Kingdom of Sea and Stone

When I heard a knock at the door, I realized I had fallen asleep. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’d just seen another painful memory from Ceren’s childhood, this time of him sick in bed with a fever. Talin had come in to check on him, glowing from a day spent riding with his mother, who couldn’t be bothered to look in on her stepson herself.

“It’s time to get ready for dinner,” the maid said. She held a large box in her arms, tied with a satin ribbon.

“What’s that?” I asked, eyeing the package with growing suspicion.

She bobbed a curtsy. “Your gown for this evening. The king said to tell you it’s a gift.”

I took the box reluctantly from her, holding it away from me just in case Ceren’s “gift” was anything like the bat pie he’d made for me at the feast where I danced with Talin. “I’ll dress myself,” I told the maid, dismissing her.

She stared at me with that frozen smile, barely even blinking. “The king said to tell you that if you don’t wear the gown, there will be consequences.” She curtsied again, walked to the door, and backed out with that hideous smile never faltering.

Ceren’s consequences would no doubt be for my father, if I knew him at all. And if this dress came with a warning, it certainly wasn’t a gift. I braced myself before removing the lid from the box and peeling back the layers of soft tissue paper inside.

My breath caught despite myself. It wasn’t the first red gown I’d ever seen. That honor went to the dress I’d worn for the choosing ceremony in Varenia. It had once been Mother’s own white choosing ceremony dress, dyed a garish blood-red meant to evoke the meaning of my name: coral. At the time, it was the finest thing I’d ever worn, but I had never felt beautiful in it.

I knew that this gown, with its scarlet velvet bodice leading to a skirt made of layer upon layer of crimson chiffon, would make any woman feel beautiful.

I slammed the lid back on the box and pushed it away from me.

Ceren was trying to make a fool of me in front of the court. Among all the somberly dressed men and women, I would stand out like a sore thumb, in flagrant violation of the Ilarean court’s rule of wearing mourning clothing. I flipped through my wardrobe and pulled out the simplest black dress I could find, cursing Ceren in increasingly creative ways the whole time.

After I was dressed and my hair was pinned up in a severe, matronly bun, I stopped in front of my door with a sigh. As much as it would be exactly what Ceren deserved, I couldn’t go downstairs like this. He would never let me get away with that kind of disobedience. In a childish fit, I threw off the black dress, ripped the pins out of my hair, and changed into the blasted red gown.

The moment I stepped into the dining hall, the roomful of people fell silent. I hadn’t planned to arrive so late, but I had struggled to fit the tight corset over my new, fuller frame. Now, my ribs strained against it as I struggled to keep my breathing deep and even.

Ceren rose from his seat at the head of the table, where his father had once sat. The seat next to his was empty, obviously reserved for me.

From the look on Ceren’s face, he was pleased with what he saw. My hair was loose around my shoulders, wavy from the braids I’d worn earlier. All of the other ladies present wore their dark mourning clothes, their hair up and powdered, and here I was in my scarlet gown, a traitor brazen enough to break all the rules after nearly assassinating the king.

I forced myself to meet Ceren’s gaze. Naturally, he was smirking. I raised my chin, feigning confidence, and strode across the hall toward the seat beside the king.

Who does she think she is? I could hear the other diners’ thoughts as if they spoke them aloud. How dare she sit next to the king? She should be rotting in the dungeon along with the rest of her kind.

When I reached Ceren, I dropped into my lowest, most graceful curtsy, but my eyes remained insolently trained on his.

To my surprise, Ceren returned the gesture with a flourishing bow. “The dress suits you even more than I’d hoped,” he said as I took my seat. “Ah, the first course is ready.”

As everyone began to eat their meals, I eyed my goblet warily. I knew better than to drink it, but it was going to be difficult to get through this evening with a clear head.

“You’re not thinking of drinking that, are you?” Ceren asked, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Of course not.”

“Good.” He took a sip of his own wine. “You have the tolerance of a small child.”

A dozen insults came to me, but I managed to bite my tongue. “You knew what this dress would do. How am I supposed to get through a meal with everyone staring at me?”

He waved his hand toward the nobles in one of his typical flippant gestures. “You can hardly blame them. They’re a morbidly curious lot, and they do so love a scandal.”

“Aren’t you worried that this will make you look weak to them?” I asked. “If someone can nearly kill the king and get away with it, what’s to stop someone else from trying?”

In answer, he twisted the bloodstone ring on his thumb. I glanced around and realized for the first time that nearly everyone present wore a bloodstone somewhere, either on a necklace, a bracelet, or a hairpin—even an earring in one nobleman’s ear. The red stones glimmered in the candlelight like drops of blood.

“Why aren’t they acting half-asleep, like the others I’ve seen?”

“I’m not controlling them at the moment. When I do, it gets rather dull around here.”

I glanced at the stone on his finger, the faint pulsating light within. “How do they work?”

“The bloodstones? Ah, that’s my little secret, isn’t it?”

I took a bite of a small, unidentifiable root vegetable soaked in butter. “You expect me to trust you, but you clearly don’t trust me.”

Ceren sat back in his chair. “You did try to kill me.”

“Technically, you stepped into my blade,” I muttered. We ate in silence for a while, until I realized that Ceren was staring at me.

“You’re not as thin as you were before.” His gaze had drifted somewhere below my neckline.

“I’m not starving anymore,” I said flatly, hating how exposed I felt under his scrutiny.

“Now who’s being unfair? I hardly starved you while you were here.”

“Oh, that’s right. I had all the liver and bat pie I could stomach.”

Ceren barked a laugh so loud that several nearby lordlings turned to stare at him. He coughed and sipped his wine as if he’d been choking.

I couldn’t help smirking as I nibbled on a piece of bread.