The Mistress of Frogs held a banquet for her closest friends.
Friendship is like a mirage in the desert, she said. It gives you great hope and encouragement when you need it the most.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
“One of the maids escorted her to her chambers,” Usher said, entering the dimly lit space. Jack paused midstep from where he’d been pacing the floor of his sitting room, only half listening to the evening news.
“Thank you, Usher. Make sure she has a servant assigned to her at all times so she doesn’t become lost again.”
The old man nodded.
“But don’t let her know that I ordered it. I don’t think she would like that.”
To his credit, Usher didn’t even raise an eyebrow. The valet had been with Jack’s family since before he was born. The old man’s kindly face was a warmer, more familiar sight than his own father’s had been. Jack switched off the radiophonic, silencing the newsreader midsentence, then fell into an armchair in front of the fireplace. He could not begrudge Jasminda her anger and pain. It had been unacceptable for him to keep the truth from her.
But each chance he’d had to tell her—that night at the base, or the morning before they’d left for Rosira when he could have found a quiet place to explain—he’d avoided it. Reality was coming faster than he had wanted, and he’d been certain he could outpace it.
His return had been chaotic, with the secret coronation last night and then a flurry of briefings. He’d ordered the bulk of the armed forces to the eastern border in preparation for the breach, and logistics had taken up much of his time.
Aside from the pending disaster with Lagrimar, he’d had calls with the leaders of their allies Fremia and Yaly, letters to read and sign, introductions to staff and security personnel to make. He’d hardly looked up when he was being called for dinner, and then it was too late.
He’d been a fool—and worse, a cowardly one. His desire to put off any change to the way she saw him had won out over his good sense, and Jasminda had suffered. The weight of the crown threatened to press him down into the earth.
But her expression as she’d stood in the dining hall, the devastation marring her lovely face, made him feel like a villain. It gutted him. The guilt and shame were heavier than the crown.
Somehow, he could not keep the women in his life from hating him.
“Has word been sent to my mother?”
“Yes, sir. But it may be some time before she receives the message.”
The last he’d heard, his mother was cloistered in a jungle sanctuary, hours from the nearest Fremian city. “She finally has her wish—her son is the Prince Regent. Too late to do her any good.”
The little he’d heard of the news report had confirmed his fears that his coronation was being met with more than a few misgivings. His mother’s defection to Fremia, Elsira’s southern neighbor, twelve years earlier had cast a long shadow, especially on her only son.
“I only hope she’s found peace,” Usher said.
Jack hoped so as well. He stared at the crackling fire until the flames burned themselves into his vision. His fingers picked at the fringe on his jacket, unraveling one of the threads, and he tapped an impatient rhythm on his knee.
“Say what you must,” he said, after the silence had grown more oppressive than companionable.
Usher’s bushy gray eyebrows rose. “What makes you think I have something to say?”
“Twenty-two years of knowing you, old man. And I suspect I won’t like whatever it is, so spit it out.”
“I believe I said everything I had to say before you left on your foolhardy mission.”
Jack raked a hand through his hair. “Protecting Elsira is my only mission, and I would do anything, even sacrifice myself, to see that happen. The opportunity was once in a lifetime, too great to miss.”
“The opportunity for the army’s High Commander to go undercover in enemy territory? It is unheard of.”
“I was the only one for it. The only Elsiran to speak their bloody language well enough to blend in with them. If I hadn’t gone and verified what they were planning, the Council would never release funds for the preparation we need. We would have been blindsided by the breach.” Although if he’d acted with more circumspection, the cornerstone might still be intact, but he could not say those words out loud.
“You paid a heavy cost for that information, young sir.”
Jack absently rubbed the place on his chest where the bullet had pierced his flesh. The pain had been gone for days, but now there was a phantom ache. He must have been imagining it. “I don’t regret accepting the mission.”
“And being captured?” Usher’s voice was soft, without a hint of censure, but a pinprick of guilt stabbed at Jack.
The fire crackled and jumped, flames leaping upward. The vibrancy of the fire reminded him of her, on the porch with her shotgun, of the blade she kept strapped to her leg. Fearsome beauty. The pain in his chest shifted and grew. It lay mere inches from his heart.
“Being captured nearly killed me. But it also brought me a wonderful gift.”
He slumped down in his chair. When had he come to care so much for her? She had been a bright light at the end of a tunnel of pain and desperation, but what Jack felt was not merely due to the debt he owed her for saving him, not just for her kindness toward him. She was strong, with a sharp mind, passionate, and brave. So unlike the giggling, gossiping society girls who had vied for his affection for so many years. Jasminda slit a man’s throat and kept her wits about her, for Sovereign’s sake; she had a warrior’s heart.
Usher steepled his fingers below his chin. “This gift you speak of, is it the kind worth keeping?”
Jack looked up sharply.
“Is it the kind that you would regret allowing to slip through your fingers?” the old man asked.
“She is angry and hurt. I was, if not dishonest, at least not forthcoming. She has every right—”
“You do not balk at walking across enemy lines and pretending to be one of them, at great peril, I might add, yet you quiver with fear at one young woman.”
“I’m not quivering with fear,” Jack scoffed.
“I believe I see a quiver, young sir. Just there.” Usher extended his finger, waggling it about, pointing at most of Jack’s body.
A smile edged its way across Jack’s face. “The Queen Who Sleeps must have a sense of humor to send you to look after me.”
“That She must,” Usher said.
Jack regarded the fire for another moment before jumping from his seat, what he must do now suddenly clear. “And I thank Her every day for that,” he said, kissing Usher on the forehead.
He raced out of the room and down the corridor, flying up the stairs to the great alarm of several passing servants. Jasminda’s rooms in the guest wing were on the other side of the palace. He wished she were closer, though visiting her rooms, wherever they were and especially at this hour, was unseemly and could put her reputation in jeopardy. Based on the chilly reception she’d received from the gathered aristocracy at dinner, however, her current reputation was no great asset.
Jack had been caught in the dining hall after dinner by Minister Stevenot, who had profusely dispatched his condolences. Over his shoulder, through the cracked door to the adjoining parlor, he’d watched, heartsick, as Jasminda stood alone, an island in an unfriendly sea. He’d been on his way to her when Lizvette approached Jasminda, and her kindness filled him with gratitude.
As if conjured by his thoughts, Lizvette now appeared on the staircase above him in the grand hall.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtseying, an amused smile playing upon her lips.
He climbed up to the landing to stand beside her. “You know, you must try to keep a straight face when you say that.”
She nodded, her eyes alight. “I shall keep that in mind.” Her expression sobered, and she laid a hand on his arm. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your brother.”
“No, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. And for your loss. Not only a husband gone, but you were to be the princess.”
Her lips pressed to a thin line. “Yes, well, Mother and Father are inconsolable.” Her voice was light, but shadows danced in her eyes.
He and Lizvette had raced around the palace as children, under the disapproving eyes of their parents. Her father had been a close friend and advisor to his, and still retained a place on the Council. She and his brother had been engaged for two years and were to be married in just a few weeks.
“And you?” Jack asked, craning his neck down to look her in the eye.
“It happened so fast.” She dipped her head and ran her fingers across the mirrors embedded in her gown, avoiding his gaze. “Alariq did love his gadgets, though. He would probably have lived in that airship if he could have.” She managed a weak smile. “I can’t imagine what was going through his mind, piloting through that kind of storm.”
“Nor I. He was always so reasonable. I just hope I’m up to the task of filling his shoes.”
“You are. Of course you are. You will be a wonderful prince.” She finally met his eyes, beaming up at him, though her smile overflowed with sadness. She took hold of his hand and squeezed. He hoped she was holding up well, despite appearing so tired. Dark circles under her eyes were starting to show through her makeup.
“I don’t want to keep you,” he said, pulling away. She held on a moment longer before releasing him.
“Whatever are you doing on this end of the palace?”
He shifted on his feet, his gaze involuntarily drawn toward the hall leading to Jasminda’s room.
Lizvette looked, then frowned slightly. She sighed. “Are you … with her?”
“I owe her an apology. One that is overdue.”
Lizvette took a step back. “The whole palace is talking. They’re watching her. Wondering.”
“I don’t have time for Rosiran busybodies.” Indignation shaded his voice.
“Jack, she will be trouble for you.”
His protective instincts kicked in. Jasminda was not anyone else’s concern. She belonged here, had more right than most who called the palace home.
The worry in Lizvette’s face cut through his rising ire. His anger was not for her. “May She bless your dreams, Vette.”
“And yours as well, Your Grace.”
He walked away, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched until he turned the corner.