Others, though?
As the days had gone by, the meetings had become filled with a brittle tension as time after time, Prince Felix had directed a cold smile at certain visiting dignitaries before suggesting thatperhaps the figures they were presenting were in error and offering new terms in Lilleforth’s favour. Each time he’d been met with incredulous refusal, and each time he’d continued to smile and then, after presenting information that showed his estimates on their production were correct—information that he absolutely shouldnothave had—he’d politely insisted.
Every last one of the ambassadors who had been challenged had caved.
The king’s spy, whoever he was, was very, very good.
Thomas rolled his shoulders. This was the last meeting of the day, and he hoped it would be a short one. The Earl of Aramanthe was seated across from the king and the prince consort wearing a condescending smile, but his expression changed to one of confusion when Prince Felix said, “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding and one of your secretaries made a silly mistake with the figures you sent us, but it turns out that your grain yield was almost double the amount we were told. Of course, that means in the interests of fairness a new agreement is necessary. I took the liberty of making some adjustments.” He slid a sheet of paper across the table.
The earl took the paper and examined it silently for a moment. A vein throbbed in his temple as he squinted at the figures, his expression darkening. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Felix slid another sheet of paper over to him. “I think you’ll findthesefigures are more accurate.”
The earl’s brow creased and he snatched up the paperwork. As he examined what was written there, all the colour drained from his face. Gripping the paper tightly enough to crinkle the edges, he swallowed, his throat clicking. “Of course,” he said. “A clerical error, as you say.”
“Mistakes happen,” King Leopold said, leaning forward. “But as you need port access and we need your grain, we’re willing to overlook it.” He held out a quill.
The earl glanced from the king to the papers in front of him and back to the king, and whatever he saw made his shoulders sag.
Thomas didn’t miss the look of triumph that passed between the king and his husband. To see Prince Felix now, poised and regal, nobody would have guessed that he’d started out working in the stables before capturing King Leopold’s eye, and then his heart. After their marriage, the king had appointed Prince Felix his chancellor, and he’d taken to the role like he was born for it.
The earl grabbed the quill and signed his name, his mouth a tight line.
“Excellent. Won’t you have a glass of wine to celebrate?” Felix said with a sharp smile.
“No, thank you, Your Highness,” the earl sniffed. Then he pushed his chair back and stood, giving a stiff bow before sweeping from the room.
“Ooh, he doesn’t look happy. Why do you suppose that is?”
Thomas jolted. He glanced sideways to find Evan, Duke of Ravenport, leaning against the wall next to him with a glass of wine in his hand. Thomas could have sworn he hadn’t been there a moment ago. The duke’s shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, and Thomas glimpsed a smattering of dark hair on his chest. Judging by the state of him, he’d only just rolled out of bed.
Thomas was tempted to ignore him, but while Evan was mostly harmless, he was also royalty, and Thomas wasn’t going to risk offending him. So he said, “I don’t believe the trade agreement went as he’d planned, Your Grace.”
Evan pushed himself off the wall and moved closer, pausing to gulp down some of his wine when it came dangerously close to slopping out of the glass. “There seems to be a lot of that about this week.” He leaned in close, voice low. “Do you know, people are saying the king has aspy?”
Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I think it’s safe to assume that all kings have spies, Your Grace.”
Evan’s brow creased like it hadn’t occurred to him before. “I suppose they must.” He took another mouthful of wine. “You’re not a spy, are you?”
Thomas fought to hide a smile. “Not me, Your Grace.”
The duke looked Thomas up and down, his gaze lingering in a way that suggested he liked what he saw, and Thomas found himself straightening his spine and puffing out his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. “Hmmm,” the duke said, “I suppose not. A strapping, handsome fellow like you? Far too memorable. You’d never blend in.” He stepped up close and thrust his glass in Thomas’s face. “Drink?”
After the long day he’d had, Thomas was sorely tempted. But since he still had to attend the formal dinner that evening, he declined. “No, thank you, Your Grace. I’m still on duty.”
Evan let out a noisy sigh. “I can’t find anyone to drink with me, Thaddeus.”
Thomas suppressed a sigh of his own. “It’s Thomas, sir.”
“Is it? Are you sure?”
“Completely sure, sir.”
Evan gave a hapless shrug. “I’m terrible with names. Memory like that thing with holes, me. Can’t remember the name of it, though.” He let out a soft laugh. “That’s funny. I can’t even remember the name of the thing that’s like a bad memory.” He took another sip and peered at the bottom of the now empty glass. “Maybe I’ll find the Earl of Orange. He might need a drink after all that.”
“Earl of… Orange, sir?”Wasthere an Earl of Orange? If there was, Thomas hadn’t met him.
Evan rolled his eyes. “You know, the one who just left looking like someone pissed in his porridge. Remy. The Earl of thingy.”
“Aramanthe.”
