Page 120 of Born of Starlight
“Old friend!” Mattock grasped my father’s shoulder tightly. “You look like hell,” he joked jovially. There was something different about the North King—dark circles below his eyes, a faint sadness that emanated off of him.
My father braced at Mattock’s observation of his health. He had been ill for some time and often hid the blood coughed into his napkins. The maids in Luz talked, and even if they didn’t, I’d hear them thinking about it.
Mostly, the court’s staff thought me incapable of ruling, worried that if my father was gone too soon, the Corridor would descend into chaos.
The immortal North King was exuberant, a presence at over six feet tall. Broad-chested and handsome with a mop of brown hair and hazel eyes. He regarded me politely with a bow and a kiss on the top of my hand.
“Princess Sybilla. You have grown—you were yea high last time I was in the Central Corridor.” He held his hand a few feet from the ground.
After exchanging pleasantries, my father and Mattock launched into political negotiation—amicable, standard topics. Trade routes. Avoiding famine this winter. Nothing out of the ordinary.
My mind was occupied—my father brought me along as education, but I learned nothing from the conversation. I was too busy studying every detail of King Mattock’s face. The strong line of his chin, his almond-shaped eyes, the way he grabbed the back of his neck when concerned. It was all so familiar.
Then Mattock asked my father a peculiar question.
“He is here?”
My father nodded but shifted uncomfortably as though not wanting to speak freely in front of me. Orthinkfreely.
“I should like to meet him. Butsheis present, and it isn’t safe. Next time.” There was sadness in the Sun King’s voice.
My curiosity peaked.
I opened my mind to my father’s thoughts. He was careful never to think in words. He knew better around me, but he wasn’t as talented at guarding his visual thoughts. A vision of Emmerick flashed—wearing a crown. The very one on Mattock’s head now.
The familiarity suddenly struck me, and I nearly spit my tea, choking on it.
“Are you alright?” My father’s voice sounded like a warning.Caught.I was caught.
“Yes!” I exclaimed too quickly.
I steadied my hands, allowing my mind to push into Mattock’s. It was clouded with worry, worry for a son he didn’t know. But then a cold, dark feeling gripped my mind. It was like my very thoughts were being pressed together.
A vicious snarl that did not sound human, not like Mattock at all, shouted, “Get out!”
I gasped, and my father elbowed me, hard.
“Sybbie, please give me and King Mattock a minute to speak privately.”
I rose without question, but my father caught my arm with a commanding grip that would later bruise.So much for leaving Helos without bruises.
“But carry a message to Emmerick. Tell him to stay in the stables. He isn’t to enter this castle, and he isn’t to be seen on the grounds. Understand?”
With a terse nod, I curtsied to the North King and stepped away from the two rulers, feeling as ill-prepared for this life as the maids and footmen thought me to be.
As soon as the doors behind me clicked shut, I hiked up my skirts and ran down halls and passageways of the North Court. Crossing the courtyard, I trudged through puddles and mud and rocky terrain. When I arrived at my intended destination, I’d managed to lose all of my guardsandthe bottom hem of my dress.
Bursting into the stables, I looked for the boy who’d taught me everything—how to play a game of cards, sharpen a blade and curse like a sailor when no one was listening. He was alone, grooming a massive draft horse. He hadn’t noticed me right away. My breath was labored, but I crossed the stables to him instead of stopping to regain it.
He turned to me with wide eyes. I stood on my tip-toes and took his face between my hands. He was completely still, but his face slackened with a traitorous look of need while his shoulders relaxed. My father should have known better—telling me whatnotto do had never worked for him.
“Sybilla.” My name escaped Emmerick’s lips in a reluctant warning. But he leaned down toward me.
I kissed him. He returned the kiss for a few brief moments of bliss, snaking his hands around the back of my neck and into my hair.
I was lost in that kiss. My first kiss.
Then he grasped my wrists and pulled my hands from his face to push me away. When he put distance between us, his brow creased in a pained expression. He shook his head, and fear crept up my spine.Not my own—his fear.
