CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Torell left Kiva at the Tippled Boar after making her promise not to return to Oakhollow, claiming the risk of discovery was too great. In return, Kiva handed back Zuleeka’s mask and agreed to send any messages through the innkeeper, before giving her brother a warm hug goodbye.
Rhessinda found her in the tavern’s courtyard shortly afterward and maintained a mostly one-sided conversation on the ride back to Vallenia. By the time they dismounted outside Silverthorn’s stables, the sun was dropping below the horizon.
Sensing Kiva’s anxiety, Rhess shooed her away. “I’m here every day for the morning shift — come find me if you want a break from palace life,” the healer invited. “We can go get chocabuns.”
“Sounds perfect,” Kiva said, before taking off down the hill and hurrying along the River Road, reaching the palace in record time.
She’d barely unfastened her cloak when an angry knock sounded at the door to her room.
Kiva froze, a million fears hitting her all at once.
What if someone had seen her leave the city?
What if they’d followed her to Oakhollow?
What if she’d been spotted in the rebel camp?
What if the mask hadn’t fooled them?
What if — “K-Kiva, I know you’re in there! I heard you c-c-come back!”
The breath whooshed out of her as she opened the door to find Tipp standing there, his freckled face set in a frown.
“You’ve been g-g-gone all day.”
There was no denying the accusation in his tone, but Kiva was unsure
why it was there.
“I went to Silverthorn.”
Not a lie. And yet, she still hated herself for the half-truth.
“I w-w-wanted to show you what Ori and I d-did in art class today, and
you weren’t here!” Tipp cried. “I always know where t-to find you, and I c- couldn’t!”
Kiva suddenly understood why he was so upset.
For three years, Tipp had been able to seek her out anytime he’d needed her. At Zalindov, she’d always been in the infirmary. At the winter palace, they’d barely left each other’s sides as they’d acclimatized to their new freedom. Even when they’d reached Vallenia, Kiva had never disappeared for as many hours in a row as she had today.
Tipp had missed her.
Tears touched the back of her eyes as she took in his fiery distress, but she didn’t want to embarrass him, so she blinked them away and said, “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. Would you like to show me now?”
His anger was immediately replaced by eagerness as he tugged her into the sitting room. On an easel near the window was a canvas covered by a sheet, and Tipp quickly whipped it off, revealing what lay beneath.
“It’s u-us!” he declared proudly, pointing to the portrait.
The tears Kiva had swallowed back returned with a vengeance at the sight of what the young boy had created.
The brush strokes were imperfect and the colors were eccentric, but Kiva could easily recognize herself in the painting, her dark hair floating in the breeze, her emerald eyes comically wide. One of her hands held a redheaded, freckle-faced boy who was beaming widely, and her other hand — “That’s me, you, and Jaren,” Tipp said. He then shared a long-winded story about how the art tutor had asked him to paint how he saw his future, and Kiva had to tune him out, her heart aching as she took in the rest of the portrait’s details.
Kiva’s other hand was entwined with Jaren’s, the two of them smiling at each other, the River Palace in the background, and —
Crowns on their heads.
Both of their heads.
In the distance were the blurred figures of Oriel, Mirryn, Caldon, Naari, Queen Ariana, and a man Kiva assumed was King Stellan. Even Flox was in the painting, curled up on Jaren’s feet.
It was a family portrait.
Created by an eleven-year-old.
Who had been asked to paint his future.
“. . . and then she said the g-grass shouldn’t be purple, but I reminded h-
her that she said t-to use my imagination, and w-what’s more imaginative than p-purple grass?”
Tipp finally paused to take a breath, before looking at Kiva and waiting for her verdict.
She felt as if pins were stabbing into her tongue, but she somehow managed to force out the words, “It’s perfect.”
The gap-toothed grin he sent her lit up the room. She couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him, partly to keep him from seeing the devastation on her face, and partly just so she could feel him in her arms, safe and alive.
He would never have the future he envisioned, but she was damned well going to make sure he had a future, and that no matter what happened in the coming days, he wouldn’t be left on his own. Tipp would always have a home at the palace, regardless of who it was with — she would make sure of it.
“Sorry, am I interrupting? I can come back.”
Kiva glanced up to find Jaren standing in their doorway, his hair messy enough to indicate he’d been running his hands through it all day, his clothes rumpled. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but instead of making him less attractive, those flaws only made him more real, more human, more — Giving herself a firm mental slap, Kiva released Tipp and, when the young boy ran over to greet Jaren, quickly covered the painting.
“J-Jaren!” Tipp yelled, crash-tackling him on approach. “Do you want to c-come and see —”
“How were your meetings?” Kiva quickly interrupted.
“Long,” Jaren said, sighing when Flox ran into the room and collapsed on top of his feet. “How was Silverthorn?”
“She was g-gone all day,” Tipp shared, repeating his earlier accusation.
There was no anger in his voice this time, his attention wholly focused on unlatching Flox’s claws from Jaren’s leather boots so he could pull the fluffy creature into his arms.
Jaren’s golden brows rose. “All day? You must be tired.”
“Pot, kettle,” Kiva said, gesturing to his disheveled appearance.
“Today was . . . challenging,” Jaren said. He looked as if he were about to say more, but then changed his mind and shared, “If you two don’t have any other plans, everyone is free tonight for the first time since we returned home.
Are you up for a family dinner?”
Kiva’s stomach tightened, but Tipp offered an excited, “Y-Yeah!”
“Go wash up, kiddo,” Jaren said, tipping his chin toward Tipp’s bedroom.
“We’ll wait for you.”
Tipp handed the disgruntled Flox to Jaren — the creature’s mood brightening the instant he was in the prince’s hands — and took off into his room.
“Should I, um . . .” Kiva waved to her outfit, fearing her clothes were too casual for dinner with the royal family.
Jaren’s eyes didn’t wander from her face, his tone soft as he said, “You’re perfect, just as you are.”
His implication was impossible to miss. Kiva’s breath caught, but she was saved from having to respond when Tipp skipped back and declared, “R- Ready!”
If Kiva had been asked to recall anything about their walk across to the western palace, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. Not with Jaren’s words repeating in her mind, like a feather stroking her skin.
You’re perfect, just as you are.
Part of her was furious with him as they stepped into the small, intimate dining room where his family waited. How dare he be so kind, so loving, so Jaren? Why couldn’t he act like the haughty prince he should have been — more like his sister? Hell, even more like the flirtatious Caldon, who Kiva felt a growing fondness toward, but whose personality acted like a romantic
repellent.
You’re perfect, just as you are.
Kiva wanted to cry. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and ignored how good it felt to have Jaren’s hand resting against her back, guiding her into the room.
A quick glance revealed that an ornate ashwood table lay at the center of the space, already set and brimming with food — carved meats and roasted vegetables, saucers of gravy, cheese platters, thick, luscious breads, and a whole host of other delicacies that made Kiva’s mouth water just looking at them. Interspersed between the golden plates was a trail of dainty luminium drops, the speckles of light making the buffet look almost magical, especially when combined with the crystal vases full of snowblossoms. In the background, the floor-to-ceiling windows looked straight out to the manicured gardens, a sight that was beautiful at night and would be even more spectacular during the day.
As phenomenal as the display was, Kiva couldn’t appreciate it as much as it deserved. Not when the royal family turned as one to look at her, Jaren, and Tipp upon their entry into the room.
Anxiety swept over Kiva, but Tipp was immune to the attention, bounding straight over to the spare seat beside the grinning Oriel. The two boys immediately bent their heads together and began whispering in a way that would have alarmed Kiva at any other time, but she was too focused on staying calm as Jaren nudged her toward the head of the table.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my father yet,” he said as the middle-aged, well-dressed man rose from his seat on their approach.
The King of Vallenia stood up — for Kiva.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” King Stellan said, reaching for her hand.
Her fingers felt numb, but his grip was gentle as he closed both of his hands
around hers and smiled warmly.
He had Jaren’s smile.
And that wasn’t all they shared.
The king’s hair was darker than the rest of his family, like a rich caramel, which explained the browner shades that blended through Jaren’s golden locks. Stellan’s eyes were also different, being a coppery color unlike the blue that his wife and children shared, with a gold rim that had been inherited only by Jaren.
Tall, broad shoulders, honeyed skin — aside from the hair and eyes, he was what Kiva envisioned Jaren would look like in twenty years.
It wasn’t a bad image.
At all.
And yet . . . there was something Kiva couldn’t quite put her finger on: a wanness to his face, a strain about his features, a dullness in his eyes. She wouldn’t have given it any further thought, except that as his hand held hers,
she felt it.
The king was sick.
Kiva knew it in every part of her. Her magic knew it, her fingers, no
longer numb, starting to tingle.
NO! she screamed inwardly.
If ever there was a place she absolutely could not lose control of her power, it was in a room filled with almost the entire Vallentis family.
So she shoved it down, deeper and deeper, just as she had with Rhessinda, praying with everything inside her that the golden glow wouldn’t
burst forth.
Because if it did, she was dead.
Her head ached from the effort, her stomach knotted painfully, her bones felt like they were melting, but when the king finally released her hand — Her skin looked exactly as it should.
Kiva’s relief was so intense that her knees wobbled, but she made herself return Stellan’s smile and say, “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”
The king waved a hand in the air. “Please, we don’t stand on ceremony in this family.” He leaned in, a twinkle in his eyes. “Especially among . . . friends.”
His gaze flicked from Kiva to Jaren, his emphasis prompting warmth to touch her cheeks. Gods, she hoped the Royal Council hadn’t spoken with Stellan, especially Councilwoman Zerra. Or Queen Ariana, since she’d also heard every word down in the tunnels. If one of them began another conversation about intentions at dinner, Kiva might very well die of embarrassment.
“Why don’t you sit by me,” Stellan said, pulling the chair out for her. “I want to hear all about the extraordinary young woman who survived a decade in —”
“I was thinking we could tell Kiva and Tipp more about our family,”
Jaren cut in smoothly. “Share some stories, let them get to know us a little better.”
Kiva sent him a grateful look, knowing he’d sensed her growing tension and had swiftly intervened.
“Family stories?” Caldon spoke up from where he sat next to Mirryn, a devious grin stretching across his face. He raised his goblet and tipped it toward Kiva. “You’re in for a treat, Sunshine. I have dirt on everyone at this table. Prepare to be entertained.”
“Caldon, dearest, I don’t think —” Ariana started, but was interrupted by the arrival of Naari and Captain Veris.
Kiva’s heart gave a panicked thump as she again feared that someone had discovered her true outing that day, but then she saw that the guard and captain were in casual clothes, their stances relaxed.
“Sorry we’re late,” Naari said, taking the empty seat beside Caldon. “We were working drills with some of the new recruits.”
“How’re they looking?” Stellan asked.
Jaren nudged the stiff Kiva into the seat the king was still holding out for
her. Once she was settled, he sat to her right, his father reclaimed the spot angled at the head of the table to her left, and — Captain Veris took the seat directly opposite her.
Nerves prickled Kiva as the captain gave a quick nod — of greeting?
Respect? She wasn’t sure. She made herself take a deep breath, calling to mind everything Jaren had said during the council meeting, how Veris remembered her from ten years ago, but Caldon hadn’t discovered anything incriminating in his investigation. To them she was only Kiva Meridan — her true identity remained safe.
“It’s a cocky lot this year,” the captain answered the king. “They’re good, and they know it. But we’ll whip them into shape.”
Kiva must have made an alarmed sound, because as everyone started to fill their plates, Jaren leaned in and said, “He’s talking figuratively. We don’t whip our guards.”
“No, we just make them run training drills over and over until their eyes bleed from sheer boredom,” Caldon said dryly, buttering a slice of bread.
“What are the three qualities that make a good Royal Guard?” Veris asked, looking around Naari at Caldon, his salt-and-pepper hair shining under the luminium chandelier.
“Oh, dear gods,” the rakish prince murmured, reaching for his wine. “I’m going to need something much stronger than this.”
“Discipline,” Veris said, ticking off his fingers. “Discipline. And discipline.”
“That’s only one thing,” Caldon said. “As I keep telling you. Every time you say it.”
“Maybe one day you’ll remember what it means,” Veris shot back.
“At least I can count to three,” Caldon mumbled, refilling his drink and gulping more down.
“All right, children, no fighting on family night,” Queen Ariana chided, though her eyes danced as she looked between Caldon and Veris, the latter of whom was older than she and therefore hardly considered a child.
But Kiva was stuck on the words she’d used.
Family night.
Feeling queasy, she reached for her own goblet, a light sniff revealing it to be mulled apple juice. She took a large sip just as Oriel bounced in his seat
and turned to the captain.
“Uncle Veris —”
Kiva nearly spat out her juice.
“— Mother says I can start training with you when I turn twelve. Can Tipp join us?”
“I don’t see why not,” Veris answered, spearing some beans with his fork. “As long as you both take it seriously.”
“We will,” Oriel said, with Tipp nodding eagerly beside him.
Kiva, however, couldn’t keep from looking at Veris and wheezing out, “Uncle?”
The captain’s brown eyes lit with humor, making it clear he hadn’t missed her shocked reaction. “Not by blood.”
“Veris and I grew up together,” King Stellan told Kiva, passing her a bowl of roasted potatoes. “My parents died from river fever when I was young, so Veris and his family took me in. When he became a recruit with the Royal Guard, he invited me to his graduation ceremony, and that’s where I met the love of my life.”
The queen blushed — blushed! — at the way Stellan looked at her, before taking up the story, “My parents weren’t thrilled that I was being courted by a young man without title or rank. And an orphan, no less. Veris had to get creative in helping us sneak out to see each other. If not for him, who knows where we might all be today?”
“Ari’s parents eventually realized what a catch I was,” Stellan told Kiva with a satisfied smile. “And we lived happily ever after.”
The words settled heavily in the room. Tipp and Oriel were oblivious, stuffing their faces and giggling as they snuck scraps to Flox beneath the table. But everyone else . . .
They knew the king was sick, that his happily ever after was coming to an end.
Clearing her throat, Kiva acted as if she couldn’t feel the sadness that had come over the table. “That’s a lovely story,” she said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Caldon said with mock disgust. He speared some glazed pork and pointed it at Kiva. “But I promised you entertainment. So it’s my turn to share a tale now, and I know just the one.”
Caldon, Kiva was quickly realizing, wasn’t just a pain in the ass. He was a smart pain in the ass. He’d read the room, sensed the mood, and understood that something was needed to lighten the atmosphere. She wondered how often he did it, his attention-seeking used as a means to distract his family when they needed it most.
She considered it further as she ate her meal, listening to him recount the details of a diplomatic trip he and Jaren had taken to the desert kingdom of Hadris in the far west of Wenderall. The moment he’d begun his story, Jaren had groaned quietly and begun shoveling food into his mouth, avoiding Kiva’s eyes. She knew why when Caldon came to the end of his wild tale.
“. . . and of course he had no idea I’d spiked his drink, but if anyone needed to get sloshed after fourteen straight hours of fending off arranged marriages, it was our Jaren. How was I supposed to know he wouldn’t sleep it off like a normal person, but instead he’d go running into the Midnight Markets and dance until dawn?”
“It didn’t happen quite like that,” Jaren said dryly. “And as I recall, I wasn’t the only one who went to those markets.”
Caldon didn’t seem to hear him. “They still call you the Pantsless Prince to this very day,” he said, grinning widely.
“It’s better than what they call you, cousin,” Mirryn cut in, a smirk on her
face.
Kiva looked at Caldon. “What do they —”
“Nothing!” he said quickly. Stuffing his mouth with carrots, he repeated, “Absolutely nothing!” Only it came out more as, “Abforooty nuffingk!”
The look he shot both Jaren and Mirryn made it clear there would be consequences if they dared to answer.
Deciding to play nice, the princess launched into a new story, one from when she, Jaren, and Caldon were children. The three of them had snuck out of the palace one night, having overheard a diplomat from Nerine talking about visiting a Red House before traveling back to his kingdom. In their innocence, they’d assumed he’d meant a literal redcolored house, and so they’d followed him to the docks. What they’d seen — “We were grounded for a month,” Mirryn shared. “But not because we snuck out — because of how embarrassed Nerine’s royal ambassador was when he found us in all our wide-eyed horror and had to return us to our parents. I’ll never forget how red his cheeks were when he stammered about how important it was for him to experience all the hidden depths of our culture.”
“He definitely wanted to explore hidden depths, but we all know he didn’t give a damn about culture,” Caldon murmured into his goblet.
“Caldon,” Ariana scolded.
“As if you weren’t thinking it, Aunt.”
The queen didn’t comment, instead breaking off some bread and dipping it in oil. “Who has another story? Perhaps one that doesn’t involve humiliation?”
“Humiliating stories are the best, though,” Caldon said, reclining in his chair.
Mirryn seemed to agree, since she returned his devious look and asked, “Do you remember Jaren being accosted by those courtiers when we stayed at the palace in Lyras?”
Jaren made a distressed sound. “Someone kill me. Right now.”
The princess grinned wickedly and went on to share about a fanatic group of men and women who refused to so much as let Jaren feed himself while he was in their kingdom.
“It’s an offense to say no to Valornian hospitality,” Mirryn told Kiva with clear mirth. “Poor Jaren is adored just a little too much by our western allies.”
Kiva snickered along with everyone else, even as she heard Jaren’s quiet sigh. When she glanced at him, his eyes were lit with self-deprecating humor, telling her that no matter how embarrassed he might be, he wasn’t going to ruin his family’s fun.
However, after everyone else started jumping in with their own memories, he finally reached a breaking point.
“How did I not know about that one?” Caldon asked, roaring with laughter at the tale Oriel had just shared, involving a seaside vacation and a kindly old woman who had been convinced Jaren was her long-lost grandchild.
“Maybe it’s so I could avoid delightful moments like this,” Jaren returned. He looked around the table. “Please, for the love of the gods, someone share something that doesn’t involve me.”
“I have a story,” Captain Veris said, pushing his empty plate away. “It’s about a tenacious teenager who escaped from a Jiirvan arena, crossed the Forsaken Lands with nothing but the swords on her back, navigated the deadly underground streets of Ersa, then finally stowed away on an Evalonian vessel returning to Vallenia.” He sent a fatherly wink to Naari.
“All of that, you already know. But I’ve never shared what happened immediately after I found this one” — he jerked his thumb at the guard — “spewing over the side of the ship.”
Veris launched into a boisterous tale about how he’d first met Naari, and how she’d convinced him to take her under his wing rather than toss her to
the sharks.
His detailed account had the royals laughing and Naari rolling her eyes, but Kiva only half-listened, unable to shake what Veris had said in his introduction.
Naari had fought in one of Jiirva’s notorious arenas.
Kiva had heard rumors about them, enough to know that while they weren’t always a death sentence like Zalindov, anyone sent to an arena came out as one of two types of people: a warrior . . . or a corpse.
Not only that, but Naari had escaped — and then crossed the Forsaken Lands alone.
Kiva had already respected the guard for all that she’d overcome in her short life — not the least of which was losing her hand after protecting Jaren from an attack — but now Kiva’s esteem for the young woman grew
considerably.
As did her concern.
Naari would die before she let anything happen to Jaren. Not just because it was her job to protect him, but also because her being there tonight — at a family dinner — meant she wasn’t just a guard to the royals, Golden Shield or not. If she sensed even a hint of betrayal, Kiva knew Naari wouldn’t hesitate to end her, no matter what bond had grown between them.
Her food settling uncomfortably in her stomach, Kiva tuned back in to the conversation just as Naari took over from Veris, sharing a part of the story that left him chuckling with embarrassment and denying every word. The king piped up with gleeful confirmation, adding his own details, causing the table to laugh anew.
And from there, they continued. Each of them sharing moments from their lives, sometimes joyous, sometimes humiliating, sometimes simply revealing parts of their histories, doing exactly what Jaren had requested upon their arrival in the room — letting Kiva and Tipp get to know them.
With each new story, Kiva died a little more on the inside. Outwardly, she smiled along with everyone else, but inwardly, she couldn’t stand what was happening.
The Vallentis family was just so normal.
But not just normal — they loved each other, so deeply. It was evident in every word they spoke, in every glance they shared, in every comedic insult and every soothing compliment.
And it wasn’t just the royals. They behaved the same toward Veris and
Naari — hell, even toward Kiva and Tipp. Everything about them promoted inclusivity, acceptance, and such a tender affection that Kiva felt as if a vise were squeezing her chest.
I’m tired of seeing good people suffer for a cause I’m not even sure I believe in.
Torell’s weary voice returned to Kiva, his statement resonating so
strongly in her.
And then she heard Jaren’s voice.
You’re perfect, just as you are.
She wasn’t, though.
She was so far from perfect, and one day soon, he would know.
And he would hate her.
The thought left Kiva struggling to draw air into her lungs, but she made herself continue to smile as he and his family went out of their way to make sure she and Tipp felt included.
Kiva had never hated herself more than she did that night — and she knew the feeling wasn’t going to leave her anytime soon.
Perhaps never.
