Which is political-speak for “occupy and slowly take over a kingdom so weak and indebted that they have no chance of fighting back.”
Theron’s jaw tightens. “I know.”
“Your father’s coming to Jannuari for the ceremony at the end of the week, isn’t he?”
He reads my meaning. “The Autumnian royals will be here as well. You shouldn’t confront my father with them present.”
“Cordell is as involved with Autumn as they are with Winter. Their king probably wants to force Noam out as much as I do.”
Theron winces, and I realize too late how callous my words were. Noam is still Theron’s father and his king, and no matter how tight my chest gets whenever Noam issues a new order . . . we need Cordell. Without Noam’s aid, we would have no army—the Winterians’ physiques have just started to go from emaciated to healthy, and as such they’ve only recently become able to train at all. Without Cordell, we would have no supplies, since Winter has no trade reestablished, and what crops we can grow in our frozen kingdom—thanks to my magic—are still freshly seeded and won’t yield for months yet, even with the extra boost from Winter’s conduit.
So I have no choice but to obey Noam’s demands, because we are so indebted to him that sometimes I can’t believe I’m not wearing Cordellan colors yet too.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll open this mine. I’ll bring Noam and Autumn payment due for their part in Winter’s salvation, but the moment the ceremony ends—”
What do I plan to do after the ceremony? Because that’s all it is, a ceremony—a pretty performance to thank Autumn and Cordell for their aid in freeing Winter from Spring. We’ll pay them with what goods we’ve mined, but it won’t even be a fraction of what we owe. We’ll be in the same situation after the ceremony as we are now: at Cordell’s mercy.
That’s why I’ve spent so much of the past three months trying to convince Dendera that queens can carry weapons. That’s why I found my chakram and staged this moment of normalcy—because even though we have Winter back, I feel exactly the same as I did when Spring owned our kingdom. Enslaved at another kingdom’s mercy. Albeit with less immediate threat, which is the only reason I’ve tolerated Noam for as long as I have. My people don’t see Cordell’s presence as oppressive—they see aid.
Theron reaches for me, but I’m still holding my chakram, so he settles for only one of my hands, yanking me out of my worrying. He isn’t just a delegate from Cordell; he isn’t just his father’s son. He’s also a boy who looks at me with wanting, the same look he gave me in the dark halls of Angra’s palace before he kissed me—a look he’s given me a dozen times in the last three months.
My breath catches. He doesn’t kiss me now, though, and I can’t decide if I want him to—if it would be because I want comfort, distraction, or him.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “But we have to keep trying—and the work is good for Winter. If anything, your kingdom will benefit from these resources too. I hate that he’s right, but we need—”
“Noam doesn’t need Winter,” I cut him off. “He wants Winter—he wants access to the chasm of magic. Why would you say he’s right?” I hesitate. “Do you agree with him?”
Theron rocks closer, a cloud of lavender from the scented soap he uses drifting off his body. He moves his hands to my arms, the sleeves of his jacket tugging up, revealing his wrists and their jagged pink scars. Guilt leaves a vile tang in my mouth.
He got those scars while trying to rescue me.
Theron follows my gaze to his bare wrists. He jerks away, pulling down his sleeves.
I swallow. I should say something about it: his scars, his reaction. But he always changes the subject before I—
“I don’t think he’s entirely right,” Theron stammers, steering the conversation back on course, though I don’t miss how he keeps one hand on his sleeve, pressing the fabric to his wrist. “Not in how he’s going about it, at least. Winter needs support, which Cordell can give. And if we find the magic chasm, we’ll all be in a better place.”
His eyes hold mine, wordlessly pleading with me to carry on like normal.
I relent. For now. “And how should Noam go about getting recompense for his aid?”
But as soon as I ask the question, I know the answer, and my body flares with a wave of desire that makes me rock toward him.
Theron leans forward. “I want my father to reinstate our engagement.” His words are no louder than the snowflakes that drop around us. “If our kingdoms were joined, it wouldn’t be one dominating the other, one indebted to the other—we’d be united, powerful.” He pauses, exhaling a cloud of condensation. “Protected.”
Icy tingles shoot down my body, conflicting with the parts of me that know Theron and I aren’t destined for what we once were. Noam dissolved our engagement because he saw Winter’s debt to Cordell as a sufficient link between our two kingdoms—and maybe a little bit because he felt cheated by Sir for setting up a marriage between his son and a girl who should have been a Winterian pawn, not the Winterian queen.
Noam wants our mines; he wants access to the lost chasm of magic. He knows he’ll have them, thanks to our dependency on him. And honestly, I’m a little relieved to not have to worry about being married now.
But Theron has made it quite clear, many times, that he isn’t pleased with Noam’s decision. And despite the fact that Theron and I are no longer betrothed, nothing’s changed between us. He still takes my hand when I’m nervous and says things that make me dissolve.