I say aloud, looking between my parents. They exchange a pointed glance, one I know well and do not like. Elane drops her gaze, staring at her hands beneath the table. “She’ll have to stand with the rest of her house, pledge loyalty with Haven,” I explain coolly, my reasoning sound enough.

But not for Mother, apparently. She puts down her fork with a clang of metal on porcelain. “Princess Elane is your brother’s wife,” she says, emphasizing the words. They sound like nails on glass. She speaks like Elane isn’t even here. It sets my teeth on edge. “And your brother, as well as our family, has already proven himself loyal to King Tiberias. There’s no need for her to make the journey. She will return home to Ridge House.”

A flush colors the tops of Elane’s cheeks. Still, she bites her tongue, knowing better than to fight this battle herself.

I push out an exasperated breath. Long journey. What a load of—

“Well, as a princess of the Rift, she should be at the coronation. To show the kingdom who we are. The pictures and recordings will go out all over the Rift as well as Norta. Our kingdom should know its future queen, shouldn’t they?” My argument is shaky at best, and it sounds as desperate as I feel. I hate reminding anyone, most of all myself, of Elane’s title, because it comes from my brother. Not from me.

“It is not your decision.”

Father’s glare used to shut me up, stop me cold, when I was a child. Sometimes I would run from him, but that landed me worse punishments. So I learned to stare back, in spite of my own fear. To meet what terrifies me head-on.

“She doesn’t belong to him, or to you,” I hear myself growl, sounding like one of my mother’s great cats.

I don’t know how much longer I can live like this, she said before.

And neither do I.

Her jaw works furiously as she grinds her teeth together, unable to speak.

Tolly leans forward, as if he can defend me from our parents. “Eve . . . ,” he murmurs, if only to end this before things take an even worse turn.

Mother throws back her head and laughs, the noise horrendous and sharp. I feel dismissed, spit upon, diminished by someone who is supposed to love me. “Does she belong to you, Evangeline?” she croons, still smirking. I want to slap her.

The fear in me melts to anger, iron turning to steel.

“We belong to each other,” I reply, forcing down a sip of wine.

Elane’s eyes snap to mine. They burn me through.

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,” Mother scoffs, shoving her plate away. “This is inedible.”

Again, Father glares at me. “It won’t last,” he says again, and I think it’s an answer to us both.

Mirroring my mother’s actions, I push away my plate of untouched food. “We’ll see,” I mutter to myself. I’ve had enough of this. All of this.

Before I can leave the table, storm away for a second time, Anabel Lerolan enters the room, her guards on her heels. Even she isn’t presumptuous enough to face down a Samos brood without protection.

“My apologies,” she says quickly, nodding her head. Her own crown gleams, reflecting the fading light with a warm flash. “For the interruption.”

When confronted with Queen Anabel, Mother quickly takes on the mantle of Queen Larentia. She improves her already flawless posture, drawing up her spine and dropping her shoulders. With an imperious gaze, she turns to look at Cal’s grandmother. “I assume you have a reason.”

The Lerolan queen nods. “Maven Calore is gone.”

Next to me, Ptolemus exhales. He almost smiles. So do my parents, both of them glad to finally be rid of Maven. I only wish I could have seen it done, to know it is finally over for the monstrous boy who plagued us all for so long.

My brother speaks first, shifting to look at Anabel head-on. “Did Cal do it himself?”

Her expression turns stony. “I mean he isn’t here.”

I feel a slight pressure, the slow squeeze of my bracelets tightening at my wrists. On the table,