XI

Milk clouds billowed in her black tea as Sabina stirred her dainty painted cup with her ornamental teaspoon. An invitation to the tea room of Domitia Orlovia was a sacred occasion, as chastely guarded as one’s underskirts. The decorous ladies’ lounge was intended as a sanctuary, a place of refuge, where one could loosen her lips as well as her guard amongst the safety of her fellow occasselle. For no male would be granted entry past the threshold.

As a high-ranking matriarch of seven (once eight) sons, Domitia enjoyed access to many privileges, such as her imposing estate, which had been built and rebuilt with every maternal contribution. She managed multiple properties, received grants for higher education, and was considered first in line for many prestigious roles in judicial and political matters and education of the youth.

Such preferential treatment was one that occasselle still unranked could only dream of attaining, and Domitia wore the gold medal fastened to her breast with pride in the knowledge that she would be forever heralded as the pinnacle of occasselle achievement—pampered, wealthy, and fertile. As triumphant in childbed as an occasso was in battle.

Today’s topic of interest pertained to the betrothal of Domitia’s grandson, Caius, to Elvira Snegia. Always eager for the opportunity to expand her brood, Domitia had Elvira brandish her engagement carcanet for scrutiny—a strand of glimmering emeralds with one large square-cut gem bordered in a setting of diamonds.

The practice of engagement carcanets started as a warning to other occasso, a show of wealth and dominance: This one is now currently under the suitor’s eye. An occassella would thus be expected to flaunt her carcanet before others, and the less extravagant and ornamental, the less satisfying the suitor was perceived to be.

Sabina couldn’t possibly have found it more degrading. “It’s a beautiful collar, Elvira. Caius has done you well.”

“You see how large the emerald is?” Elvira protruded her chest to draw attention to the large gem. “Why, when I saw it first I feared I’d have to drag it across the floor!”

“He certainly knows how to choose a gem, my Caius,” Domitia said in approval, stirring her tea.

Thankfully, talk of wedding plans were soon disturbed when a servant announced a new arrival. “Her Radiance Princess Laila Rose, ma’am.”

Laila entered in a pink and white court dress overgrown with silver foliate embroidery. She looked like a daydream come to flesh. “Good day to you, ladies. Hope you don’t mind if I join.”

“Ah, princess!” Domitia smiled widely upon beholding her, her bright yellow eyes gleaming. “Please sit and make yourself comfortable. You are more than welcome.”

Laila bobbed her head in gratitude, gliding with swanlike grace to the table.

The occasselle regarded her with a gaze nothing short of carnivorous. To them, she was but a prime cut of meat in silk stockings, and they were eager to devour.

“I must say, I have been most eager to find myself among fairer company,” Laila said, waiting for her tea to be served before she took a sip. “I find the boy’s club in the Citadel to be rather, well… brusque, for my liking.”

“Certainly.” Domitia rolled her eyes in understanding. “Spend enough time in the company of our coarser counterparts and you’ll find everything to be a competition with them.”

“Well, I don’t mind a little friendly sportsmanship. Emphasis on friendly.” Laila chuckled, helping herself to a slice of hazelnut and chocolate torte. “Though that brings me to why I’m here: I intend to put together a welcoming committee for occassi relations in each country of Vysteria so that they may dedicate themselves to the specific struggles your race may encounter there. I have noticed that the largest represented group of immigrants happens to be adult females, so I thought, perhaps, some of you would be interested in signing up.”

This garnered an unexpected silence, broken only by a burst of laughter from Sabina.

“Don’t hope for too many hands, princess. I fear the occassi couldn’t bear to release another one of their precious wives for the cause.”

“Sabina!” Domitia hissed at her. She turned back to the princess with a smile. “I don’t see why some of our higher-ranked medallists can’t be considered. If anything, it might be good for them to talk, see how they’re… getting on.” Her smile tightened. “In any case, we shall certainly broach the topic with our husbands.”

Laila’s brow raised at this. Marriage was not a common practice in Vysteria at large. A couple would have unions at most, but not the authoritative institution spoken of here. “Well, it is a position that would require travel. I can imagine this is something a couple would wish to discuss.”

Sabina snorted dismissively and then grimaced in defence when another pointed gaze was aimed her way. “Oh, I’m sure we all know discussion is the furthest thing from what was being alluded to here.”

“Sabina!” Domitia’s nostrils flared in rage. “Honestly, your tongue hasn’t half roughened since you’ve been mingling with the enforcers. It’s a wonder I even accept you here. You won’t even dress properly for the event. Would it have pained you to look a lady for once?” Her yellow eyes roamed derisively over Sabina’s choice of ensemble, which consisted of a plum kaftan and tight breeches.

Laila could hardly understand the issue. The attire complemented Sabina’s powerfully built physique and the deep carmine of her hair.

“A dress would restrict my movements, ma’am,” Sabina murmured, eyes downcast. “I need to be prepared for action.”

“Yes, well, you ought to be thankful that the rex managed to find you an alternate purpose, considering your unfortunate disposition,” Domitia responded as she helped herself to a sip of poppy milk. “In my youth, the best a barren girl could hope for was the convent or becoming a midwife, neither of which would suit someone of your temperament. You always were wilful, and we all know what happens to wilful girls don’t we, Sabina?”

The occasselle understood well enough, a subliminal message transmitted through shared glances. Delanus had shown Sabina once what the penalty had been for being deemed too unruly. The gap-toothed smiles and raw finger stumps that blemished the bodies of some in this very room, though they subconsciously sought to conceal them. Their existence remained a breathing relic of a reluctantly forbidden punishment.

Only good wives and daughters got to keep the use of their claws and fangs, their predacious arsenal. So keep them nice and sheathed, and don’t talk out of turn to the one who fills your bowl and tightens your leash, lest you find yourself disarmed too.

Sabina recalled another time, in the tea room before this one, when she had snuck in some polugar to spike her tea and became even more generous with her audacious outbursts: Sometimes I wonder why it is we never keep any pets. And then it occurred to me. We’re the pets.

“Speaking of dresses,” Laila asserted, eager to fragment the stiff barricade of silence encasing them. “I have also come to present to you an invitation to my bal masqué, which, with Darius Rex’s permission, I have chosen to host in the Citadel so that we might have an event of cultural sharing, of lowering the barriers a bit. Mortos has so much to offer that isn’t gloom and bad weather, and I feel the rest of Vysteria is missing it. Hopefully, this ball can be an opportunity to show the world how rich and full of history and art your country is.” She gestured for a server to come over with a silver platter, which presented, of all things, an oyster shell.

Domitia handled it with scrutiny, while her fellow occasselle began to hover with increased interest. She cracked open the shell to reveal a fine pink pearl seated on a tiny cushion of velvet. Scrawled in elegant script on the interior of the shell was a message: Drop pearl in water.

Domitia allowed herself a curious pause before she did as commanded, dropping the pearl in a nearby glass. The occasselle observed with a coo as the pearl dissolved in the liquid, ejecting a gaseous pink vapour that squiggled the details for the upcoming event in ornate script before it dispersed and embroidered itself onto the cushion.

“I have chosen an underwater theme to coincide with your national holiday of the Hexacost,” Laila said. It had come to her in a fever-induced delirium after she had awoken from a vivid dream. She couldn’t think of a better way to unite the carefree tropics of midsummer with the dark depths of occassi origins. “I will also be hosting a charity auction.”

“Well, I assume we are all going,” announced Domitia in the graceful, stately way she often did when making proclamations rather than requests. “A prime opportunity to present oneself at court, I’m sure. The rex keeps himself so secluded even in public events, one would think him a spectre.”

“Let’s also hope all the rumours circulating about his preference for male company are just hearsay,” Elvira said, causing Sabina to suppress a laugh. “It would be a shame. He is a handsome fellow, our rex. He should share his beauty plentifully with his children.”

The mention of marriage and children in reference to another caused Laila’s chest to flare. Finding Katerina practically in his bed had been insulting enough, but now to be faced with discussions of his hypothetical bride brought another sting of envy into Laila’s veins—a potent venom for how foreign to her it was.

“Well, my father won’t be content until he has one of us labouring to produce the next heir to the kingdom.” Sabina shook her head in scorn and, with a touch too much force, clenched her teacup. “At least the rex is merciful enough not to wear his bride to death for a son.” The porcelain crackled.

“Sabina!” Domitia snapped, and like a curse, she turned all the occupants in the room to stone. No one dared move or breathe, least of all the culprit who broke the tentatively held assurance—refuge from the world of the occassi so long as you submitted to Domitia’s dominion instead.

Before the younger of the two had the chance to atone for her misgivings, the matriarch had already peeled off her delicate lace gloves. “You know the penalty, Sabina.” And it was with such a sad little sigh that she moved towards her. “Fingers.”

Sabina grit her teeth so hard her jaw flexed, but submit her hand she did. Every long, lithe digit with its short oval nail filed.

It always hurt her more than it hurts them—that was what Domitia always insisted. She curled one digit around Sabina’s own and bent it until it broke.

The dry crunch and the pained hiss that followed were sounds Laila would never forget. Her eyes and ears became enthralled to it, and she was unable to turn away. With each methodical fracture, Laila’s own fingers curled into the tablecloth until she realised her nails were audibly grazing the fabric.

By the end of it, Sabina’s digits had curved so backwards they were practically touching her wrist. She repaired them with a skeletal hex, choking back gasps.

Domitia tutted as she returned to her seat, rolling her lace gloves all the way down to the frilled hem at the wrist. “You know I don’t like having to do that to you girls. But remember, all that I do to you I do with love. This is a cursed world, and we are demons. If you can’t learn to take a lashing or two from me, you can forget about ever making it through your marriages.”

With a noisy scuffle of her chair across the floorboards, Sabina fled the room.

Laila dash her napkin across the table, then pursued Sabina. “Are you all right?”

Sabina had already transformed to her usual unblemished arrogance as she held up her hand to reveal her freshly healed fingers.

“All better,” Sabina said with a grin that was more teeth than mirth.

Seeing how blasé she was in the face of Domitia’s violence only served to enlarge Laila’s concern. She recognised it too easily in herself. This was not the first time Sabina had suffered at Domitia’s hand, nor would it likely be the last.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you,” Laila said. “It’s not right.”

Sabina merely sniffed in derision. “Domina Orlovia can do what she pleases. This is her stage, and we’re her puppets. She’s always had it out for me from the beginning, and everyone knows it.”

“Then why come here?” Laila asked, aggrieved. “You are an enforcer, are you not? Surely—”

“That’s the thing.” Sabina released a harsh bark of laughter. “I don’t belong here, but I don’t belong there either. Not truly.”

Laila’s heart sank. “Perhaps you and I can not belong together.”

Sabina sniggered, but she found herself appreciating the sentiment. “Perhaps.”

Laila smiled at her in affirmation. “I have to go now. They’ll be expecting me.” But still, she couldn’t bring herself to turn until she asked, “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Always am, dear,” Sabina assured her, lips slightly crooked into that ever-poised smirk.

Laila tossed and turned that night in yet another fitful sleep. Her mind was churning away with all she’d seen and heard at the tea rooms, the implications held within. The cacophony in her mind was soon joined by spectres. She could hear them in the walls, screeching against the glass with jagged nails that couldn’t be explained by branches.

She accepted defeat on her quest for sleep and rose, her pink silk chiffon nightgown falling to her ankles. She rang the bell for a maid and requested a glass of warm goat’s milk and honey to soothe her.

Straightening her silk ribbon sash, she decided to comb her hair and oil her scalp at the vanity to give herself something to do. She opened her vanity kit and picked up her ornate silver comb from the silk-covered case, then her bottle of gardenia-infused coconut oil. She let her hair down from its pineapple bun and was detangling the knots from her curls when her milk arrived. She accepted it with a smile and took a lavish swallow, then returned to the task of her hair.

She didn’t make it long undisturbed before Sabina entered.

“You have a visitor.”

Laila frowned into the mirror, wondering who would call at this hour. “Who is it?”

“Darius Rex.”

Her hand halted, just briefly. Then she resumed.

“I can send him away if you’d like,” Sabina said.

Tempting as the offer might be, Laila was far too curious to do so.

“Let him through.” Laila grimaced as she encountered a stubborn knot caught in the comb’s ivory teeth.

Darius entered the room, gazing at her through the mirror. He had his head slightly bent in contrition, running his fingers down his aquiline nose.

“Rather unfashionable hour to call upon me,” Laila said, still wrestling with the comb.

“Caught one of the maids with a glass of milk and figured you must be having trouble sleeping too.” He leaned to one side with a hand on his hip, thigh showing through the slit in his kaftan. “About the other night—”

“You need not explain yourself to me, Darius Rex,” Laila interrupted before he could continue. “Who you choose to keep you company in your bedchambers is hardly my business.” She dragged her comb through until the knot came free, and she muttered a sound of pain under her breath.

“Let me help you with that.” Darius moved towards her, hand outstretched for the comb.

Her eyes met his through the vanity mirror. There were a fair few she would trust with her hair in this manner, but seeing him so desperate to be back in her good graces made her want to make full use of it. She removed the clumps of hair from the comb and handed it to him.

Darius accepted the comb and continued where she left off, his touch firm yet gentle. “In any case, there’s nothing going on between Katerina and me, if that’s what you thought. There might have been at one point… but that’s long over now.”

Laila had to wonder how someone he was ‘long over’ ended up in his bed. Unwilling to concede her agitation, she gestured towards her hair. “You can part my hair into four sections. You’ll need to lubricate from scalp to end.” She demonstrated first with her fingers and left him to do the rest. “Why does it matter to you what I think?”

“Because I haven’t seen you at all since the encounter and I didn’t want you to be left with the wrong impression.” Darius parted her hair and oiled his fingers, gliding them along her scalp to the ends. His touch made her feel languid, arching her towards him like a cat.

Laila found herself wanting to close her eyes, but she resisted. “Well, it matters not to me whose company you keep. As I’ve said.”

“Of course.” He ran the comb through her hair with more ease due to the oil, her curls glistening and slick. A silence fell between them that was only disturbed by each rhythmic scrape of the comb’s teeth.

“The first night I came here you were pouring sweet words in my ear like wine, saying you’d been waiting for me. Longing for me.” She took an affected husky tone in mockery of his speech. “Was that true or an attempt to lower my guard?”

“Why do you suppose it was a lie?”

“Because you know full well that if my judgement is clouded by you I’m a lot easier for you to manoeuvre.”

Darius hmphed in amusement. “I wasn’t lying, Laila.”

She hated the way he could say her name like it was melting on his tongue.

Laila looked in the mirror and saw his eyes on her. She wanted to not believe him. And yet with a few words, a look, she knew she already halfway did. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

With such sheer adoration she had to wonder if she’d never left the sky.

“I visited the tearoom of Domitia Orlovia today,” Laila said, needing something, anything, to change the subject.

Darius’s mouth inched up wryly. “And how did that go?”

“I have to wonder if there’s any section of your society that doesn’t resolve conflicts with violence.”

He chuckled, smooth as cream to her ears. It felt good to hear him laugh again. “You let me know if you find one.”

She smothered her smile in her glass of milk. “I’ve also met your Eagle Eye.”

“Ah, yes. Sabina. Delanus’s child.” Darius shook his head in amusement. “She showed great promise when she was young and so I took her under my wing. Most unusual, considering her sex, but I believe there should be no barriers to achieving excellence.”

“I never thought you’d be one to have a soft spot for children,” Laila said, a tender smile blossoming on her lips.

“Well, I never imagined myself as one to care for a child until I met Sabina. She’s a truly remarkable creature. In truth, I saw myself in her. She’d been overlooked, barred from fulfilling her duty, and abandoned by her mother. But there was a potential there I saw fit to nurture. I’m very glad I did.”

Hearing the fondness in his voice only made her heart hurt. She wished he could’ve received better in his own youth than he’d gotten.

“I realised I… never asked about your mother,” Laila said hesitantly.

Darius flinched before he could stop it. Then he kept combing. What was there to say about her other than that she’d disposed of him? Not that Laila wouldn’t understand what it meant to crawl on the floor for the crumbs of an indifferent mother’s affections. Some things, however, were better left undisturbed.

“She was a non-presence. Better for me to describe her as a ghost.”

“You mean she died?” she assumed, sensing this was a topic of soreness.

He smiled. “Something like that.”

She stared at him in that tender, unfathomable way she often did. “You really didn’t have anyone, did you?”

Sometimes her words could cut him in the way no blade ever had. “You come to learn just how truly transient things are as an immortal. You become the still point at the turn of an axis and, in the end, you find that nothing matters. Family. Friendships. Love. It all fades.”

Laila couldn’t help but frown, wondering if perhaps one day what he felt for her would fade too. She took another drink of milk, finishing it.

He put down the comb and rested his hands upon her shoulders. “I believe you’re done.”

Laila ran her fingers through her oil-slicked hair before turning towards him. “I should probably try heading back to sleep.”

“Any reason you’re having trouble?”

“I’m still not used to the atmosphere of this place.” She fiddled with her fingers. “Before, when Lyra was here, I’d at least have someone to sleep with. That eased it somewhat.”

“I think I have something that might help you settle.”

“Oh?” Laila eyed him warily.

“You don’t trust me?” His lips bent into a playful curve.

“Not when you look at me with those eyes.”

“What eyes?” He feigned innocence, but the crevices in his cheeks seemed to deepen. “Just relax… I think you’ll like it.”

Laila exhaled petulantly in response before she did as he commanded.

Darius murmured a curse that dwindled the candles until they were hooded in lambency.

“What is it that requires us to be in dark lighting, Darius?” Her eyes became slits in suspicion.

“This.” Darius raised a hand towards the wall. A shadow rendered from it, growing animate and contorting into shapes that looked nothing like what it stemmed from. With expert puppeteering, he turned his shadows into the form of a princess inside a tower, locked away at the whims of a monster.

Laila stifled a squeal of delight, clapping as a play unfolded before her in cascading figures of darkness, not only in movement, but emitting sound too. There was something so innocent and unguarded about her enthusiasm that it made Darius take pleasure in entertaining her, too.

The story panned away from the tower to the trumpeting fanfare of the kingdom she’d been stolen from. There, a decree to rescue the princess was uttered by a knight, who mounted his braying horse, and rode through several trials of certain death to reach her.

When he did arrive, he waited patiently for three sunrises and three sunsets for the monster to go on a hunt for food, before silently tiptoeing his way into the tower to wake the slumbering princess. He took her hand, urging her to rise from the bed, but as he took her into his arms the princess screamed, cried, and struggled. She didn’t want to be saved.

Upon hearing her pleas, the monster returned and slaughtered the knight on the spot, spraying blood and viscera from his felled body. The extent of the violence made Laila clutch her arms with a gasp as the monster hacked off the head of the knight to mount on his wall, along with many others, before returning to the tower to make a meal of his remains with the princess, where they lived forevermore.

“Rather gruesome end,” Laila couldn’t help but note.

“A horrifying love, to be certain, but it seemed to satisfy them regardless.” Darius turned to look at her, and she looked back. Their eyes locked for a moment. A lifetime. Enough for a wordless acknowledgement to transmit between their gazes.

“If I didn’t know any better I would think you were trying to give me nightmares,” Laila teased, a much needed slice through the tension.

“Well, if you want, I could… stay.”

Her breath hitched at the offer, lips parting wordlessly.

Darius sensed the hesitation and dove to salvage it. “We wouldn’t have to… I mean. I wouldn’t touch you. We could just lie there…”

Laila couldn’t suppress her amusement at his flustered cheeks. How rare it was, to see the unshakeable shaken. “You expect me to believe you wouldn’t touch me?”

“Maybe I’d rest my arm around your waist.” He ran one of her curls between his fingers until it was straight and let it coil again. His thumb traced her shoulder.

“And what else would you do?”

“Maybe press my lips against here.” He brushed her hair to one side and touched the prominent knob of bone at the base of her neck. “Stroke my hand along your thigh.”

Laila got up from the chair to face him, lingering dangerously near. She was teetering far too close to the edge of the abyss and she knew it. She wanted to fall. She closed her eyes when he touched her hair, brushing it away from her cheek before he leaned near enough to tickle her lips with his breath.

“You can’t kiss me.”

She hated herself for saying it the moment the words were uttered. She opened her eyes to see Darius was still close, his lips mere inches from hers.

“Why not?” he asked.

“You know why not.”

He kept his lips hovering just out of reach as he spoke. “There’s only so many times you can turn me away before I stop coming back.”

Whether it was an empty threat was anyone’s guess, but it provoked the desired result when her throat shifted with a thick swallow.

“You need to go now, Darius.” She had brought up her wall of composure now and kept her gaze steady. “Don’t make me ask again.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do. Darius ached to close the distance between them, but her cold look melted his resolve and, reluctantly, he turned on his heel to leave.

Laila watched him go before throwing herself dramatically onto the bed. She picked up one of the pillows and smothered it over her face. It was going to be a long and painfully frustrating night.

The next morning, Laila travelled once more to the hinterlands with the aim of bringing news of the Culling’s abolishment. Upon entering the rural town, she went straight to the village of the qarna and requested a meeting with the village elder.

“You’ve returned, I see,” Anya said. “What is it this time?”

“First, I’d like to impart the news that the rex has decided to abolish the Culling.”

A ripple of gasps resounded at that.

“Your doing, I presume?” Anya asked. “That will be both a blessing and a curse to our kind.”

“I also have a countermeasure to your harvest issue. It is my intention to introduce a way to shelter crops from poor conditions and increase their survival.”

Whispers of awe and disbelief soon followed the declaration.

“How?” Anya asked, eyes narrowed.

“The method is called ætherglass.” Laila uncloaked her miniature terrarium, where, inside, a small cutting of strawberries bloomed. “It attracts sunlight and seals it within, allowing for crops to be grown year round without the aid of blood magic.”

“But this is—” Anya moistened her lips in uncertainty. “Your Radiance, if what you say is true, the blood sorceresses shall surely revolt! And if you anger Serafina Blackwood…”

A violent hush spread over the gathering the instant the name was uttered. As if they feared in speaking it she would be summoned.

“You allow me to worry about that.” Laila’s mouth set with determination. “This is a gift I wish to share with you. As creatures of chaos, occassi cannot craft this kind of object. Therefore, they cannot control it.” She stood up from the log and placed her hand beneath a golden ray of sunlight. “Aether can be found everywhere, even here in Mortos.” She used her power to enhance the tiny dancing particles of charged energy, making them visible to the naked eye. “To attract it requires the glass to be heated a certain way, formed a certain way, coated a certain way. I will oversee the creation of the glass houses and ensure every qarna village has access to a communal garden. With more crops available, we can allow food to be doled out more fairly. For everyone.”

The words caused the qarna to glance amongst one another with a wary fear in their eyes. The unanswered question poised between their lips was clear—what would she want in return?

“All I ask is that you sign this petition.” Laila pulled out a parchment addressed to the Council. “With enough backing and noise from the common folk, the Council shall have to consider it.”

Anya scoffed. “I confess I have some trouble investing in your fanciful whims, princess, particularly when it comes to what the rex stands to gain from agreeing with such a plan. But if it puts food in the bellies of my kind, I care not what you celestials and monsters get up to in your castles.”

“You are the soul of the nation.” A smile spread across Laila’s lips, far more radiant than the streams of solar light surrounding them. “Without you, Mortos crumbles. Remember that. So, do I have your support?”

The qarna glanced among themselves before slowly, one by one, the fungus on their antlers spewed fragrant spores signalling their agreement.

Laila drew in a breath, enchanted by the sight, before exhaling a short delighted laugh.

However, her appreciation was cut mournfully short when the clomp of hippogriff hooves came bounding past the village gates. These were Darius’s enforcers coming in for a quick patrol, and they were antsy for conflict upon news of the Culling’s demise.

The qarna scattered the moment they heard them arrive, making themselves busy with their typical peasant fare of tending the fields and sweeping the doorsteps. They wouldn’t dare raise their heads to look at the uniformed brutes, even their antlers looked downcast in reverence.

“Well, well,” crooned one of the mounted soldiers. “Quite the gathering. What are you all up to? Getting ready to celebrate the extension of your miserable lives?”

“There is no celebration to be found here, sir.” Anya slowly unfurled her limbs to stand. “Nothing but a friendly gathering.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me.”

“Then check your eyes,” muttered a qarnun under his breath while he carried a bag of grain on his back.

The enforcer snapped his head instantly at the insult. “What was that, you ingrate?”

The qarnun staggered backwards, forgetting the occassi had keen hearing. “N-nothing…”

“I’ll teach you to watch that tongue of yours.” The enforcer shaped a length of shadow into a whip and raised it to strike.

“Stop!” Laila launched in his path before the whip could slash the qarnun’s mouth, and she took the blow full-on. It tore a clean cut through her cheek to her temple, spilling a rivulet of ichor. She stifled a cry of pain as her fingers went to touch the wound. “That’s quite enough!”

The enforcer’s eyes bulged. “Princess! I didn’t notice you were among them…”

“Now what is going on here?” Sabina swooped low on her hippogriff and landed with a thud. She took one glimpse of the scene and deduced what had unfolded with acuity. “Tut, tut, Maximus. I’d make yourself scarce for a while. That’s the rex’s honoured guest, and you’ve gone and marked up her pretty face.”

“I didn’t—” Maximus sputtered, the sinews in his neck protruding. “Fly home, Sabina. This isn’t ladies’ business.”

“I’ll lop off your bollocks, then, shall I? And then we can talk on equal footing.”

His comrades chortled, albeit nervously and quietly. It was clear Sabina outranked them, and it was even more clear they held her in contempt for it.

Laila added, “It is you who are out of bounds here, Maximus. Leave peacefully now. Or the rex will hear of this, for certain.”

To be dismissed so out of turn would, undoubtedly, cause him to lose face with the qarna. But he knew well he could not contest the princess. The solarites were the only creatures they had not conquered.

He bowed his head in surrender. “As you wish, Your Radiance.”

Laila could feel the imprint of his glare long after he left, but she suppressed her disquiet. She would let them see her as something superior and therefore untouchable—an entity of celestial perfection raised under the strict tutelage of the stars themselves. There was little she knew better than how to perform, after all.

With that, she turned her attention to Sabina. “Seems you always appear just in the nick of time to save me.” She smiled just enough to keep from wincing in pain.

Darius observed from the window as Sabina escorted Laila back to the courtyard on the back of her hippogriff.

His stare deepened when he saw the splotches of blood on her face and the gash that still had some ways to heal in spite of her supernatural gifts. It took every ounce of willpower not to storm out to her at once, wary as he was that she might not be receptive to his demonstration of protectiveness.

So he withheld, watching enviously as Laila embraced Sabina, fixated on the length with which she held her. How leisurely they draped their arms around each other. It was too intimate a scene, speaking loudly of an ease she no longer shared with him. To see her offer affection to another so brazenly in front of him struck deep.

At last, they separated, and Laila pattered up the steps into the castle, leaving Sabina behind to see to her hippogriff.

That was when Darius made his move down to the paddocks, approaching behind her and casting a long, black shadow. “Was that the princess you were just with?”

Sabina fed a mouse to her hippogriff. “Yes, she wanted me to escort her to the hinterlands. Why do you ask?”

“Her face.” Darius gestured to his cheek. “Who did that?”

Sabina hesitated before realisation dawned. “Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Maximus decided to get a little boisterous with the qarna today. They’re all on edge due to the Culling ending, I suppose. There was a brief altercation, which your lovely princess decided to get in the middle of.”

“Maximus.” Darius filed the name away into his mental bank, discarding anything else but that. “Thank you.” Satisfied with the knowledge, he turned on his heel to retreat.

“Why the interest?” Sabina called after him.

Darius clasped his hands behind his back. “Needed a name to enter into the chimera pits.”