Chapter 18

                                    

                                          
The next day I start up my usual routine again. Grooming myself into the perfect woman at dawn, breakfast in my room delivered by Bette, court in the morning.
I make a point not to look at Rein after my 'looking pretty' comment, but it's entirely too hard when he's sitting next to the King. The King makes an hour's worth of bad calls after each case is presented to him while Rein leans back and tries unsuccessfully not to make faces. At the end of a wasted morning of politics he looks up at me on the balcony, a wicked little grin on his face as if he's remembering the aforementioned comment that I know he'll never let me forget.
"He's a good kid," a voice says into my ear. I startle, eyes dragging away from the dark-haired boy that stole all my attention.
Standing over my shoulder, following my gaze is the tall figure of one of the Council Lords. He's the one that doesn't bother chaining his wrist like the rest in hopes of blocking magic from touching him. He's the same one who talked to the King the night of the ball—Lord Schol. Buzzed brown hair and dark green eyes stare back into mine. His skin is tanner and his body is a few decades older but the way he purses his lips at me looks strangely familiar. I raise my brows at the stranger.
"Excuse me?"
The Council Lord nods in the direction of Rein, not bothered by the clear attitude in my tone. "The Prince. He's a good kid," the lord elaborates. "I heard you're the love interest."
"No, no," I say instinctively, even though it is probably too rude for a woman to phrase something so bluntly. I'm reminded, belatedly, that in the eyes of the Queen and all the pesky politicians we're courting. "Well, nothing that serious."
The Council Lord laughs; I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I'm not getting scolded for being unladylike. The other woman wouldn't have found me nearly as funny. "My apologies, my lady, for listening to castle gossip."
"My apologies, my lord, that you're forced to hear such drivel."
"Not entirely drivel; it's always good to know about your soon-to-be King, no matter how trivial the information is."
I don't see how knowing what girl is on Rein's arm is helpful at all. Politics. "Soon-to-be King, huh? Sounds treasonous to me, my lord."
"Never," the Counsel Lord promises, raising a hand to his heart. He proceeds to stick that same hand out towards me. "Lord Ultar Schol, Council Lord to Everton Providence."
I put my hand in his hesitantly—I haven't been wearing gloves in this summer heat—and tense in preparation for the onslaught of thoughts. The constant faint whispers that can be easily drowned always turn to loud screams in moments of skin-to-skin contact.
He's different.
Silence. An image of the grey Wasteland dirt projects in my head but not a single thought.
A tick of time goes by as Lord Schol raises my hand to his lips and kisses it, as is custom. He doesn't have that lifeless, fake feeling like plastic that the magic blockers force and I can make out some information that leaks out. He's sad, the emotion seeps into my own, but I hear nothing at all. I small little smile plays out on his face—why? That echo of madness that lives in me begs me to command him to tell me his secrets. I want to know more, obsessively like a scratch that must be itched. 
I wouldn't do that if I were you.
The foreign voice—Lord Schol's voice—has me trying to rip my hand out of his like it shocked me, but he clamps down his hold on me.
With all that power inside you, you don't know how to close your thoughts off? You're like an open door for me, Emerson. I can see everything.
Let go, I scream out without opening my mouth. I tug at my hand again but his hold is too strong. Kneeing him in the balls comes to mind as my next plan of attack but he takes a step back as he hears my own plans. More ideas stream through my brain as I panic. Fire to the chest seems pretty tempting. Let me go now.