The doors at the back of the dark hall are closed, and Kane stands guard, arms crossed in front of him, his red eyes glowing in the dim corridor.
Pretha looks between him and the closed doors and frowns. “My brother’s here early?”
“The king and queen are speaking with Finn and Tynan now, but the queen is expecting you to join them for lunch.” Kane grimaces. “Do you want me to make excuses for you?”
Pretha shakes her head. “I knew this was coming. Lunch, dinner? Does it really matter?” Her tone is causal, but her gait, as she turns on her heel and storms to the sitting room, is anything but.
I look helplessly between Kane and the dark doorway where Pretha disappeared. “Should I leave her alone or . . .”
Kane turns up his palms. “Can’t you do the female thing?”
I arch a brow. “The female thing?”
He waves a hand. “You know, where you say the nice things and make her feel better even though she’s heartbroken and love’s a bitch?”
“Oh, I . . . Why’s that a female thing?”
He grunts. “You think I’m a good candidate for that job? I can’t even tell someone to have a good day without sounding like I secretly wish they’d die.”
He has a point. I frown, thinking this through. “She’s heartbroken? Over whom?”
He rocks back on his heels. “If you want to know, you should go do the thing.” I can tell by the way he looks after her that he hates not being able to be that kind of friend for her, but I’m not sure I’m a great candidate either.
Nevertheless, I find myself heading into the sitting room. Pretha’s standing at the front window, staring out at the street, her face blank, her eyes cold.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She tenses. “To admit there’s anything to talk about feels like a betrayal to my husband.”
Oh. Well, then . . . “When did Vexius die?”
“Four years ago. He was injured while taking a group of Unseelie refugees to a portal to the Wild Fae territory.” She swallows. “He didn’t recover.”
No wonder she looked so stricken when Finn was hurt under the same circumstances. “Four years is a long time. Surely you can forgive yourself for developing feelings for someone.”
She tears her gaze off the street and meets my eyes. I’ve never seen her look so old or so tired. “What I feel for Amira I felt long before I met Vexius. Long before either of us married.”
The name niggles at my memory. This is the meeting she’s been dreading. “Amira is the queen of the Wild Fae?”
Pretha nods and looks away again. “And my brother’s wife.”
“Oh.” My stomach sinks as I try to imagine this. “Oh, Pretha, I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, me too.” Her puff of breath leaves a foggy patch on the window.
“Amira and I were both your age when she was brought to my family’s palace. She was there to prepare to be Misha’s bride, but I fell in love the first time I laid eyes on her.”
“That’s beautiful.” My voice is heavy with sadness. I know where this story is going. “Then she chose him over you?” I wince at the sound of my own question. If Kane were here to witness my ineptitude, he may have handled this himself.
Pretha scoffs. “Hardly. There wasn’t ever a choice given, not to either of us. The Wild Fae are more accepting than the Seelie of people like Amira and me. My parents raised us to believe that love is beautiful in all forms, but I always knew that this acceptance stopped at the palace doors. To be in the royal family means living by a different set of rules.”
“Why?” I ask. “What’s the difference?”
“They would tell you it’s about the power of bloodlines, but it’s really about appearances. And about their own discomfort with the idea of their daughter loving another female.” She sighs. “But for three years Amira and I got to be together while they groomed her for her life as the queen. Misha didn’t care. He wasn’t marrying her for love, only to strengthen the alliance between our families. But when our parents found out?” Her lips twitch—in amusement? Irritation? Old anger? Maybe a combination of all three. “You can imagine my horror when they sent me away to marry the young brother of the Unseelie Prince.”
“Vexius,” I say softly. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be expected to marry someone for political reasons. Can’t imagine love having so little weight in the list of reasons you decide to spend your life with someone. Yet this is exactly what Sebastian will deal with if I decide not to stay with him. “But you eventually grew to care for him?”
“Some days I wish I hadn’t,” she says, pressing a fist to her chest as if she’s trying to stave off the ache there. “But he was so damn easy to love.”