Princess Amarinda of Bultain was the niece of the king of Bymar, our only ally country. Because of that, it had been arranged from her birth that she would marry whoever sat on the throne of Carthya, sealing the alliance. This was supposed to be my brother’s duty, one I believed he was happy to fulfill. Now the duty had come to me. The happiness over it had not. Amarinda had made it clear she was equally miserable over our betrothal. Compared to Darius, I felt like a consolation prize, and a poor one at that.
For the first time, Imogen noticed my wounded arm. She gave a soft cry, then moved closer to get a better look. Without a word, she crouched down and lifted her dress just enough to grab the fabric of an underskirt. She tore off a length, and used it as a bandage to bind my arm.
“It’s not so bad,” I said as she wrapped the injury. “The blood makes it look worse than it is.”
“Who did this?” I hesitated, and she said, “Let me get the princess.”
“No.”
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “This is important. You have to talk to her.”
I’d talked to Amarinda plenty, with every polite phrase I’d ever learned, such as “That’s a nice dress,” and “This dinner tastes good.” But we’d both avoided any of the things that really needed to be said.
Imogen kept pushing. “Jaron, she’s your friend, and she’s concerned about you.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
“That’s not true.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to her!” An awkward silence fell, until I added, “Amarinda’s friends are already inside the chapel.” She courted friendships with the regents who disrespected me most. And she had laughed so much with the captain of my guard at supper last night that I finally went to my room so I wouldn’t be in their way. I wanted to trust her, but she had made that impossible.
After more silence, Imogen murmured, “Then talk to me.” She smiled shyly, and added, “I think I’m still closer to you than anyone else.”
She was, which was a tragedy. Because now that she’d put it into words, I realized someone else understood it too. Roden said he knew exactly whose death would hurt me most.
Imogen. If the pirates wanted to hurt me, they’d take Imogen.
I couldn’t imagine a day of my life without her there in some way. But if I failed to keep the pirates out of Carthya, then Roden would lead them straight to her. The thought of what might happen then was unbearable. A hole opened up inside me as I realized how dangerous it was for her to stay here. Allowing her to remain connected to me in any way was a potential death sentence.
As much as I hated the thought of it, I knew what must be done. Imogen had to leave the court. Worse still, she had to want to be as far from me as possible, so that nobody could ever suspect there was any benefit in harming her.
My stomach twisted, as if the lies I was about to tell were knives pulled from my gut. I slowly shook my head and said, “You’re wrong, Imogen. We’re not friends and never were. I only used your help to get back to the throne.”
She froze for a moment, unsure of whether she’d heard me correctly. “I don’t understand —”
“And you’re using me to stay here at the castle. Where you don’t belong.”
“That’s not true!” Imogen stepped away with a look of shock as if I’d slapped her. Once she recovered, she said, “When you were Sage —”
“I’m Jaron, not Sage.” My lip curled as I added the worst thing I could think to say. “Did you really believe I could ever truly care about someone like you?”