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  Before she wanted to, Ros pulled away. There weren’t a lot of sweet moments between her and Elsabet. They loved each other, undoubtedly, but their relationship was one of opposites, cool and prickly with only the rarest moments of warmth.

  But Rosalinde knew by the evening light that it was time to descend the stairs and meet the guests assembled in the rooms below. They stood and smoothed out their dresses. Ros wore a gown the blue of lapis lazuli with a gauzy sleeveless bodice trimmed in tanzanite and topaz gems. The bottom was paper-thin layers of silk stacked to create a massive skirt that would trail several feet behind her.

  Though Ros was dressed to remind everyone she was of the high Water house, Elsabet downplayed her royal ties. Her dress was a strange color, somewhere between gray and brown depending on how the light hit it. It was floor-length chiffon with a deep cut neckline decorated with stunning lace designs. The sleeves fell back into a sheer cape that flowed the full length of the gown. She was elegant and graceful as always, a true beauty.

  Ros moved a stray hair away from Elsa’s face as she forced a smile. “Time to go.”

  Elsa nodded. “I’ll support you, whoever you choose. I know Mother and Father have their preferences, but contrary to popular belief, I just want you to be happy. So, pick someone who isn’t a complete ass.”

  “Such words of wisdom,” Ros teased.

  “I’m serious,” Elsa said, pushing against Ros’ bare shoulder.

  Ros turned away from her sister, not wanting to show her how much her words meant. As she glanced out the window, she spotted a strange sight moving up the lane. After all the extravagance of those before it, the brilliant exhibitions of strength and power, the small carriage moving towards the castle pulled by unadorned horses seemed unusual in its simplicity.

  They were beautiful beasts, certainly, but surprisingly plain in comparison with the others. There were six of them: a spotless white, a midnight black, a blood bay and a dapple gray, a piebald, and a palomino.

  “Who is that?” Elsa breathed, her voice feather-soft.

  “I don’t know,” Ros said. “Maybe they’re not here for the Match.”

  “Of course they are,” Elsa said, as if there was no other explanation.

  “They could just be coming for the festivities. A noble family wouldn’t send their son in a carriage like that, without a display of power.”

  Elsa inhaled sharply. “Maybe it’s Alaric.”

  Ros’ eyes widened at her sister’s words. She turned back to the carriage, praying to anyone listening that it would not be Alaric.

  “It would be sweet if he came to confess his love.”

  “It would be a disaster,” Ros said. “There’s no way Father could let it slide in front of the other guests. He’d have to let him compete…”

  “And he doesn’t have magic,” Elsa said, finishing the thought.

  “He’d die.”

  But as they watched the horses draw closer, Ros knew it wasn’t Alaric. She wasn’t sure how she knew or what made her so certain, but she had no doubt that whoever was in the carriage was no magicless man from the village; no, the man in that carriage was dangerous.

  And he was there for her.

  Chapter 3

  Ros listened to the applause as her sister descended the grand staircase. She was certain there were plenty of suitors there who would prefer Elsa as the prize for the Great Match this year, but at seventeen, her sister still had three years before her chance.

  Of course, as princess of the realm, Elsa would be the intended match of that year. That’s simply the way things worked. The highest ranking of the upper class for any year became the object of affection the year they turned twenty. Those who weren’t chosen were then left to court and make matches as they saw fit. Ros often wondered if the matches after the Great Match were better for it. There was no competition, and though there was always pressure to marry as well as possible, surely some of those matches were made for love.

  She heard the herald reading her extravagant list of titles and accolades to the assembly and prepared to step out from where she stood. She’d practiced several times, not wanting to risk embarrassing herself in front of more than a hundred nobles gathered for the feast tonight. Now, she took a breath to steady herself and nodded to the servant to open the door.

  Ros stepped forward onto the balcony overlooking the room just as the herald said, “Heir-apparent and this year’s Great Match, Princess Rosalinde Adara Managold.”

  She looked down onto the room, smiling as best as she could and hoping her anxiety was hidden beneath her veneer of happiness. Beaming faces met hers as the room reverberated with applause. She wondered if any of them felt those smiles on the inside or simply wore them as they were required.

  As she moved towards the stairs, Ros tried to wipe the thought from her mind. Kingdoms ran on politics, on cleverness and ambition and pragmatism, not on feelings. Her mother had grounded her in those facts through the years, warning her to keep her head on and her heart guarded. For the most part, Ros had listened. She’d had a few dalliances over the years, but none had ever captured her heart. But how could they, when she always knew her marriage would end up decided like this?

  She was nearly at the bottom of the stairs. Her heart hammered wildly as her gaze flitted around the room, taking in the faces staring up at her. Most she knew, but there were a handful she didn’t recognize. She heard the herald calling above her now, shifting the room’s attention to the balcony as her mother and father stepped out. She was grateful the assembly’s eyes were off her, giving her a slight reprieve from their notice. The coming week would put her at the center of everyone’s attention as her every decision was analyzed.

  Just before she reached the last step, Ros’ foot caught on her dress and she lost her balance. She felt herself falling, tumbling through the air as if in slow motion. Her imagination ran rampant with flashes of people pointing and peals of laughter, the nobles whispering about what a disgrace she was and how anyone would be a better choice, not only for the Great Match, but also to take the throne after her father.

  Strong arms grasped her before she could hit the ground, steadying her against a firm, wide chest. Ros’s hands had instinctively raised to break her, but instead pressed against the man, feeling his warmth seeping through his black tunic. She stared up into a face she didn’t recognize. The man’s black hair was shorn close to his head, his sharp jaw shadowed in stubble that stood out against his olive skin. His eyes were dark and cavernous; for a moment, Ros felt like she was getting lost in them.

  It was his lips that drew most of her attention. They were just the right amount of full, but it was the smirk upon them that set Ros’ insides ablaze. She was certain he was laughing at her on the inside, though he dare not do so openly. Though he had been gentleman enough to help her from falling, he hadn’t been kind enough to keep himself from delighting in her embarrassment.

  Ros pulled herself from his arms, straightening her dress. She stretched to her full height and tilted her chin up, throwing in as much confidence and defiance and she could muster. She looked the man in the eyes and said, “Thank you, kind sir, for your swift response. I fear I would have been injured without your intervention.”

  His lips curled a bit more at her words, but he dipped into a bow of epic proportions. When he stood, his voice rumbled, “It was my honor, Your Royal Highness. Always a pleasure to serve the crown.”

  Ros glanced around to see who might be watching them. The last thing she wanted was for her clumsiness to overshadow the rest of the evening, but most people still seemed concentrated on her parents as they descended the stairs. When she turned back to say more to the man, he was gone.

  “I don’t think anyone noticed.”

  Ros jumped at the whispered words beside her. She turned towards Larkin, happy to see her best friend. She looked ravishing in a deep cut red gown that would have looked indecent on anyone else, but she pulled it off. Larkin’s braids were swept up i
n an elaborate design that drew attention to her sharp cheekbones and long, slender neck. She was an unmitigated beauty. Her umber skin was flawless, her eyes the color of warm caramel. She needed nothing to make her skin shine or her eyes dance—they did that all on their own.

  “Did you see where that man went?”

  “You mean that fine specimen who caught your clumsy ass?”

  Ros smiled. Of course Larkin would point out how handsome the man was. She had no issue expressing her attraction to anyone. Absolutely anyone. Larkin was open to loving whoever she connected with and often spent her time in the company a wide variety of people, both in the bedroom and out. It was one of the things Ros most admired about her. She appreciated outward beauty, but ultimately it was the person’s heart that drew Larkin to them.

  “He wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Ros said, dismissing Larkin’s clearly good taste in the looks department.

  Larkin shrugged. “That hasn’t always stopped you in the past.”

  “And look how successful those relationships were,” Ros said. “Besides, it’s not like it matters anyway, not tonight.”

  Larkin put her hand around her friend’s waist and steered her towards a table laden with goblets. “Let’s not discuss the Match. Instead, let’s drink our weight in wine and refuse to worry about the coming week. I’m very good at pretending bad things don’t exist.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Ros said, grateful for the distraction. “Let’s find a place to spy on everyone so I can get your opinion before—"

  “Rosalinde,” the Queen’s voice cut through the crowd.

  Ros sighed and muttered, “Too good to be true.”

  She grabbed Larkin’s elbow to make sure her friend didn’t try to slip off, then turned to face her mother. The Queen was smiling, the details of her face unreadable to the casual observer, but Ros knew every aspect, every facet of her mother’s many masks, and she knew this smile was hiding something.

  “Good evening, Mother,” Rosalinde said, trying to put her anxiety under her own false smile.

  Queen Sariyah looked from Rosalinde to Larkin and back. “Are you well, darling?”

  “Yes, of course,” Ros replied.

  “It’s just, I saw your tumble…”

  Ros grimaced. She had hoped her parents were too consumed with their own entrance to notice her flub. “Just the dress and my clumsiness, I’m afraid.”

  “Good thing that gentleman stepped in. Right, Your Majesty?” Larkin said.

  Sariyah’s smile tightened at the edges, just enough for Ros to notice. “That was fortunate. Who was the gentleman? I wasn’t able to see his face.”

  “That’s too bad,” Larkin said. “It’s a hell of a face.”

  Ros elbowed her as she said, “I’m not certain. I didn’t recognize him and he was gone before I had the chance to catch his name.”

  “If you see him again, send him to me,” Sariyah said. “The crown owes him its gratitude.”

  “Of course,” Ros replied, dipping her head.

  Larkin curtsied as the Queen turned from them. Before she took a step, she turned back and said, “Larkin, dear, make sure you come to visit the next time you stay with Rosalinde. We were sorely disappointed this morning that you didn’t join us before darting off to do gods know what.”

  “This morning?” Larkin asked, before realizing what she was saying. She quickly added, “Oh right, this morning. Yes, I had to go...help my brother. He’s competing in the Great Match this week, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Yes, I did hear that. I saw him earlier, though I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking to him yet. I must say, I don’t remember him looking so handsome.”

  Ros laughed, unable to help herself. “Zandor? Handsome? I mean, granted, the last time I saw him was nearly two years ago, but he has always been a scrawny thing with his head buried in a book.”

  “He couldn’t have been that small. Didn’t you compete in the games against him a few times?” Sariyah asked.

  “Jousting,” Ros said, remembering her sister’s words from lunch about the day she allegedly won his affections. “He was terrible. Zandor could barely hold the lance.”

  “He’s filled out since then,” Larkin said with a shrug.

  Sariyah tutted. “Don’t dismiss him yet. He may be exactly what you’re looking for. And I, for one, am looking forward to seeing his performance at tomorrow’s opening ceremony. It would be nice to have another from Earth house around the castle.”

  Queen Sariyah’s eyes flitted to Rosalinde’s for the briefest of moments, as if reminding her of their conversation regarding her preference for Rosalinde’s future husband. She departed without another word, leaving the girls staring at her flawless open-backed gown as a single string of diamonds caused light to dance between the Queen’s shoulder blades.

  “I love your mother,” Larkin said, “but she terrifies me.”

  “She has that effect.”

  “And what was that about me being here this morning?”

  Ros sighed as she turned back to the table full of wine. She grabbed two goblets and handed one to Larkin as she drank deeply from her own. “Elsa was being Elsa and told my parents that I’d had a guest last night.”

  “And I was your cover?”

  “Of course. You were brilliant by the way.”

  “Maybe next time you can warn me before I lie to the ruler of Talabrih?”

  “There won’t be a next time. I was saying goodbye to a friend,” Ros said into her cup.

  Chapter 4

  She finished her wine in one swift gulp and leaned her cup forward for a servant to refill. Ros glanced about the room, taking in the glittering jewels draped about the women, the stylish cuts of their dresses, the intricate hairstyles. Many were on the arm of a man in power, suited in finery as elaborate as their wives.

  Among them were a few women who held their own power, exuding confidence and strength without the need for a man at their side. It had always bothered Ros that there were so few women who held power in the houses. She knew them to be as capable, and oftentimes more formidable, than their male counterparts, and vowed to have many strong women providing her counsel when she took the throne. As the future ruler of the kingdom, Ros wanted to be one of those kinds of women, promising herself she wouldn’t be distracted by a man at her side.

  Larkin tugged on her arm, pulling her back to the present. She whispered, “You have company.”

  Larkin slipped away into the crowd as Rosalinde turned to see two men approaching. She knew them both, to her great displeasure. They were cousins from Fire house, Florian and Dryden, though Ros could never remember which was which. One wielded lightning, a product of two fire parents. The other had a mother from the Air house and was firmly between the two with his gift of thunderstorms.

  “Your Highness,” one of the cousins said. Both bowed their heads in stiff greeting, presenting forced smiles when they met her eyes.

  Rosalinde nodded her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. This was one of the things she hated most about these events. They could be great fun once the formalities were past, but first you had to navigate an ocean of politics and rigid etiquette. Like giving just the right amount of recognition to two nobles you didn’t particularly care for.

  “You look lovely tonight, Rosalinde,” one of them said.

  The other smacked his arm and hissed. “Cousin, too familiar. What are you thinking?”

  “Calm your fire, Dryden,” said the one who must be Florian. He reached past Ros and plucked a goblet from the table. “Her Royal Highness surely gets tired of all the posturing when she’s simply trying to have a drink.”

  Florian tipped his cup to hers and took a drink. Rosalinde’s smile turned genuine at the exchange. Previous conversations with the Fire cousins had always been tedious and built on ceremony, or framed with their gallant tales of how they rescued a maiden from a vile beast with naught but their bare hands. Or something like that. Ros never really liste
ned.

  But since she saw them at last year’s feast, Florian seemed to have changed. Ros took another sip of wine, reviving the warmth in her cheeks. She said, “I do grow tired of it, yes. And I am perfectly fine with you calling me Rosalinde if I may also call you Florian, rather than your tediously long title.”

  Florian laughed and swept his hand through his thick blond hair. Ros was suddenly struck by how handsome the fire mage was. She’d never considered it before, but now she couldn’t help take notice. She supposed that was what happened when one left their awkward teenage years.

  As she noticed him now, she wondered when he’d grown so tall, when his arms and shoulders had filled out. He looked well-built, firm, but in a narrow way. His skin was deeply tanned, like most of the Fire house, who all seemed to have an affinity for the outdoors. His eyes were made of afternoon sun shining through autumn leaves, golden and glowing.

  “It is a ridiculous title, to be sure. Nothing compared to yours, dear Princess, but still. Florian le Fevre of the House of Fire, firstborn of Lord Gilthroy and Lady Dusswana of Air, wielder of thunderstorms, heir to the blah blah blah,” he said in a mock formal tone.

  Ros couldn’t help but notice he left out his place in line for the Fire house. But she knew it, of course, and Florian knew that she knew. But it still felt as if he was reminding her that he was the highest match she could make in his house. She cast a glance to Dryden, noting the new clench of his jaw. So, she wasn’t the only one who noticed Florian’s reminder.

  “Yes, well,” Ros said, unsure what else there was to say. Perhaps Florian had spoken out of habit, or perhaps he hadn’t grown up as much as she had hoped.