He looks vulnerable. Exposed.
And yet he looks stronger than I’ve ever seen him. He’s not beautiful like Alejandro, for there is nothing of delicacy about Hector. And he is not wild and unpolished like Humberto. Hector’s jaw is too smooth and solid, his eyebrows too full and well shaped, his neck and shoulders hard with sculpted muscle. Everything about him speaks of elegant power.
I realize the silence has stretched forever. How long have I stood here gaping?
His pupils are huge, his gaze on me steady. He has watched me study him, and more than anything, I wish I could read his thoughts.
I find my voice at last. “Happy Deliverance Day.”
“You are beautiful,” he says simply.
Warmth floods my neck, and I swallow hard. “Thank you. You look very nice too.”
“I brought something for you.”
“Oh?” For the first time, I notice the package in his hand. It’s box shaped, large enough that I will need two hands to hold it. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Earlier, I had a page deliver a silver brooch for his cloak—the same gift I gave all my guards. I didn’t know what else to do. There is still so much I don’t know about him—about his childhood, his interests—and I couldn’t think of a gift that felt personal enough for someone so important to me. Staring at the box in his hand, I wish I’d given it more effort.
“It’s from all of us,” he says. “The Royal Guard, Ximena, and Mara.”
I whip my head around to stare at my ladies. Mara grins like a child about to eat naming-day pie. “Go ahead,” Ximena says. “Open it.”
Hector hands the box to me, and our fingers brush as I take it. I pull at the twine until it unravels, then peel away the decorative wrapping to reveal a hinged jewelry box of polished mahogany. The de Vega seal is burn etched onto the cover. My heart is in my throat as I tip the lid back.
Inside, resting on blue velvet, is a crown made of white gold with swirls and loops as intricate as lace. It’s dainty enough to be light on my head, and yet so much more substantial than the tiaras I wore as a princess. Indeed, it is fit for a queen.
But what makes me draw breath sharply, what fills my eyes with tears, are the shattered Godstones set into the gold. They range from dark blue to black; some are no more than shards. In the center is the largest, the one Godstone that survived mostly intact, though a large spiderweb crack bursts across its surface just left of center.
Whoever designed the crown was inspired by the broken jewels and carried the theme through the whorls and spikes of gold. Though delicate, the overall impression is one of bold strength and jagged shimmering.
It’s the crown of a warrior. Of someone who has faced destruction.
Because I am frozen in place, Ximena lifts it from the box and settles it on my head. It feels perfect. I step into the atrium to view my reflection in the vanity mirror. Tiny motes of untouched sapphire spark under the skylight.
“No one,” I breathe, “in the history of all the world has worn a crown such as this.”
“No one else could,” Hector says over my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror. I’m the first to look away.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you all. But how—”
“All those gifts from your suitors,” Ximena says. “When you were convalescing. We sold several items, melted the jewelry down. It was Hector’s idea. Mara helped the jeweler design it. Each of the guards chipped in a few coins.”
“It’s amazing,” I say. “It’s magnificent.”
“Go show it off, my sky,” Ximena says with a soft smile.
I find I’m eager to do so. I look to Hector, and he holds out his arm.
The audience hall is transformed for the Deliverance Gala. Rose garlands swoop from crystal chandeliers, filling the hall with their heady scent. The casement of each high window holds a lighted candelabra, so that the room seems surrounded by stars. Low tables line the walls. They are covered with silk cloth and brimming with appetizers and drink served in silver dishes, all surrounded by sitting cushions for easy chatting.
Musicians play vihuelas and dulciáns from a wooden stage near the entry, and hundreds of people mill about, smiling and laughing, dressed in their yearly best. More trickle in through the entrance after being thoroughly searched for weapons, but even this does not damper the mood. They’re as bright as a flower garden in their Deliverance colors—coral hibiscus and yellow night bloomers and sky-blue vine snaps. Women wear their hair up in jeweled nets; men wear long stoles trimmed in gold embroidery. It’s a night for shimmering, for catching the light just so.