Delia was lying on her back, staring up at the underside of the great tree. Everything was coated in a desperate, confusing haze. Not only from her unending tears, but from the conflicting emotions. She was full of misery one moment, knowing she’d never feel his kiss again, and then her mind attacked her heart for being so selfish, so childish.
So incredibly stupid.
Aidan had ignited a dormant resolution within her, a fresh perspective on her future—a hope for something more.
And when they’d kissed, a hidden universe exploded inside her body and heart.
Delia blinked and another row of fat tears trailed down the side of her face, one slipping into her ear. The wind picked up, moving the leaves. A blossom landed on her cheek. She left it there, her limbs too heavy to move. It seemed the earth was reaching up and claiming her body.
Bury me, she thought, for the only part of me worth living has died, but she knew she couldn’t stay much longer.
The back of her blouse was damp from the ground and she was certain her braid was full of blossoms, but she didn’t have the energy to shake the debris from herself.
On the ground she saw the clockwork bird. Most of her was numb, completely detached from the scene, like she was a spectator. Still, she took the tiny mechanism and carried it in her pocket.
As Delia took the route along the lake, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. Only one thought repeated inside her mind. I am lost. I am lost. I am lost.
She entered the palace and made her way up the main lift. No bodyguard to smuggle through this time, she thought desperately. Then a horrific idea occurred to her. She would have to ask her mother to fire Aidan. She would have to make up a story, of course. Regardless, there was no way Delia could ever face him again.
A fresh wave of hot tears threatened. Instead of her own chamber, she hurried to the one person she felt safe crying in front of.
Shania took one look at her sister and pulled her into her arms. She sat them down on her bed, the billowy coverlet eased around them. Delia thought she had cried out all her tears, but in her sister’s embrace a whole new level of heartbreak resurfaced and the tidal wave of sobs began.
“What’s wrong?” Shania asked, her voice panicked. “I haven’t seen you cry like this since … well, never.”
In between sniffs, Delia relayed the story of Aidan. Her sister’s eyes kept getting larger with each revelation until they took over her face. When Delia finished, she hiccuped and slumped against the pillow her sister had propped up for her.
“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Shania started. She went to the bedside table and picked up a plate of treats. She placed it beside Delia. “Here, have a honey cookie.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever eat again,” Delia whispered.
“Fair enough.” Shania took one and munched on it thoughtfully. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been flying around Astor with your secret bodyguard. Me? Absolutely. But this is so unlike you, Delia.”
“I know! He made me lose all reason!” Her face bunched up again. There were no more tears, but she made a miserable sound. “Being in love is horrible. I never want to feel like this again.”
Shania gasped. “That’s tragic! How can you say that? This is passion, Delia! This is what people go to war over.”
She blew her nose. “No,” she said into the tissue. “People go to war over land and energy.”
“But they do it for love! If no one loved anything this much, no one would care about living.”
“I cared about living before I met Ai—him.” Delia couldn’t even say his name out loud anymore. She groaned and sank back on the bed. “I’ll be honest, I was scared to pick a husband. I was scared to become a wife, I never had a notion of what it would feel like to be connected to a man in that way. But it was different with him, it happened without me even thinking about it.”
Shania reached for another cookie. “Are you sure he won’t reconsider? He seemed awfully wonderful, even with his black eye. Maybe throw in a lifetime supply of coconut cakes. Not that you aren’t tempting enough, but there is a chance he’s playing hard to get.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I broke his heart. You should have seen his face. I’m certain he hates me now.” Her stomach twisted.
There was a curious expression on Shania’s face. “What if … what if you marry him anyway?”
Delia snorted. “I can’t! Choosing him will solve none of our energy problems and will probably upset our major trading deals with Trellium and Delta Kur, not to mention Rexula and their precious plasma.” She put her face in her hands. “It’s no use. I am destined to fail somehow. I wish living with a broken heart was enough punishment, but I can’t even find a compelling reason to choose one man over the other.”
Picking up her infoscreen, Shania brought up her list. “All right. If I can’t cure your broken heart, at least we can help you pick the best husband. You know everything about them, correct? So, let’s get this done and start planning your wedding. I know you can’t imagine ever being happy again, but trust me when I tell you, if Aidan—yes, you need to start hearing his name—if your connection is as strong as you think, he will come back to you.”
“Really?” she whispered.
“Yes,” she said, nodding smartly. “But in the meantime, you need to get engaged. It’s quite exciting actually. Did you know the top three princes are neck and neck in the standings?”
Delia studied her sister. “Please don’t tell me you’ve placed a bet.”
“I’ll never tell.” Then she cleared her throat. “But let’s focus on listing their pros and cons. Fire away.”
Sitting up, Delia picked a cookie and tried to clear her mind. “Prince Oskar has the least to offer, and is oddly distracted whenever we speak. But in a weird way he’s the one I’m most comfortable around.”
“I can’t believe you’re not even mentioning how amazing his physique is.” Shania rolled her eyes. “Just imagine being the one to massage those shoulders every night.” She sighed and looked off into the distance.
“Prince Hagar seems kind, but other than fish and shells I don’t see him able to make things better on Astor.”
Shania tapped the infoscreen. “And the twins?” she asked, not bothering to keep the mischievous tone from her voice.
“Have you ever seen them apart? I haven’t. I think I’d have to marry both of them or they’d cease to thrive.”
“Interesting.” Shania’s gaze glazed over, and she nearly dropped the infoscreen.
Delia snapped a finger in front of her sister’s face. “Moving on, Prince Quinton has plasma, but he’s made it clear he will have a lover on the side and that if we want children, I will have to find a lover of my own.”
“Okay, so a strong maybe for him.”
Delia sighed. “Then there’s Prince Felix. He brings a military force, and he’s also declared that he’s ready to start adding to the royal family.”
“And don’t forget that backside,” Shania added. “So a definite yes for him.”
“I suppose,” Delia replied dryly. She couldn’t imagine herself with anyone but Aidan at this point. “Maybe I’ll just marry Prince Armano and let the world implode.”
Shania snorted out a laugh. “Life in the palace would be interesting. He’d want there to be parties every night!”
“We would have to have separate bedrooms, because his clothes and wigs would take up too much room.” Then she laughed, and it surprised her how good it made her feel.
“Did I tell you he read my palm?” Shania asked, her eyes full of mischief. “I’m about to meet my true love, but he will be the man I least expect.”
“Seems to be his favorite fortune,” Delia sighed. “He told me my true love was close by…” Then her voice dropped off, because in a way Prince Armano had been right. The stabbing pain came back. Delia curled up and hugged her arms.
“Dear sister.” Shania put a hand on her shoulder. “It won’t hurt this bad forever.”
There was a loud rap at the door. Both women bolted upright. Shania said it first. “Maybe it’s Aidan! Maybe he’s changed his mind!” She rushed to the bedroom door.
Delia busily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She patted her braid a few times as she followed her sister, a prayer running on repeat inside her mind.
The door opened and Colonel Yashin’s substantial silhouette filled the doorway. He was a formidable figure with a posture built up by years of victories and a strict military lifestyle, but his stance seemed to slacken as he took in the sisters’ image. His eyes were red and panicked.
“Princesses,” he said, with a panic to his deep voice. “Your presence is required immediately.” The muscles on the side of his face were taut. “It’s the queen,” he said. “She’s dying.”
The air in Queen Talia’s bedchamber was thick with incense. The shaman was hunched over a smoking pot. With a ceremonial feather, he waved the scented air toward the queen. Her breath was labored, the rising and falling of her chest erratic.
Delia and Shania paused at the doorway. Dropping to her right knee, Delia addressed her mother, then stood. “My queen.”
Forgetting proper etiquette, Shania ran forward, then crouched at the head of her mother’s bed.
Colonel Yashin waited at attention, a Queen’s Guard to the end. Advisor Winchell stood nearby. She watched Delia approach with a grim expression, heavy with grief.
Kneeling next to her sister, Delia studied her mother’s face. How had she not put the pieces together before? The grayness under her skin? The dark circles under her eyes? The fatigue, even first thing in the morning?
The queen stared back at Delia. This was the longest they had ever gone being this close without speaking.
“How long have you known?” Delia asked.
The queen closed her eyes as a fresh cloud of incense blew over her face.
“For two moon cycles,” the shaman answered. He began a soft incantation. Delia recognized the prayers—a song calling the ancestors to embrace her mother’s soul.
Delia had a hundred things she wanted to ask, a million words to pass between them, but her tongue was useless.
The shaman’s lyrical voice floated over all of them.
Just then the queen’s chest rose forcibly. She opened her eyes and focused on Delia. “There are blossoms in your braid,” she said, a hint of a smile under her dull skin.
“I was at the great tree.” Delia sniffed. “Asking for guidance.”
Her mother pressed her lips together. They were a pale shade of blue. “You know what you have to do,” she said. “The ancestors speak the truth.”
Delia dropped her chin. Her mother’s fingertips brushed her cheek.
Then all was silent.
Delia’s regal resolve began to crumble. She put her hand over her mother’s, pressing it harder into her face. Shania’s sobs became louder.
There was an immediate sense of heaviness to her mother’s hand, but Delia was afraid to let go. She knew the arm would drop to the bed, lifeless. She kept her eyes closed, even when Shania put her whole weight into hugging her, making her rock in time with her sobs.
The shaman began to sing a cleansing prayer.
The soft tapping of Advisor Winchell’s cane echoed on the floor as she came closer to the bed.
Delia finally opened her eyes and took in her mother’s face. The relaxed expression was so opposite to her usual countenance of stubborn strength.
The shaman readied another smoking pot and the air was soon filled with a sweet scent. He began the next chant—the prayer for the spirit to rise.
Delia kissed her mother’s cheek. It was the first time she had kissed her since she was a little girl.
There was a quiet intake of a sob from the back of the room as Colonel Yashin tried to swallow his grief. Delia felt her sister press into her side.
The shaman continued to chant. Advisor Winchell went to Shania’s other side, an uncommon display of maternal comfort as she rubbed the younger princess’s quaking back. Delia looked up and locked eyes with the elderly counselor, her eyes reflecting back an unfathomable grief.