Page 67 of The Crown's Awakening
Then he looks back at me, something like amusement breaking through the roughness of him. “You do know that because you are the Queen Heir, you can order her around, yes? You could say, ‘Petunis, you bitch, go clean the chamber pots?—’”
The staff strikes the floor. Petunis's power moves through the room instantly, a low vibration that travels up through my bones before I can react.
Uralish does not flinch. He raises one hand and something surges back, the light bending and swelling until the entire space floods with brightness so complete it replaces sight entirely. Gold fills everything.
Voices rise around me, disoriented, uneven.
"Uralish, stop this nonsense at once!"
“Say sorry,” he replies, his voice cutting cleanly through the chaos. “King Regent, for using that ridiculous staff in your presence.”
"I would rather die."
Despite myself, something in me lifts at the sound of it. They sound less like rulers and more like children who have never learned how to yield.
“Really, Uncle?”
The voice is new. The brightness disappears as abruptly as it came, leaving the room rushing back into place all at once.
“Look who crawled out of the brothel to do something civilized,” Uralish says.
A young man enters, golden-haired, freckled, fully armored, his presence carrying energy where Uralish carries weight. He crosses the room without hesitation and pulls Syle into a brief, tight embrace, speaking low enough that it is almost private. “Lady Ninora says she found you most pleasant at the tavern last week?—”
“Do not speak of such things in my throne room, Korvis,” Aunt Petunis says immediately.
He grins as though she has just proven something to him and drops into a theatrical bow. “Greetings, King Regent, Queen Regent, and---” He pauses, looking at me more closely. “Wait. It is actually you? Why am I always the last to know anything?”
“Because you are always occupied,” Uralish mutters, “in ways that make you useless.”
Korvis wrinkles his nose. “You are ruining my first impression.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says to Syle, already swinging a playful punch.
Syle grins wide and shrugs, ducking it.
Before I can speak, he reaches for me and pulls me into a quick, easy embrace that feels entirely uncalculated. “Welcome,” he says. “We have been hearing stories about you since we were children. The missing princess.” He pulls back, smiling. “Or the missing Queen Heir.”
I can’t help but notice his eyes are golden, though unlike mine and Syle’s, the color is far more subtle. One would think they were light brown from a distance. He feels familiar in a way I cannot place. The smile. The ease of him.
"You are Jularin's son," I say.
He looks pleased. "Guilty," he says.
There is something disarming in the way he says it. “I have plans this evening,” he continues, “but another time I could take you into the capital. Do you drink? Gamble, perhaps?”
Despite everything, something in me brightens at the thought. “I gamble,” I say. “And I am good at it. Are there gambling houses in the capital?”
“There are,” he says, pleased. “In fact, in three days a new one is opening. Part tavern, part?—”
“Enough,” Petunis says, her voice cutting through the moment. “Asharin, you are the Queen Heir, and you are with child. You will not be wandering through taverns and gambling houses like a degenerate.”
“Why not?” Korvis counters easily. “Lady Brenda was at the tavern just the other?—”
“Lady Brenda is a brothel worker,” Petunis snaps, her composure fracturing enough that the words come out high-pitched.
I press my lips together, the laugh rising before I can fully suppress it. Korvis coughs to hide his own reaction, while Syle does not bother to conceal the smile that breaks across his face.
Uralish watches all of it with quiet satisfaction, then takes another drink. “Give it a few days,” he says to me. “You will understand why it is difficult to stay sober in this place.”
