My pulse quickened. Would Kallias wear his signature evergreen tonight? The thought of our colors complementing each other sent a flutter through me.
Ridiculous. Silly. And yet, I couldn’t quite squash the hope.
The walk to the dining hall gave me ample time to strategize. Shedding a pair of guards had been manageable before, but parting with six—my new entourage—felt like planning a battlefield maneuver. Their boots thundered against the stone floor, the sound swallowing the quieter murmurs of the palace corridors.
When I arrived, I forced my breathing steady, repeating the courtly mantra: masks on, feelings hidden. This was a game, one I’d played before. Still, the sheer number of guards shadowing me gave me pause, their presence a wall between me and freedom.
The heavy doors swung wide, and the scent of Radaanian fare hit me—a blend of greens and savory gravy that stirred memories of simpler evenings.
Then his gaze met mine.
Across the expanse of the hall, Kallias turned. Distance blurred the details of his face—whether his jaw carried a shadow of stubble or remained smooth—but I felt the weight of his attention like a touch. A shiver ran through me, unbidden, as I recalled his words from the night before. My reply burned alongside them, a secret stretched taut between us, fragile as spun glass.
I forced my feet forward, drawing a steadying breath, and fixed my eyes on the dais. Tallon sat at his father’s right, and next to him, the Velli.
The heat ignited by Kallias’ gaze iced over. Had the prince replaced me with that creature? Egath’s presence radiated an unsettling authority, his sharp features a reminder of everything I didn’t trust. Where would I sit now? Did the prince even comprehend the consequences of such a slight?
At the base of the dais steps, I hesitated. Kallias’ gaze hadn’t wavered, his steady scrutiny a lifeline. He intervened for me before, his quiet authority speaking louder than Tallon’s empty gestures.
With a cool exhale, I climbed the steps. My resolve firmed, one thought anchoring me: I would not falter, no matter who sat where.
“Tallon.” The stern timbre of his voice rumbled, commanding immediate attention.
The prince abandoned his conversation mid-sentence. He scrambled from his chair and hurried down the steps. His enthusiasm might have impressed me if his first words hadn’t been, “Egath has a trick to show us.”
Egath’s smile remained polite, almost soft, but his eyes told a different story. A cold thread coiled in my chest, though years at court had trained me well. I returned his expression with a practiced grin, hollow but convincing.
I’d grown up among dragons. What was one man with filed teeth?
As we neared my seat, Egath rose. To my dismay, he slid into the chair beside mine, his presence a shadow at my elbow. Dread settled like a stone in my belly,but I took my place between Tallon and the Velli with the precision of a chess piece moved into position.
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
His voice, smooth and measured, still caught me off guard. I half-expected him to hiss through those unnerving teeth.
“Evening, Egath.” I unfolded the napkin in my lap, keeping my movements deliberate. “I trust your day went well?”
“Well enough.” He leaned forward with a casual disregard for decorum. His elbow pressed into the table, propping his angled chin on one hand. “The palace is charming, though I was disappointed to learn the city remains off-limits.”
His relaxed posture and loose manners grated against the rigid formality of the dining hall. Perhaps the Velli favored such informality, but it went against the practiced etiquette drilled into me.
I made a note to research his culture further. Gods knew the foreign advisor would be no help.
With any luck, the meal would begin soon, though the delay as Greaves sampled Kallias’ plate meant more of this dreadful small talk. My fingers tightened around the silverware, but I smiled as if nothing was amiss.
“I’m sure my father would–”
“Article Twenty-Three of the Treaty of Me’orn.” The king’s voice cut through the prince’s protest like a blade, low but commanding. “The people of Vellos are forbidden entry into Radaanian cities without written permission from the king.”
Tallon flinched but kept his eyes averted, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond his father’s stern face. I leaned to see over his shoulder, the subtle movement catching Kallias’ firm expression. His jaw clenched, and a muscle ticked near his temple, but he smoothed it with a deliberate blink before turning back to the noble at his left.
That small, silent gesture spoke volumes. It was a reminder, a reassurance—his promise to intervene when his son overstepped.
Tallon sighed, the sound heavy with defiance, and offered Egath a crooked, mocking smile. The message in that grin was unmistakable:Wait until I’m in charge.
Fortunately, Kallias was far from yielding his crown, his health and resolve still formidable.
The Velli chuckled, slouching in his seat with a calculated nonchalance. “Ah, therein lies my problem. One might think of this place as a prison.”
