Alright. I get it now. I get why Eliana chose Peter. He’s disgustingly attractive with almost a cliché amount of roguish charm. But he’s also kind of scary.

Though he’s not as tall as Leon, the way he’s leaning over me has me feeling like a tiny little bug he could squish at any moment. Fortunately, I know that he ended up liking Eliana eventually, so surely I’ll be okay?

It takes me a moment to realize he asked me a question. “Yes,” I say finally. “I’m Eliana.” Well, that sounded completely unconvincing. I say the name like it clearly isn’t mine, which, to be fair, it isn’t.

He doesn’t seem to mind my weirdness. In fact, it seems he might even like it, his brows knitting together for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. “Do you know who I am?” he asks quietly, leaning in even closer.

I wrack my brain. Does Eliana know who Peter is before she meets him? I think she guesses who he is from his scar. The story of how Paulo Ward treated his children is no secret across the land. He raises them to be warriors and makes them spar with each other, regardless of their age difference. It results in his kids having a lot of different knife scars. If I remember correctly, Peter eventually reveals to Eliana that it was actually his father who marked him in a fit of rage, but I think the general rumor is that it’s from one of his siblings.

“Where have you gone?” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. He looks less threatening now, more curious. There’s the ghost of something like warmth in his eyes, and his face is relaxed and almost . . . innocent. “You went somewhere just now.”

I feel a rush of nerves in my gut and stutter out, “Sorry, it’s late. And I’m a bit scattered.” I’m avoiding his question for now, because I’m not totally sure if I, Eliana, should know who he is right now, though I, Rose, very obviously do. “Was there something you needed?” Better to just answer a question with a question and avoid getting into anything I don’t know how to deal with.

He smirks and, thankfully, straightens back up so he’s no longer right in my face. “I wanted to meet you.”

“In the dead of night?” I raise an eyebrow at him. Eliana is demure and meek around Peter, and he gets protective of her. It’s part of how they fall in love. But I don’t care about falling in love with Peter, no matter how hot he might be. Because Leon is hot too, and he happens to be my favorite character. I’m fighting too hard to be loyal to someone who isn’t even mine, aren’t I? Fuck it. I’m not Eliana. I’m not a point in some stupid love triangle. And I’m not the kind of girl who goes for the bad boy. I’ve learned from that, haven’t I?

Peter’s grin doesn’t fade. “Would you have rather I waited outside your door until morning?”

“Would you?”

Somehow, his grin widens even more, and he flashes his teeth at me wolfishly. “Maybe. When I think about all of the wonderful sounds I might have heard coming from your room.”

My lips part, and I resist the urge to gasp like some kind of nun. I am not a fucking nun. I will not be outdone by this cocky bastard. “That desperate, are you?” I shoot back.

His eyes widen slightly, and I hear stock audio of people cheering for me in my head. That’s a modern woman for you, you cheeky little medieval shit! “Maybe I am,” he admits finally, his eyes narrowing at me. “Or maybe you’re an exception.”

Shit. My resolve falters for a moment, my confidence tearing at the seams. He’s too good at this. I only have like three one-liners in my repertoire. A self-deprecating laugh forces its way out of me. “I’m nobody’s exception.”

“Only your whole kingdom’s.”

“That was chance. Who knows how many bastard children my father had? I’m just the lucky one who donated blood for a loaf of bread.” Eliana’s backstory is coming back to me now. I’m kind of cooking, I think. But then I remember suddenly that Martin is in the closet or wardrobe or whatever right now and a flood of embarrassment courses through me, setting my cheeks aflame.

Peter misreads my blush as a sign that I’m shy and runs his finger along my cheek slowly. It’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “Lucky girl indeed,” he says simply, his eyes trailing obviously down to my lips.

“Goodbye, Peter.” I take a step back, letting his hand fall back down to his side, then close the door in his face. The last thing I see is his look of astonishment. I stare at the door for a moment. Ah, shit. Guess the cat’s out of the bag that I knew who he was the whole time. I wait until I hear his amused chuckle and footsteps receding down the hallway, then rush to the wardrobe and throw the doors open. Martin is scrunched up in the corner, fiddling with what looks like a hand rolled cigarette. “What the hell is that?” I snatch the cigarette from him just as his pinky finger casts a small flame to light it.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Hey!”

“Smoke outside, you animal. Or in your own bedroom. What’s in this thing, anyway?”

He glares at me. “I’m claustrophobic. I needed that.” I notice that he is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his pupils look a bit too dilated, even in the dark. “And it’s just . . . an herb. With essential health properties.”

I roll my eyes. I’m not against smoking by any means, but it would have been really stupid for him to smoke in a room he was supposed to be hiding in. That said, I can’t help but pity him. He looks pathetic, all sweaty and curled up in a ball. Some wizard. “Why didn’t you just teleport away, oh master of teleportation?”

He climbs out of the wardrobe and shudders for a moment, then stretches his limbs and lets out a relieved sigh. “I wanted to listen to what you two were discussing. Why is the prince of Ward even here?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I invited him.” I walk over to the window and prop it open, then wiggle the cigarette at him. “Do it out the window like a normal person.”

His eyes brighten, and there’s something almost childlike about his joy. He rests on the windowsill beside me and holds up his index finger, the small flame reappearing at the tip of it. I was feeling so stressed by Peter’s unexpected arrival—I remember distinctly that Eliana doesn’t meet him for several more chapters—I didn’t even appreciate the fact that I was witnessing magic for the first time. My eyes follow the flame as he lights the cigarette and starts puffing on it. The scent is like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. I hadn’t thought about what kind of special plants would only grow here, but I suppose it makes sense given that we don’t exactly have orcs or elves at home. What’s an unusual flower at this point? It’s the least surprising thing in my life now. He blows out the smoke with a heavy sigh. No smoke rings, no fun tricks, just a big cloud of dust.

“We should be concerned about his arrival,” Martin says. “We should be very concerned. He wasn’t invited. I’m sure the guards were too scared to turn him away, and he knows it. He can go anywhere he likes, and that is a problem for us.”

“Obviously,” I reply dryly. “But what are we gonna actually do about it? Do you want me to try to kick him out or something?”

He pauses thoughtfully, and I find myself worrying that he’s actually going to say yes to that horseshit idea. “From what I heard, you spoke easily with him. You may not be the Eliana you claim he married in another lifetime, but you might still have some pull with him.” He looks at me pointedly. “In a romantic sense.”

“Oh, yeah, no, you were making that plenty clear. And the answer is absolutely not. That guy is . . .” What am I going to say? Not my type? Not the guy I want to focus on? Every answer is conceited and self-important. Martin wants me to do this for the kingdom, not for my own pleasure. And mere moments ago he had practically begged me to take the plight of Alvione seriously. He hadn’t said it, not directly, likely to protect me from further anxiety, but I know the real issue from reading the book. King Roburn Alvione having no heir was a sign of weakness for the kingdom. His death was hanging over everyone’s heads. The man was eighty years old, and there wasn’t a successor in sight. Finding Eliana, a blood relative to his brother, who had died years earlier in a duel, was both a blessing and a curse. Roburn was less favored than his brother, who was a real warrior (in addition to being a drunken scoundrel), and Eliana being of his blood made people hopeful that she would be just as fierce as he. And having a royal wear the crown rather than the country searching for a leader among various nobles certainly kept Alvione from appearing too weakened. Still, many knew it was not a good sign that an otherwise random girl had been plucked from the streets to rule as queen. Eliana had a lot to prove to stave off threats from other nations eager to expand. Ward was just the closest, far from being the only one.

I have a lot to prove.

“Fine.” I’ll do exactly what Eliana did. It’s a defeating thought. It’s not that I hated Eliana in The Tales of Alvione, but she wasn’t my favorite character for a reason. Overly innocent, overly kind, deplorably naive. Just a girl playing for love, a pawn in a nation’s game. If I’m doing this, I want to be more than that. “I’ll talk to them both. Make them both feel they’re serious contenders for my hand—make them want to be. I’ll earn their affection and hope it’s enough to protect Alvione in the future.” Martin gives me a small smile. He’s still got his lips wrapped around that cigarette, his teeth gripping it like a vice. Whatever that herb was, it’s calmed him considerably. “But Peter is not like Leon. His father won’t listen to him. He doesn’t respect him at all.”

A small frown creases Martin’s face. “How do you know?”

“Book,” I say vaguely, waving my hand dismissively.

“Ah. I see.” Martin blows out another thick cloud of smoke, then watches as it floats off into the night sky.

“Take it easy with that thing,” I murmur. He reminds me of that damn caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.

Martin snorts quietly in response, giving his head a small shake and taking another rip, undeterred. “Two hours is almost up. Will you be reading ahead?” He sounds almost sad, and I wonder if he’s lonely.

I look out at the stars, the new moon staring back at me like a huge black eye. “I’m afraid if I do, we won’t be able to help the elves.” I pause. “I’d like to meet an elf. We don’t have them in my world.”

“Really? Must make life easier.” He lets out a sigh and corrects himself. “Not because they do anything wrong but . . . because people must be more united where you’re from.”

“No, not at all. There is always an enemy. Always a war. Always something.” I look at him for a moment, my mind swirling as I think about the good I could do as queen. And the bad I won’t be able to prevent. The inevitable evils and bad luck of the world. “I wonder if it would be really that bad if I were to fail. What if some things are doomed to happen? What if I save the elves but even more die because of what I do, by some twisted sort of butterfly effect? Even just coming here at all has changed the ending and made things so much worse.” He looks at me, puzzled, trying to follow my words. His eyes are blown out now for sure, not from claustrophobia but from whatever the hell it is he’s smoking. “But then I remember that cheesy little story. About someone throwing starfish back into the sea so they don’t dry out on the shore. How their actions are both futile and meaningful. Because they won’t save every starfish—what they’re doing will never stop more starfish from washing up on land—but isn’t it better to give one more starfish one more day than do nothing at all?”

Martin thinks for a moment, then bravely asks, “What’s a starfish?”

“Never mind.”