Jacin said nothing, though his heart was expanding at this news. Cinder had seemed sure no more of these devices had been made, but maybe she was wrong. And if she was wrong … if there were more of them out there … he could get one for Winter. He could save her.
“No matter,” said Levana, gliding a hand through the air. “We’re already finding ways to ensure no such invention will ever come to the Earthen market. The reason I called you here was to discuss what is now to become of you. And I have a special role in mind, Sir Clay. One that I think you will not find disagreeable.”
“My opinion means nothing.”
“True, but the opinions of my stepdaughter do yet carry some weight. Princess Winter may not have been born with my blood, but I think the people acknowledge that she is a part of my family, a true darling among the court. And I did love her father so.” She said this with a small sigh, though Jacin couldn’t tell whether it was faked or not. She turned away.
“You know I was there when Evret was murdered,” Levana continued, peering at the full Earth through the windows. “He died in my arms. His last plea was that I would take care of Winter, our sweet daughter. How old were you when he died, Jacin?”
He forced his shoulders to relax. “Eleven, Your Majesty.”
“Do you remember him well?”
He clenched his teeth, not knowing what she wanted him to say. Winter’s father and Jacin’s father had both been royal guards and the closest of friends. Jacin had grown up with plenty of admiration for Evret Hayle, who had kept his position even after marrying Levana, then a princess. He stayed a guard even after Queen Channary died and Selene disappeared and Levana ascended to the throne. He often said he had no desire to sit on the throne beside her, and even less to sit around drinking wine and getting fat among the pompous families of Artemisia.
“I remember him well enough,” he finally said.
“He was a good man.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Her gaze slipped down to the fingers of her left hand. There was no wedding band there—at least, not that she was allowing him to see.
“I loved him very much,” she repeated, and Jacin would have believed her if he believed she was capable of such a thing. “His death nearly killed me.”
“Of course, My Queen.”
Evret Hayle had been murdered by a power-hungry thaumaturge in the middle of the night, and Jacin still remembered how devastated Winter had been. How inadequate all of his attempts to comfort or distract her. He remembered listening to the sad gossip: how Evret had died protecting Levana, and how she had avenged him by plunging a knife into the thaumaturge’s heart.
They said Levana had sobbed hysterically for hours.
“Yes, well.” Levana sighed again. “As I held him dying, I promised to protect Winter—not that I wouldn’t have regardless. She is my daughter, after all.”
Jacin said nothing. His reserves of mindless agreements were running low.
“And what better way to protect her than to instate as her guard one whose concern for her well-being matches my own?” She smiled, but it had a hint of mocking to it. “In fact, Winter herself requested you be given the position as a member of her personal guard. Normally her suggestions are rooted in nonsense, but this time, even I have to acknowledge the idea has merit.”
Jacin’s heart thumped, despite his best efforts to remain disconnected. Him? On Winter’s personal guard?
It was both a dream and a nightmare. The queen was right—no one else could be as trusted as he was to ensure her safety. In many ways, he’d considered himself Winter’s personal guard already, with or without the title.
But being her guard was not the same as being her friend, and he already found it difficult enough to walk the line between the two.
“The changing of her guard happens at 19:00,” said the queen, swaying back toward the windows. “You will report then.”
He wet his throat. “Yes, My Queen.” He turned to go.
“Oh, and Jacin?”
Dread slithered down his spine. Locking his jaw, he faced the queen again.
“You may not be aware that we have had … difficulties, in the past, with Winter’s guard. She can be difficult to manage, given to childish games and fancies. She seems to have little respect for her role as a princess and a member of this court.”
Jacin pressed his disgust down, down, into the pit of his stomach, where even he couldn’t feel it. “What would you have me do?”
“I want you to keep her under control. My hope is that her affection for you will lend itself to some restraint on her part. I am sure you’re aware that the girl is coming to be of a marriageable age. I have hopes for her, and I will not tolerate her bringing humiliation on this palace.”
Marriageable age. Humiliation. Restraint. His disgust turned to a hard pebble, but his face was calm as he bowed. “Yes, My Queen.”
* * *
Winter stood with her ear pressed against the door of her private chambers, trying to slow her breathing to the point of dizziness. Anticipation crawled over her skin like a thousand tiny ants.
Silence in the hallway. Painful, agonizing silence.
Blowing a curl out of her face, she glanced at the holograph of Luna near her room’s ceiling, showing the progression of sunlight and shadows and the standardized digital clock beneath it. 18:59.
She wiped her damp palms on her dress. Listened some more. Counted the seconds in her head.
There. Footsteps. The hard, steady thump of boots.
She bit her lip. Levana had given her no indication if Winter’s request would be accepted—she didn’t even know if her stepmother was going to consider the request—but it was possible. It was possible.