Page 27 of The Queen's Shadow

The whispers around the room ceased as the door to the throne room opened, and Tomas entered, followed by the Mediran envoy. Cassandra blinked. Wasn’t he supposed to be on leave to help his sick mother?

As the envoy made its way down the length of the hall, Cassandra found her eyes roving down the line of Medirans dressed in red and green regalia, telling herself that she wouldn’t be disappointed, that it was impossible, that the bow didn’t mean anything, that she was fine.

Then she saw him. He moved lithely behind the man dressed in the formal robes of ambassador—a tall, slim figure, so terribly, achingly familiar.

Her feet rooted to the floor, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be squirreled away in Medira, readying himself to marry his princess? This couldn’t be real.

“Galatan Ilin Remada, Lord of Medira, and acting ambassador to Rendra,” the chamberlain announced.

The ambassador and the rest of the envoys bowed as they reached the queen. As much as she tried, Cassandra couldn’t keep her eyes off Arphaxad. He was dressed in an unassuming black tunic, far less ostentatious than the rest of the envoys, and she could see the nondescript belt around his waist that was glaringly devoid of the daggers that usually hung there. His hair was shorter than it had been when she’d last seen him, trimmed close around his ears. All traces of the stubbly beard were gone, and his arm was no longer in its sling.

Her heart gave a panicked thud. He was here. Why was he here?

As he rose from his bow, his eyes lifted in her direction. Heat flooded her body as their gazes collided, the intensity in it thundering down to her toes. He gave her a nod before turning back to face the queen.

Cassandra’s world was tilting. She hardly heard a word exchanged between the queen and the ambassador. It was mostly formal greetings anyway, but Cassandra didn’t care. He was here, in the same room, not off with his Inetian princess. And the way he had looked at her—Cassandra shivered. She tried not to let her mind wander back to the Malathi pass, to the memories she’d tried so hard to force down, to the fire he lit in her veins.

Cassandra hardly saw what gifts were offered to the queen, what words were spoken in flowery placation. She could hardly think at all, let alone focus on what was happening in front of her.

Time slowed to a viscous ooze, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, so she tried to watch the ceiling or the obsidian and quartz of the floor beneath her feet. With a start, she realized that staring at the floor likely wasn’t polite to a visiting ambassador, and so she jerked her head up, only to find Arphaxad grinning at her, and she couldn’t help but grin stupidly back.

Then the audience was over, and the envoys were turning around and marching back out of the throne room. Arphaxad caught her gaze one more time, and heat blazed through her body again, before he turned and followed the ambassador out the tall doors.

The queen rose, and her advisors rose with her, waiting until she nodded in dismissal before filing out the doors themselves. The queen cast a glance at Cassandra.

“Go,” she said, and her mouth turned up in a rare smile.

“What?” Cassandra said dumbly, staring at her sister.

“I said go. Go find him.”

“You—” Cassandra started. Her mouth opened and closed but no more sound came out.

“I’m your sister, Cassandra. I’m not an idiot.”

And then Cassandra was moving, fire roaring through her veins as she flew down the corridor behind the throne room and around the corner. She collided with someone in the hallway, and then strong arms were steadying her, setting her back on her feet.

“Cass?”

She leaped backward as if she’d been shot from a catapult, heat flooding her cheeks. “Phax,” she choked out, staring up at him.

“You—” he started at the same time that she said, “I didn’t—”

They both broke off, staring awkwardly at each other.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted, unable to tear her gaze away from his. He looked good. Really, really good. “You’re not married to the Inetian princess?”

“No,” he said vehemently. His eyes flashed. “I’m certainly not.”

Arphaxad ran his fingers through his hair, then glanced at the corridor around them. They weren’t alone by any means. A few of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting brushed by them, casting them snide looks. A porter bustled by with a bag thrown over his shoulder. “Can we— Is there somewhere we can go?” he said. “To talk?”

“To talk,” Cassandra repeated dumbly, her gaze traveling down the corridor as she tried to squash her brain back into her head. “There’s a small study around the corner. It’s not used much.”

He followed her down the hall, and his presence beside her was exhilarating, terrifying, as if she were on a precipice, a terrifying unknown stretched out below her. They rounded the corner, and the gilded door of the study came into view. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the doorknob, but it finally turned, and then they were inside, and he was closing the door behind them.

She waited until he turned around, but her head was a blank space that she couldn’t quite seem to fill. She had to get a hold of herself.

“Cass, I—” he said at the same time that she said, “You—”