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Stepping back, he motioned for Juliette and her small army to resume their assault on Lore’s hair. Bastian looked at the window as he left the room, something like relief softening the lines of his body as the world tilted toward night.
Bastian hadn’t hosted a party since August died, and the enthusiasm of the guests made it clear they’d been waiting. The throne room was full of courtiers dressed in their finest, a wall-to-wall throng of silk and satin. Before, the ages of the guests at Bastian’s parties trended young, but now there were courtiers of all ages dancing to the string quartet tucked behind the throne, drinking from goblets they filled at the wine fountains flowing freely in every corner of the room. The older generation of nobles had made no secret of the fact that they didn’t approve of Bastian’s policies, but in true Citadel fashion, they’d apparently put aside their differences to spend an evening in revelry.
So much revelry, in fact, that it seemed none of them had noticed the Kirytheans in their midst.
“Is he not going to announce them?” Alie chewed her lip behind her half-full wineglass, like she was trying to hide the movement of her mouth from the rest of the room. “He’s just going to let them wander around the Citadel without telling anyone?”
“He has a plan,” Lore said. “He just hasn’t told me what it is yet.”
Alie gave her a sharp look, the same one she’d given her in the solar after the Kirytheans first showed up. Distrust, not as well hidden this time.
“He can’t keep doing that,” Alie said after a moment, her voice clipped.
Lore took another gulp of her own wine, careful not to spill it on her dress.
Her dress had been the subject of many stares since she entered the room on Bastian’s arm. Lore tried to ignore it, tried to make herself as unassuming as possible. Hard to do, when she was the only person dressed in white. Bastian had left her when they entered with a quick press of his lips to her hand, going to make his diplomatic rounds.
So now she was hiding in the corner with Alie, the two of them watching the Kirytheans with the rapt attention of mice on cats.
Maxon was a natural diplomat. The way he held himself reminded her of Alie, actually: open and warm, but not weak; someone you could easily approach but not talk over. He was handsome, on the shorter side but broad, with close-shorn hair that shone deep-brown in the light of the chandeliers. His face was hard-planed, sculpted, his brows dark over serious green eyes. More than one passing courtier threw him an appreciative glance, but he spoke to no one save his companion.
Caius seemed like an inverse of his fellow delegate. As tall as Gabe, almost, though built slender rather than muscled, with dark eyes and golden hair he wore in a queue at his neck. Both men were dressed in fine but nondescript clothes, things the eye glossed over in a sea of luxury. While they sat well on Maxon, they seemed odd on Caius, as if he would be much more at home in the armor and tunic he’d worn when they rode into Auverraine. Maxon seemed content to drink wine and casually watch the crowd, but Caius did so with an intent that couldn’t be ignored, sharp-eyed and observant.
“That’s the one you have to watch out for,” Alie murmured. “He looks like he doesn’t miss much.”
Lore glanced at Caius, then away, afraid he would notice. “He’d almost be handsome, if it weren’t for the whole definitely-an-imperial-spy thing.”
Alie’s lips twisted.
As if he knew they were speaking of him, Caius’s eyes flickered toward the corner where she and Alie stood. His brows drew down studiously, as if memorizing their faces.
Lore gripped her wine tighter.
“Mouse!”
The crowd around them parted, letting through two women who looked entirely different than Lore remembered them. Mari wore an honest-to-gods gown, something Lore had never seen her mother do. It swept the floor, the same shimmering green as the sea glass clinking in her braids, which she’d artfully twisted atop her head. Val wore breeches and a men’s white shirt, as usual, but both of them seemed new, and her boots were polished to high shine.
Val whistled, glancing around as she and Mari came to stand beside Lore and Alie. “Some party. Do you—oof!”
Lore threw her arms around both her mothers, mindless of crushing the white ruffles Juliette had worked to perfect. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, mouse.” Mari smiled, pushing back Lore’s hair. “You look beautiful.”
“A beautiful cream-filled pastry,” Val agreed, holding out the skirt of Lore’s gown. “Something you need to tell us? You’re the only one here in white.”
Heat slashed through Lore’s cheeks, but she was saved from answering by the chiming of a silver bell, held by a liveried servant at the front of the room. Time for dinner.
Everyone made their way to the doors. Bastian stopped by the wall, the courtiers eddying around him, waiting for Lore. He held out his elbow, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Next time you invite my mothers to a royal event, you might want to specify a dress code for Val,” Lore murmured. “If this was anything less than a coronation, she probably would’ve shown up with belladonna stains on her shirt.”
“I think she looks lovely. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone attended one of my events stained in belladonna.”
“True enough.”
The doors out of the ballroom opened on a long room with glass walls and a glass ceiling, lit with chandeliers hung within arbors of blooming roses. The crowd murmured appreciatively, but when Lore looked at the flowers, all she could think of was Anton.
“When are you planning to announce our guests?” she asked quietly as Bastian led her to one of two seats at the apex of the room, both crowned in more roses. The other courtiers at the table weren’t anyone she recognized as friendly. In fact, the looks they shot her dripped with thinly veiled hostility.
“Tomorrow,” Bastian answered, just as low. He dawdled, changing course to take her to one of the rosebushes lining the walls so they couldn’t be overheard. “At First Day prayers.”
