Once Upon a Broken Heart (Once Upon a Broken Heart, #1)(21)
She told herself there was no reason to be anxious. Earlier, when the scars on her wrist had burned, she had feared seeing Jacks tonight. But given how exclusive the dinner was, any chance of the Fate attending seemed narrow. If Jacks was in this part of the North, Evangeline wasn’t even sure he’d want to attend. Most of the ladies would be there for a chance to meet Prince Apollo, and if Fates were as jealous as the stories said, she couldn’t imagine that Jacks would like that.
No, she reassured herself. Jacks would not be there. The only prince she’d see tonight would be Prince Apollo.
Her stomach tumbled once again when the carriage finally halted. Frangelica didn’t move to leave, but she cheerily said, “Good luck! And don’t pluck any of the leaves.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Evangeline said, mostly because it seemed like the correct reply as she stepped into the frost-touched night.
She’d expected to arrive at a snow-tipped castle or a storybook chateau, but there was only a forest of spindly trees dripping ice and an arch made of the same marbled blue granite that formed the Gateway Arch to the North.
This arch was not nearly as large as that one had been, but the torches on either side of it illuminated carvings that were equally intricate and far more inviting. Evangeline saw symbols from countless Northern tales and ballads: star-shaped keys and broken books, knights in armor, a crowned wolf’s head, winged horses, bits of castles, arrows and foxes, and twining vines of harlequin lilies.
It reminded her a bit of her mother’s embroidery. She was always stitching curious images like foxes and keyholes into dresses. Evangeline wished her mother were there right now and that whatever happened next would have made her proud.
“Are you going to stand here until you freeze, or step through?” said a smoky voice.
At first, Evangeline thought the voice came from the arch. Then she saw him.
The young man stood beside the arch the way a tree stood in a forest, as if he’d always been there. He wore no cloak or cape, just sinuous leather armor and an unusual bronze helm. The top portion almost looked like a crown, thick and decorated with unfamiliar symbols that wrapped around the young man’s forehead. The helm left most of his wavy brown hair uncovered but concealed much of his face with a wide curve of harsh, spiked metal that bracketed the sides of his head and covered his jaw all the way to the bridge of his nose, leaving only a pair of eyes and slashing cheekbones exposed.
Instinctively, she took a step back.
The soldier laughed, unexpectedly soft. “You’re not in any danger from me, princess.”
“I’m not a princess,” she corrected.
“But maybe you will be.” He winked, and then he disappeared from view as she stepped through the arch and heard a voice rasp, We’re so pleased you found us.
Another step, and the world transformed around her.
Warmth coated her skin like afternoon sun. Evangeline remained outside, but the fog and the mist and the cold were gone. Everything here was burnished bronze and red and orange—the colors of leaves on the verge of change.
She was in another forest clearing, but this one was set for a party with lively musicians playing lutes and harps, and trees dangling celebratory ribbons. In the center of it all, a royal phoenix tree reigned, and Frangelica’s cryptic warning suddenly made sense. It was the first time Evangeline had ever seen such a tree, but she knew about them from her mother. A phoenix tree took over a thousand years to mature, branches stretching, trunks thickening, and leaves turning to real gold. They shone like dragon treasure in the candlelight, tempting people to pluck them. Although, according to myth, if one gold leaf was taken before all of them turned, then the entire tree would burst into flames.
Milling around the tree were all sorts of important-looking people. If the men at the docks had looked as if they could fell a tree with one strike of an ax, these people looked as if they could end lives with a few choice words or the stroke of a pen. Most men were in fine velvet doublets that matched the warm décor, while the ladies wore a variety of gowns. The majority were dressed in the fashion of the North with overskirts of heavy brocade, belts covered in jewels, and dramatic slashed sleeves that hung past their fingertips.
Thankfully, Evangeline didn’t see the Prince of Hearts among them. There were no young men with apples, cruel faces, and torn clothes.
She breathed a little easier and shifted her attention to searching for Prince Apollo among guests who casually sipped from crystal goblets as if attending events where princes chose their brides were as common as family bruncheon. Disappointingly, no one wore a crown, leading Evangeline to assume the prince had yet to arrive.
She might have asked someone at the party about him, but despite the ease everyone else seemed to feel, none of them included a stranger in their conversations. Circles closed and mouths snapped silent every time she moved near.
It made her feel unusually shy, and grateful that Marisol hadn’t been invited. She would have probably imagined that people were excluding her because of her curse.
A few people glanced Evangeline’s way, probably wondering if her rose-gold hair meant she was the girl from the scandal sheets. But clearly it wasn’t enough to enter any circles.
The only other girl who appeared to be intentionally ignored was another young lady around Evangeline’s age, dressed in an arresting dragon-scale gown the color of burning rubies. No one spoke to her, but they had to notice her. She was probably the prettiest girl there, and her dress was by far the boldest. It lacked Northern-style long sleeves in favor of having no sleeves at all—better to reveal swaths of smooth brown skin and shoulders with paintings of dragon flames that covered her arms in vibrant inked gloves.