“I like my grays and browns.” When he made no move to ascend the set of his portrait, her nerves manifested in a warbling chuckle. Iona suppressed a laugh and motioned him onward to his waiting perch. “Your sister doesn’t own the rainbow, you know.” His mouth pulled to one side and he leveled her with a piercing stare. “The smock is white.” As if that counteracted the slate gray of the exquisitely tailored dress beneath it. She looked down at herself and pitched her words to sound innocent. You always seem like you’re in mourning.” “Sticking to your usual somber colors, though. While she preferred to keep her long blond hair in simple order, the occasional elaborate variation wouldn’t kill her.Īedan shifted his focus elsewhere. Bina had insisted on working braids into her usual upswept knot, and Iona had been too sleepy to protest. Her fingertips ghosted against the style. Your maid put in some extra effort this morning.” His dark eyes swept from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. He pushed away from the jamb and strolled fully into her studio, hands in his pockets and a casual air about him. “Thank you…?” she said, her intonation rising as though she were asking a question rather than accepting his compliment. Shame he was supposed to be on the other side of the room, positioned between a pair of faux-marble columns instead. Aedan wore a kind expression in his drooping eyes, his brown hair framing his face in waves, perfect for a portrait. Iona glanced up from the tray of art supplies she had been arranging-oil paints, brushes, pencils, rags-to her cousin leaning against the door casing. “You look exceptionally nice today,” said a voice behind her. Of course grave-dancing was frowned upon in Wessett and the likelihood of Lisenn dying first was minuscule, but that didn’t stop the younger sister from sheltering such an inclination in her heart.Īnd it had nothing to do with wanting the crown, because she didn’t.
Only two people had to die for Princess Iona to become queen: her father King Gawen, an aloof figure whose passing she would one day mourn, and her older sister Lisenn, whose grave she would gladly dance on should the occasion arise. If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him and if he repent, forgive him. Names, characters, places, organizations, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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