“I’m sorry.”

“And your mother?” I dared to ask.

“Also dead. But she died when I was too young to remember her.”

My heart sagged. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about my situation—betrothed to an imbecile who was in love with another woman. But at least I had my parents, my mother’s warm dimples and my father’s constantly consternated brow. Even the thought of them brought a smile to my lips.

I wondered if it still brought Blaise joy to think of her father—if it was bittersweet, or if the pain swallowed up all the good from her memories.

“Do you have anyone else?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No family. Well, not any worth mentioning. I hardly consider them family at all. At least I have Andy, though.”

I frowned, confused.

Noticing my expression and realizing that it must have been strange for a servant to consider themselves so close to a prince, Blaise explained, “He and Jerad were always fond of me as a child. They’d entertain me as best they could during dinners so my father could focus on networking with the other diplomats. When my father died, Jerad went to the king and asked for me to be placed in the palace’s care. I think Evander would have asked for it too, if he didn’t think his presence would foil the chance of Jerad’s request being granted. The king wouldn’t think of adopting me, of course, but he’s allowed me to stay on as a servant ever since.”

A pretty horrible servant, at that, I didn’t add. But things were starting to make more sense. Like how Blaise got away with doing little to no work. If her employment was out of respect for her late father—“OW.”

A blunt blade to my side wrenched me from my thoughts. Blaise cackled, and I unleashed all my maneuvers upon her—all three of them.

Our stomachs were howling by the time we’d changed out of our fencing gear and Blaise took me by the hand, skipping toward the kitchen.

I fought the urge to pull away from her grip. I’d never been one who enjoyed being touched.

Well, except for perhaps that time Evander carried me across the logs, pulling me into his firm chest, but there was no need to acknowledge that, even to myself.

When we reached the bottom of the winding staircase, Blaise released my hand and practically launched herself into the kitchen, pulling pastries and treats from every counter that a servant wasn’t actively pulling a tray from.

They must have been preparing for lunch. I’d been having too much fun with Blaise to realize how much time had passed.

Something smacked me in the face, leaving a sticky substance on my cheek as a pastry fell to the floor.

“You were supposed to catch it,” was about the only apology I supposed I was going to get from Blaise.

I couldn’t say I minded.

“So, what are you going to do once you become queen?” Blaise asked, taking a bite of her fourth pastry and offering me one.

I couldn’t stifle the laugh. “No thanks. I prefer lemon scones. And we both know that’s never going to happen. The king will live another thousand years and Evander will be on his sixth wife by the time he gets the throne.”

“Okay, fine. You’ll most likely be cow food before the crown gets passed on to Evander.” She noted my bristling and smirked. “But hypothetically, if you were queen, what would you do with it?”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t considered a question like that before. For some reason, that bothered me. Like the thought should have crossed my mind. Like I should have been channeling my energy into change, into something other than my glassblowing and my—

Blaise’s voice cut through the thoughts. “You okay? You look like you’re presiding over a rather intense internal trial.”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

Blaise speared a piece of a nearby cake with her fork and pointed it toward me. “We’ll have none of that. The question is supposed to be fun. But since you can’t seem to take anything not-seriously”—she swallowed the piece of cake—“we’ll have to try another method.”

That couldn’t be good.

Blaise swung her body up on the counter and let her legs dangle off. “Would you rather—”

I couldn’t help it. I was already laughing.

“—use Dwellen’s massive treasury to commission a fleet of ships made entirely of glass or purchase a bale of talking turtles from Laei?”

“The glass fleet, obviously.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really? You wouldn’t even consider the turtles?”

“They freak me out. I don’t like thinking about what they look like under their shells.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Right, well, I guess I gave you an easy one to start off with. I was afraid you’d deliberate too much if I gave you something with stakes.”

“I’m going to choose not to take offense at that.”

“You shouldn’t. It just shows that we’ve been friends for a day now and I already know basically everything about you. We’re practically best friends.”

The way she said it was so nonchalant, so everyday, like it was common. But it wasn’t common to me. I’d had girlfriends growing up, liked the women whose social circles I ran in, even. But the other women always had a way about them, how they could be strangers one moment and the best of friends the next.

That, I’d never understood.

So I’d grown up on the periphery. Well-liked and well thought of, except for my nasty habit of making money for myself, but that wasn’t polite dinner conversation anyway.

To be fair, I hadn’t exactly been regimented about pursuing those close relationships either. Not when I had my sights set toward the future.

I knew she was teasing, just being informal, irreverent Blaise who probably said something one moment and forgot it the next, but… but still. She’d noted my anxious tapping in the library, my limbs practically dying for something to do, so she’d snuck me into the fencing quarters. I’d thought it was simply a pastime she enjoyed, but was it possible that she’d noticed that I needed something to do with my hands, with my body, or I was going to go crazy?

“Okay,” I said, crossing my arms and meeting her challenge. “Since you think I’m not capable of being any fun, what about this? If you were queen, would you rather…” I pondered for a bit, tapping my finger against my chin. “Use up the entire treasury to fund a standing army and have no money left over to fund the roads, or have roads but no standing army?”

Blaise’s cheeks sagged, and she ran her hand down her face. “You really don’t get the point of this game, do you?”

“Yes, I do. The point is to give a choice between two options that are impossible to choose between, is it not?”

“Yes,” Blaise said, sitting up straight. “But the options are supposed to be fun. Not political.” She stuck her tongue out as if politics were the opposite of fun.

Before I could respond, she jolted to her feet. “Oh! I’ve got one. Would you rather fall in love with Evander and get out of your marriage bargain—but you can never be with him? Or would you rather never love him and be stuck married to him for the rest of your life?”

My heart jolted as my mind was swept back to the workshop, to Evander’s lips grazing my ear. My grin threatened to falter, but I wouldn’t let it slip. Blaise was just trying to have some fun, and she’d provided me not only with an escape from my boring tasks for the day, but also with companionship.

It wasn’t her fault that the way my betrothed behaved was…confusing.

She must have sensed my discomfort in the air, because she frowned. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I just—”

“Miss Blaise, why in Alondria are you stuffing your face down here when the foyer is yet to be scrubbed?”