“Have they?”
Father’s expression did not change, which only made the smile on my face feel sharper. The court remained silent around us while my pulse hammered against my ribs, and for once every part of me agreed on the same conclusion. This was completely fucking unacceptable.
Father folded his hands behind his back. “The discussions have reached the point where continuing them without your participation would be inappropriate.”
“How reassuring that we discovered a limit.”
“Radiance.”
“No, Father, I am genuinely relieved. For a moment I feared I might be informed after the wedding.”
Several people behind me failed to conceal their reactions. A cough came from somewhere near the left side of the hall, followed by the faint rustle of someone shifting position much too quickly. I kept my eyes on Father. The angrier I became, the more precise my words seemed to get. My movements grew smaller, my smile more polished, and some deeply ingrained sense of royal dignity refused to let me give half the court the satisfaction of watching me lose control.
Mother stepped closer to him. “No wedding has been arranged.”
“You will forgive me if I find the distinction between arranging my marriage and arranging negotiations for my marriage somewhat academic.”
“You have every right to object,” Mother said. “You also have every right to hear what has actually been proposed before deciding how thoroughly you intend to object.”
Several viciously elegant answers presented themselves almost at once, but beneath them I was still struggling to keep up with the fact that this conversation was apparently real enough for my palms to sweat and for the elaborate bodice around my ribs to feel tighter every time someone said marriage. Less than an hour ago I had been sitting at a computer in Ohio. Now two monarchies had opinions about whom I should marry, and one of them was apparently mine.
Adrian remained several paces away, sufficiently outside the family argument that ignoring him should have been easy. It wasn’t. I could feel where he stood without looking, which was irritating enough on its own. Worse, every time my attention drifted toward him I remembered exactly what had happened when I had really looked at him a few minutes earlier. The heat. The involuntary catch in my breathing. The completely unprecedented fact that some part of me wanted to keep staring at his mouth. Being furious at the prospect of an arranged marriage would have been much simpler if the prospective husband had possessed the decency to be unattractive.
Father watched me for another moment. “Prince Adrian has already made his own position on one matter clear. No formal betrothal will proceed if you refuse it.”
That pulled my gaze toward Adrian despite myself.
“I have,” he said.
His voice hit with the same familiarity as it had at the ball, only there was no headset now, no speakers, no comfortable distance created by a screen. He was simply there. Real. Enormous. Looking directly at me while my father discussed the possibility of my marrying him.
“That is very gracious of you,” I said.
His eyes narrowed just enough to acknowledge the edge beneath the words. “I thought it was the minimum.”
I had been prepared to dislike whatever answer he gave. The fact that he offered almost nothing useful to attack created an irritation of its own.
“The minimum.”
“Yes.”
“You would like credit for meeting it?”
“No.”
That stopped me long enough for Adrian to continue, still perfectly composed, which was becoming increasingly offensive. “I would prefer you not be married to anyone against your will, including me. I assumed that went without saying until approximately thirty seconds ago.”
A few heads in the Valenne delegation shifted. Adrian ignored them while I studied him more carefully. He did not look embarrassed, and he certainly did not look apologetic for being here. He also did not look like a man expecting me to be handed over as part of a treaty. His shoulders were relaxed, his hands loose at his sides, his attention fixed steadily on me while he waited to see what I would do with an answer that had deprived me of several excellent insults.
Unfortunately, looking at him closely recreated the other problem. My gaze caught briefly on the open collar beneath his formal coat before I dragged it back upward, and his mouth twitched in response. Bastard. I could practically see him realizing exactly where I had looked.
“You seem very calm about this.”
“I have had longer to know the conversation was occurring.”
“And you saw no problem with that?”
“I saw several.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Yes.”
That answer finally gave me something. “How brave.”
His mouth curved. “I have been told.”
Heat stirred low in my abdomen again, immediate and humiliating, and I hated that my body apparently considered smugness a positive trait when attached to the correct jawline. Father stepped back into the conversation before I could decide whether throwing something at Adrian would constitute the international incident everyone seemed so concerned about avoiding.
“You will have time to speak with Prince Adrian, and with your mother and me. There are political considerations you have not heard, and I expect you to hear them before reaching a final judgment.”
Several spectacular replies appeared immediately, and for once I let none of them out. The impulse remained, along with the absolute certainty that Father deserved every one of them, but my mouth stayed closed because I had decided it would. That should have been reassuring, yet instead it made me more aware of what had just happened. I had wanted to say something. The words had been there almost before I consciously assembled them, perfectly shaped for this room and this argument, but I had stopped them. I had not fought for control of my mouth or wrestled against some other person. I had simply chosen not to speak, and my mouth had obeyed.
The distinction mattered because I still had no idea why I knew how to stand like this, how to address everyone in the room, or how to produce insults appropriate to a royal court with the efficiency of a highly specialized weapon. I had no idea why Father already felt enough like Father that his disappointment hurt, or why Mother’s presence beside him made me feel steadier even while I knew I had never actually met either of them before today. But I could choose, and for the moment that was something solid enough to hold onto.
Unfortunately, it was not nearly enough to make the room stop closing in around me. The audience hall had become too warm. My horns felt heavier against my scalp, the bodice seemed tighter, and every faint whisper behind me grated against nerves already stretched thin. I could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes even when I was not looking at them.
I needed out. I needed a closed door, a computer menu, a logout command, a mirror, a fucking medical examination, or preferably all four in whatever order would produce the fastest explanation. I needed five minutes during which nobody called me Princess, asked me about a kingdom, discussed Cassia, or informed me that the gigantic man I had unexpectedly discovered I wanted to climb was also a politically advantageous marriage prospect. Simply turning around and walking away felt impossible with half the nobility watching, so I drew a slow breath, let my shoulders settle, and folded my hands neatly at my waist.
“Your Majesty.”
Father’s eyebrows rose slightly at the change from Father, and satisfaction sharpened through me. Good. I had meant him to notice.
“I understand the substance of what you wished to tell me. I would prefer to consider it before this audience becomes an exhibition of precisely how much I dislike discovering that two kingdoms have been discussing my future without me.”
The court became somehow quieter while Mother’s attention sharpened and Father studied me. I had no memory of ever requesting dismissal from court this way, but the words still came easily, and the posture holding me upright felt as natural as standing in my own kitchen had an hour ago.
“I am requesting permission to withdraw,” I continued. “Unless you believe Calder will benefit from its future Queen discovering exactly how angry she can become while half the nobility takes notes.”
Several nobles suddenly found something else to look at, and satisfaction warmed through me as Father glanced briefly toward the watching court before returning his attention to me.
“You are threatening to embarrass me.”
“I am informing you that I am making a sincere effort not to.”
Mother’s mouth twitched. “That may be the most responsible thing she has said this morning.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“It was not entirely praise.”
“I have been accepting those all morning.”
Father exhaled slowly through his nose. “You will speak with your mother and me later today.”
“I expected as much.”
“And you will not leave the palace.”
Indignation surged immediately, bringing several arguments with it about adulthood, royal imprisonment, and whether being heir had somehow eliminated the concept of personal liberty. I caught every one of them because the need to escape the hall mattered more than winning another point.
“Very well.”
Father stared at me, and I stared back until his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“You are agreeing?”
“I am capable of doing so.”
“I am aware.”
“Your surprise suggests otherwise.”
Mother cleared her throat before Father could answer. “Radiance.”
“Mother.”
There was warning in her eyes now, but affection too. I knew how to read that expression despite having no memory of learning it from her, and somehow that was stranger than if I had misunderstood her completely.
Father watched me for another moment before finally giving me the words I had been waiting for. “You may withdraw.”
Relief hit hard enough that my knees almost weakened. Instead, I lowered myself into a flawless curtsy and kept my voice perfectly controlled.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Mother looked as though she wanted to say something else, but her gaze shifted toward the surrounding court and she apparently decided against it. I turned toward Adrian because leaving without acknowledging him would become another statement for everyone in the room to dissect, and I was beginning to understand that being royal apparently meant every movement could become tomorrow’s entertainment.
He bowed before I had to decide what the appropriate response was. “Princess Radiance.”
“Prince Adrian.”
His dark eyes stayed on mine. “I expect we should speak.”
“I expect a great many things have suddenly become necessary.”
“I won’t disagree.”
There was something irritatingly reasonable about the answer, and I had been prepared for him to provide a much better target. My tail shifted beneath the gown while I searched for something sharp enough to recover some ground.
“I suppose we will both have to endure the suspense.”
The smallest hint of his smile returned. “I have survived worse.”
“Confidence is attractive right up until the point it becomes a medical condition.”
“I’ll ask a physician to monitor me.”
The answer landed at exactly the wrong intersection of irritating and charming. Worse, he had apparently noticed my use of attractive, because the smile deepened enough to reveal the dimples again, and my stomach gave another traitorous little twist. I wanted the last word badly enough that another answer was already forming, but I wanted a closed door more, so I turned before I could extend the exchange.
Renee immediately fell into step beside me as I crossed the hall. Every instinct I possessed screamed to move faster, but I kept my pace measured while the court parted ahead of us. The distance to the doors felt approximately three times longer than it had when I entered, and I could feel conversations waiting to begin the moment I was safely beyond hearing. When the great doors finally closed behind us, I made it halfway down the corridor before abandoning any pretense that I was fine.
“I need my rooms. Now.”
Renee glanced toward me and adjusted her pace without argument. “Of course.”
“And I need to be alone.”
Her expression tightened. “Radiance.”
“Please.”
That stopped whatever objection she had been preparing. Affection for Renee pressed uncomfortably against my desperation because I knew she mattered to me even without the memories that should have explained why. Looking at her worried face produced an almost physical urge to reassure her, and dismissing her when she was clearly frightened for me felt wrong in a way I could not explain. I still needed privacy more.
Renee finally nodded. “I will take you back. After that, I can wait in the west sitting room.”
“Thank you.”
The two guards remained far enough behind us to pretend they were not listening, which kept me from saying anything else. We moved through the palace faster once the audience hall was out of sight, though never quickly enough to become running.
Directions continued to feel obvious without becoming memories. I knew which turn led toward the royal family’s private wing, and I knew the staircase ahead would split, with the eastern branch descending toward the gardens while the western branch climbed toward the family chambers. I knew the enormous portrait at the landing was of Father’s grandmother and that she had hated the painting because the artist had made her nose too small.
I did not know how I knew that, and when the portrait came into view as we turned the corner, the woman painted there had a formidable nose. I nearly stopped walking.
Renee noticed. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
She followed my gaze toward the portrait while more information surfaced without anything resembling a memory. I knew the old Queen had threatened to have the painter whipped, that Father’s grandfather had talked her out of it, and that the story was usually told at family dinners whenever someone complained about an unflattering portrait. I could see the table if I tried to imagine it, or at least knew where everyone would sit if the scene existed, but I had no idea what any of them sounded like while laughing.
The gap between knowing and remembering made my stomach turn, but we kept walking. A maid carrying folded linens stepped aside and curtsied.
“Your Highness.”
I smiled at her automatically. “Marta.”
Her face brightened.
I had no idea who the fuck Marta was. The name had simply been there, so I kept moving before she could say anything else.
By the time we reached the royal family’s private wing, I was cataloguing every impossible piece of information as it appeared. I knew which doors belonged to my siblings, which corridor Renee disliked because the windows made it drafty in winter, and which alcove had once contained a statue I apparently broke at fourteen and successfully blamed on Alistair for almost three days. That one came with amusement so immediate that I almost laughed, even though I had no memory of breaking anything and still somehow knew Alistair had deserved it.
What the hell did that even mean?
The guards outside a pair of carved double doors bowed as we approached, and one opened them before I had to think about it. I crossed the threshold with Renee beside me and stopped so abruptly that she nearly walked into me because something had changed.
The sensation was difficult to describe because nothing physical had happened. The room remained the same. My body remained the same. The horns still pulled faintly against my scalp. The gown still hugged my ribs and waist. My tail still moved behind me with every shift of balance. But something that had been pressing against the inside of my thoughts all morning simply vanished.
Not everything became clear at once. There was no sudden rush of memory or explanation. It felt more like discovering I had been breathing through fabric and someone had finally pulled it away from my mouth.
The attendants waiting inside curtsied.
“Your Highness.”
I barely registered them because suddenly my desk, my computer, the monitor, my phone, Samantha’s apartment, the grocery store two blocks from my parents’ house, the university, Shotokan, polymerase chain reaction, mitochondrial oxidative phosphorylation, my Honda Civic, Netflix, Ohio, all of it sat within easy reach. The words existed without becoming vague concepts I had to push through another language or images I could remember but somehow could not explain. They were simply there.
“Everyone out.”
The attendants moved immediately.
Renee did not.
I turned toward her. “Please. I need a little time where no one is looking at me.”
Concern showed openly on her face now. “How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
“That does not reassure me.”
“I don’t have anything reassuring to offer right now.”
She studied me for several seconds. “I will be in the west sitting room.”
“Not immediately outside the door.”
“I was not planning to stand immediately outside the door.”
“You were considering it.”
“I was considering remaining nearby.”
“That is a diplomatic version of the same thing.”
Her mouth almost smiled despite the worry. “The west sitting room, then.”
“Thank you.”
Renee paused with one hand near the door. “Radiance, whatever happened to you this morning, you can tell me when you are ready.”
Affection tightened unexpectedly in my throat, but I managed a small nod. “I know.”
She left with the remaining attendants, and the doors closed behind them. I waited while footsteps retreated into the corridor and another door opened somewhere beyond the room, then shut again. Only when silence finally settled around me did I grip the edge of a nearby table and test the words I had been unable to force through my own mouth anywhere else.
“My name is Lucas Micah Thompson.”
The words came out perfectly, and I froze before trying them again. “My name is Lucas Micah Thompson.”
No resistance. No substitution. No strange pressure forcing another answer through my mouth. A short, breathless laugh escaped me and came dangerously close to something else.
“I am twenty-nine years old. I have a PhD in cell and molecular biology. I live in Middletown, Ohio. Samantha Cooper is my girlfriend.”
My throat tightened on her name, but it came out. “Samantha.”
I could say her name.
Relief hit so hard that I had to close my eyes. For the first time since the world changed, I could describe myself without fighting for every word.
“I was sitting at my computer less than an hour ago. I had a headset on. I was playing a game. I am not supposed to be here.”
The room offered no response, so I opened my eyes again. Small pale hands gripped the table. Long platinum-white hair spilled forward over one shoulder, and a pearlescent horn intruded into the upper edge of my vision when I tilted my head.
“I am Lucas Micah Thompson,” I said again, swallowing around the tightness in my throat, “and I am currently standing in the bedroom of a woman I made up.”
A clear chime sounded behind me.
I spun so quickly that my tail moved with me, catching the edge of the gown before settling again. Gold light gathered several feet away, and for one absurd second relief surged through me because, whatever else was happening, I finally recognized what I was looking at.
A menu.
Finally.
The light unfolded into the same translucent interface style the beta client had used, except there was no monitor holding it now. Gold lettering assembled itself in the air.
ACHIEVEMENTS QUEUED
Safe Area access required for delivery.
Congratulations on finally reaching one.
I stared at it, then at the room, then back at the floating text.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”