‘Perhaps I barely know you, but I feel as if you’re the only person I can even begin to trust.’

‘Is that your way of asking to be my friend?’

‘Princess, your presence has been requested at dinner, so we should prepare,’ Claye announced as he strode between the solid oak doors of her bedroom. ‘Evera, I have arranged for a carriage to take you home.’

Sapphire ground her teeth. She had asked for space, and Araxia had given her all of two hours. She narrowed her eyes as she spoke.

‘I won’t be attending.’

‘Of course. I will inform the king and queen of your decision. Evera, I will escort you to the carriage, then.’

‘She has to leave?’

Claye grimaced. ‘I was instructed to ensure Miss Viotto returned home at sunset.’

‘But I –’

‘It’s OK, Sapphire. I need to get home. It’s my night to cook dinner.’

‘I’ll see you soon?’

‘Of course, but next time, please send letters instead of guards.’

Sapphire laughed as they stood together, and Evera squeezed her hand.

‘Until next time, then.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two weeks.

That’s how long it had been since Sapphire stumbled into Eriobis. Did Martia still pray for her? Did their stomachs ache with hunger? Did Susanna and Lyna weep for her?

She threw herself into the one thing that would exhaust her.

Training.

She had been trying to master a simple task for a few days, but frustration was threatening to break her. When suddenly she had felt it – the magic in her veins coming to life felt like a rush of adrenaline straight to her brain. And she watched in awe as a tiny orb of water floated before her. Araxia’s eyes had misted over with pride and even Sapphire herself had struggled to keep her composure.

It was the first time she had considered that maybe she might belong here.

But since then, her longing had consumed her. She became addicted to the smallest taste of power and she wanted more.

That was about the only thing she enjoyed, though.

She had begrudgingly agreed to etiquette training a few days ago, and it was exhausting. The identification of the proper utensils for dinner, the rigid posture, the conventional topics of conversation and those to avoid. She was tested, pushed, assigned lesson after lesson. She spent plenty of nights locked away in her room trying to memorize the steps to some ancient waltz and how to excuse herself from the table in a polite manner.

It was too much.