House of Secrets and Vows (Crown of Deceit #1)

18. Brotherly Bonds

18

brOTHERLY BONDS

T he tips of my fingers graze my lips as I think of last night, only half listening as some noblewoman drones on about how she’s had impure thoughts of a man who isn't her husband.

I’m sure Prince Nevan was about to kiss me. And, thanks to the fae brandy, in that moment, I’d wanted him to.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as if I can wipe away the memory of my desire. The prince might be beauty incarnate, with perfect lips, eyes that vibrate with life, and golden-brown skin, but he is a monster.

And monsters, no matter how pretty, are most definitely not kissable.

I’m back in my priestess attire now, which clings to my skin thanks to the humid weather of the day. With a storm on the horizon, the air is heavy. That, combined with almost no sleep, has my mind and body sluggish.

“It isn't that I don't love my husband.” The woman sniffles and wipes her nose with a lace cloth that is elegant but not the most practical handkerchief.

“Of course,” I reassure her, zoning out again as she continues her confession.

Taking the shot of fae brandy had been wrong for so many reasons, and yet last night had been, dare I say, fun. It was a lot better than the alternative where I could have ended up dead.

Going to a haunted forest with a man I barely know, prince or not, is never a good idea. But one that’s a member of the House of Blood? It tops the dumbest decisions I’ve made, though I can't really blame myself.

Fae brandy is strong, and the only other time I ever had it, I nearly got myself caught as a resistance member, which would have ended in my losing my head if I was lucky, or tortured for days if I wasn't.

The woman on the other side of the curtain loosens another clearly fake sob. “Will the Goddess ever forgive me?”

On a different day, I might draw out the confession, seeing if there’s any deeper secret the woman might possess. But I’m tired, and my thoughts are too scattered to care about some woman's impure thoughts. “Burn your favorite gown as penance, and Goddess Mina will look past your mind's transgressions.”

“My favorite dress?” the woman practically screeches.

“I'm afraid so.” My tone holds no sympathy. “Is there anything else you'd like to confess?”

The woman doesn't bother answering.

I don't resist rolling my eyes as the woman stomps away as if she were some child.

And when Blaise saunters into the confession next, I roll my eyes again.

“Welcome,” I say, willing myself to sound cheerful. “The Goddess blesses you.”

Once he is sitting, he stares at me through the veil between us. “How, exactly, does one become a priestess?”

“Why, are you looking for a job?” I dig my nail into my thigh at my stupid question.

“Can a man be a priestess?”

“I don't believe so.”

“Why's that? I didn't realize that the Goddess Mina was so sexist.”

Why must he come here when he clearly has no respect for the Goddess or the tradition of confession?

His first visit had been slightly amusing. Now, though, I just want to tell him to leave me alone. But turning away a confessor tops the list of things a priestess isn’t supposed to do, so I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to act like I want to be here.

I return to his earlier question instead of taking the bait of his last one. “I spoke with three of the high priestesses as a child, and they deemed me worthy of taking the Priestess Vow. I'm not sure how that worthiness is decided.”

“You just wandered into the Temple and asked to be a priestess?”

“Yes,” I lie, thinking back to the day Aella found me, freezing on the streets in the depth of winter. I'd just tried—and failed—to steal a loaf of bread from a bakery, plagued by the guilt of resorting to thievery, but so desperate, I'd had no choice but to try.

Aella was barely older but so much smaller than the fourteen-year-old me. Her blue dress was so bright against the fresh layer of snow, and with her entire face shielded, I had wondered if she was a goddess in disguise.

A goddess who gave me the miracle of steaming soup.

So desperate for both the warmth and the sustenance, I took a spoonful too quickly and burned my tongue.

Blaise's voice pulls me from my memory. “A lie from a priestess? Tsk tsk. Whatever does your Goddess think?”

“Pardon me?” I ask, trying to remember what I'd just said.

“You said you wandered into the Temple,” he says. “And you lied.”

Does he somehow know my story? No, that doesn't make sense.

I've never met him before, and even if I had, I don't share details like that about myself with anyone. For a moment, I worry he’s reading my mind. I've heard of some gifted with the ability.

But then it hits me. “You're a member of the House of Lies.”

He grins. “Clever woman.”

“And, why exactly, is that relevant to me?” Keeping to my priestess persona would be wise, but clearly, he’s come into the confessional with the intention of me figuring out his house allegiance, and I'm not in the mood to pretend otherwise.

“I just wonder why someone blessed by the Goddess would lie? It's as if the whole thing is nothing more than a sham.”

I clench my jaw and exhale through my nose. “Perhaps, some of us can do the Goddess's bidding and prefer to keep personal information private. It's called nuance.”

“Or, perhaps, the Priestess of Secrets has secrets of her own?”

A knot twists in my stomach. How much does he know? “Don't we all?”

He rocks his head from side to side, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yes, I suppose so. But some of us have bigger secrets than others.”

Does he actually know any of my secrets, or is this some ploy to get me to confess something to him? “I'm afraid you're on the side of the confessor, today. So, any secrets I have, I'll keep to myself.”

“And what's the fun in that?”

“I didn’t become a priestess to have fun.”

“Why did you become one, then? And don't give me some line about how you wanted to dedicate your life to the gods. I don't need to be a member of the House of Lies to call you out on that.”

He must know something he isn't sharing with me. “Why did you join the House of Lies?”

“Because I was bored.” He shrugs. “And because it came with power.”

“Well, I was a starving child in need of something to keep me from the cruelty of winter.”

“The truth.”

“Yes, and that's all I'm in the mood to share. So, unless you'd like to confess something of your own, I suggest you quit wasting my time.”

I am too tired to trust this banter to go on much longer.

He tips his head in farewell before leaving. “Until we meet again.”

I thank the gods that's over, but I have no doubt he'll be back to bother me soon enough. When no one comes in after Blaise, I tip my head back and rest my eyes, another memory rising to the surface.

Fourteen-year-old me tugged at the sleeves of my new blue priestess dress.

From across the room, Aella laughed as she picked up a hairbrush from the dresser. “Be careful or you’ll rip them before your first confession. Sit and I’ll braid your hair.”

She scooted out a chair from the desk.

I sighed and let my arms drop to my sides before taking a seat. The dress was beautiful, far more lovely than anything I’d worn in years, but the stitching around the wrists made my skin itch.

As Aella twisted my hair, I said, “I keep waiting for one of the high priestesses to barge in and say there’s been a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“That the Goddess doesn’t want me to be a priestess.” I fidgeted, resisting the urge to scratch my wrists.

“I don’t think Goddesses make mistakes.” Aella finished the braid. “Why don’t you think you’re meant to be a priestess?”

There were so many reasons why I didn’t belong in that place, but I knew better than to share any of them. Even if Aella has been nothing but kind, I’d made it that long by keeping my secrets to myself.

Perhaps on that end, I did belong in the Temple of Secrets.

The creak of the confessional door pulls me back to the present.

“The Goddess blesses you,” I say before forcing my lids open to see Prince Maddox enter the space.

I would never guess that he and Nevan were brothers if I saw them standing side by side on the street. It’s as if they are two sides to a coin, Nevan birthed from the sun and Maddox the moon.

Both are handsome, with sharp jawlines and broad shoulders, but Maddox doesn't exude the same warmth as his brother.

Instead, he holds the cunning of night in his eyes.

His mood is hard to read now, but I can pick up a slight sense of anger in his emotions.

He’s dressed in navy with a dagger sheathed at his side. He adjusts the blade as he sits. “I hope your stay at the palace has been to your liking so far.”

“I'm grateful for the hospitality.” I straighten my back as if he can see me, Priestess Lana's voice in my head reminding me to keep a proper appearance at all times.

Gods, even this far from the Temple, the rules blare in my head like loud bells.

“As always, we appreciate the dedication the priestesshood has to the kingdom.” He drags a finger over the arm of the chair.

“Have you come simply to check on me, or is there a confession weighing on you?” The magic from my Priestess Vow already tells me he has something to say, a tickle inside me urging me to push him to confess.

He glances at the door before leaning forward in his chair. “I'm afraid there is something troubling me.”

“Your words in the confessional are private.” Even if most know this to be true, a reminder can sometimes loosen a confessor up.

“Of course.” He hesitates. “It's just that, what I must confess breaks my own confidentiality, and I'm not one who does so lightly.”

I consider pressing more, but my intuition now tells me to wait until he’s ready. After another moment of silence, he leans forward in his chair.

“My father is planning to name my brother Nevan as permanent heir at the end of the Solstice. After what happened to my eldest brother.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Well, let's just say Nevan is much more like River than I am, and River was our father's favorite. And at one time, Nevan would have made a great king...”

When his pause lingers longer this time, I press, “But not anymore?”

“He's...” Another pause from Maddox. “He's gotten himself into some trouble recently.”

“I see.” I chew on the inside of my mouth, wondering how best to guide the conversation. The tug of my Vow reminds me to be careful what I say. “And you're concerned he won't make a good ruler?”

His stare drops toward the ground. “I fear that if the crown passes to him, the kingdom will fall.”

I remember the sound of screaming that echoed behind me as I fled the tavern with Alabek. “Can't you share these concerns with your father before he passes along the title of heir?”

“If I tell my father the truth, not only will my brother never forgive me, but it won't end well for him.”

“But what if you don't?”

“It won't end well for the rest of us.”

The weight of his fear presses into me like a wave on the shore. “I will pray for guidance from the Goddess.”

“Will I ever be forgiven if I betray my brother?”

“By the Goddess? I'm sure she will see the truth of your heart.” I'm not sure that Mina even listens to the prayers and confessions the priestesses pass along, but all I can do is comfort him.

“No, by my brother.”

Perhaps I should reassure him that Nevan would understand, but instead, I give the truth. “Only he can decide that.”

Maddox only nods at my response.

“Thank you for your wisdom.” He stands, and before leaving the room, asks, “Do you have any siblings, priestess?”

I tense at the question.

“I was raised as an only child.” Though I’ve always seen Aella as my sister, despite not sharing any blood. “But I understand the complexity between love and honor and the difficulty when the two don’t align.”

Later in my room, I think of Prince Maddox's confession.

I know exactly what type of trouble his brother has found himself in. The memory of the House of Blood attacking the tavern is seared into my memory like a brand, the last look Aella gave me a tattoo on my mind.

And yet, my lips tingle at the thought of Prince Nevan's mouth so near mine.

We didn't even kiss, and yet it is as if I felt his soul. The thought is silly—preposterous, really—but a surge of guilt, fear, and kindness had flooded me when our mouths lingered so close to each other's.

Clearly, the fae brandy muddled my senses and my grip on reality.

I swallow the thought of Prince Nevan holding me in the haunted forest.

Gods, I’d been so careless. As much as I want to blame my desire for vengeance, something about the prince unsettles me in a way I can’t describe.

He’s a monster; I know that. But denying my attraction to him would be another mistake, which begs the question: how far will I go for answers?