I don’t take it. “If you think I’m going to fall for silly palm reading, then you are a very poor charlatan, sir.”
“Again, not a charlatan,” he vows. “And I won’t be reading your palm. Like I said, I’ll only be holding it.”
I’m impatient now, but I can’t deny that I’m also quite curious. My guards are watching warily, hands on the hilts of their swords, but they know that ultimately, they have no say whether he touches me or not.
I study the man, trying to get a read on him. “Alright, Sir Pruinn. Prove it to me.”
I place my hand in his, his palm surprisingly smooth for a traveler who’d be catching his own food and fixing his own wagon. The guards move closer.
Sir Pruinn gently curls my fingers into a loose fist and wraps his hand over mine.
The moment he does, there’s a sensation—a static that pops on the surface of my palm and the back of my hand, the energy jumping between us.
My gaz
e shoots up to his face, but his gray eyes are closed, arched brows tucked down in concentration.
“My queen...” my antsy guard says nervously.
“Quiet.”
I stare down at my hand in awe, because I can feel it. I can feel the magic coursing over it, coming from his touch. It crinkles and snaps, little bursts of magical bubbles that nearly sting, but not quite.
Inside my fist, my palm begins to heat. I feel something form, small at first, and then it grows, until my fingers are unfurling to accommodate the size of the object that just appeared in my grasp out of nowhere.
I wear the wide, unblinking eyes of shock.
Amazement, surprise, doubt, excitement, confusion—all of these conflicting emotions fly through me in a swarm that wants to get out.
I look at the piece of rolled parchment now held in my grasp, my lips parted with a dazed gasp. It looks innocuous, harmless, but my heart is pounding in my chest.
Sir Pruinn’s hand falls away, taking the magnetic crackle with it. “There you are, Your Majesty. Open it.”
“I’ll open it, my queen,” my guard offers, tone thick with distrust.
But Pruinn shakes his head. “It has to be you, or it won’t work, Your Majesty.”
I hesitate for a moment longer, and then I slip my fingers beneath the edge and unroll the paper. It’s not too large, maybe three hand spans, my mind spinning with spurred curiosity. “What is this?”
He peers down as I straighten it out, humming in interest. “It would appear that your greatest desire is somewhere quite literal. This is a map.”
I take in the elaborate lines with a narrowed gaze. Normally, I’d toss the map back at him and question what sleight of hand he used to get it in my grasp. But the magic was real, and something about this paper feels like me, though I don’t know how to explain it.
After I study it for a moment longer, I frown, my excitement abruptly dimming. “This map is wrong.”
Orea ends at the edge of Sixth Kingdom, but this shows boundaries into Seventh. Wrong. All that’s there is nothing. Nothing at all—not since the fae came and disintegrated it into the gray abyss.
My ridiculous spark of intrigue and excitement disintegrates right along with it. I should’ve known better than to believe this con artist. He nearly fooled me with his crepitate touch, but I’m clearly having an off day.
“Obviously, this isn’t where I can find my greatest desire,” I say with bored irritation. “It’s a misdrawn map you’re trying to pass off as one-of-a-kind.”
He should look frightened. At the very least, uneasy, since his magical trick failed. I could have him whipped on the street for being a fraud.
I let the paper roll up on its own, crushing it in my fist before I gaze up at Pruinn with a cool, unimpressed look and try to hand the map back to him. “Seventh Kingdom doesn’t exist anymore—hasn’t for hundreds of years.”
Pruinn doesn’t look worried or rattled. Instead, a slow, mischievous smile crosses his face, gray eyes glittering as he leans in conspiratorially and says something that sends static chills over my entire body.
“Are you sure about that, Your Majesty?”