Page 187 of Burn Her They Said
The Queen extends her hands toward the audience. “Esteemed guests, thank you all for honoring us with your presence at this year’s Harvest Festival.” Queen Celine gestures toward the dining tables in the gardens. “As you can see, the Goddess of the Harvest has blessed us with more sustenance than we could ever hope to need in a given year. Such a gift made it possible to offer support to neighboring lands who were less fortunate.”
Applause ripples through the crowd staring up in reverence from the lush lawn.
“My wish for you is to end the evening with a stomach full of the tastiest Annovian delicacies, a mind sparkling with the magic of our wine, and feet fatigued from dancing.” Applause rises. “May the Gods smile upon you!”
Cheers rise as His Majesty leans in to whisper, “I’m sick of everything being about their deities. It’s always, ‘Gods this’ and, ‘Gods that.’ At least our benefactors exist.”
I nod and pretend to agree with his annoyance after years of him lecturing me on why it was necessary to rid our Empire of the old religions and replace each with honoring the Dragons.
The Queen strides before us and Emperor Aldritch squares his shoulders. My heart lodges in my throat when the Queen extends her gloved hands expectantly, and I extricate myself from His Majesty’s.
“May you enjoy partaking in our celebrations,” she says, and I curtsy.
She releases me and shares a heartfelt smile with her son before turning to descend the stairs with the aid of her guard. The Prince’s eyes lock on mine, and I want nothing more than to walk in the opposite direction, yet I remain still and await my summons.
“May I?” He extends his arm, while his gaze drifts to my keeper in a bid for permission, to which His Majesty nods in approval.
I force a smile and pretend to do the same, because though he asked the question, we all know his words were another command.
The tension in Varic’s body can be felt in my own as his gaze tracks the path my hand takes when I dutifully place it in the crook of the Prince’s arm. My heart hammers as he stares at every point of contact between his force-shield and the Prince as the royal guides me down the stairs with the Emperor, Wyrth, and our Guards following behind us.
Varic’s shield tingles as it expands to cover my hip and waist, tickling as it rises over my shoulder and covering me anywhere the Prince might possibly brush against my body.
A genuine smile spreads across my lips, which our audience can misinterpret as the excitement of gaining the Prince’s attention, while none would guess I am reveling in my Lead Guard’s claiming of my body, ensuring I feel less alone in the duties I must carry out.
Because if Varic offered his arm, I would have a choice about whether or not to accept. Despite the fact he would not be able to hide the sense of rejection were I to deny him, I trust that he would respect my decision, regardless—as if there would ever be a reason I would deny him.
Yet I must maintain the Prince’s attention, so I turn and pretend to enjoy it.
I squeeze his arm and ask, “Have you schemed to have me sitting directly across from you at dinner?”
“I would have you sit next to me.”
My brow furrows. “For what reason would I sit on the royal side of the table?”
“To offer you a reprieve.” His voice is confident as his eyes cast toward the Emperor.
“And how do you propose sitting across from His Majesty will offer me a reprieve?”
“Wishful thinking, I’m afraid.” His expression shifts as he pats the magical shield over my hand.
“Across from me it is.” His eyes gleam from beneath the clever fox mask. “I suppose it will be easier to look at you this way, so for that I am grateful.”
My heart sinks like an anchor and ruins my appetite, though the Prince and I carry on toward the table and nod to each of those afforded titles of importance. They smile back and watch as he brings me to the empty seat on the Emperor’s right.
Cirrin reaches to pull my chair out for me when Prince Auden grabs hold of the back of it possessively.
“Allow me,” he says.
Cirrin stares at the haughty royal as the Prince proceeds to push me toward the table. I shudder when his hand clasps my shoulder, even though his touch is nothing more than a faint impression of heat over Varic’s claim of me when he leans down to whisper, “I’ll just be on the other side of the table, should you need me.”
My cheeks twitch into something resembling a smile as waves of incredulous rage roll through my magic from Varic. And no matter how intense, his anger is welcome, for it validates my own.
The Prince steps away, and I expect relief to wash over me when a particular kind of dread snakes its way down my spine instead, with the weight of every expectation placed on me being something neither my magic nor Varic’s can protect against. An experience we Anomalies know well.
My lungs fill with Varic’s warm spice scent as I pull in a breath, then cast my gaze to warn him off as the pressure in my chest decreases, feeling a slight pull from him as he siphons a tendril of my overwhelm. Then a cooling sensation flows over my shoulders, and I flick my attention over to Danor, whose jaw ticks, though he makes no indication he plans to mention Varic’s use of unsanctioned magic.
I scan those around us to try to sense if any other witch or sorcerer is sensitive enough to recognize it, though if so, they keep it to themselves as well. My chest still constricts with the fear that his care for me could be weaponized should anyone notice and choose to use this against us.
