Marek can’t help his intense interest in the events of that night, since those events are the reason he’s saddled with his unwanted betrothal. If he wants to revoke his claim without infuriating his royal father, Marek needs to understand the circumstances that led to it.
“Your Highness,” Sei says. “If I’m here as your claim, you should offer your arm.”
Sei is right, and Marek feels a brief flicker of embarrassment. The sort he thought he overcame long ago. Vana would have remembered that. Vana grew up in distant Kaiskara, but he was always noble. He absorbed every layer of etiquette from birth until it was more instinct than memory.
Marek offers his arm. “If you’re ready.”
Sei’s touch is feather-light on Marek’s forearm.
Marek has been much closer to Sei than this. They shared a harness for a day-long dragon ride. But as they walk into the Bernek visiting parlor, somehow this feels far more intimate. The slight pressure of Sei’s hand, the awareness of Sei’s far smaller form at Marek’s side. Marek slows his stride so Sei can keep up.
The symbolism is heavier than the touch itself. So far, Marek has avoided playing into this charade of a betrothal. Every nerve in his body screams to tear away from Sei Mallory. Not because the hand on his arm feels wrong.
Because it doesn’t.
Zora Bernek rises from her chair as they enter. Her plain cotton mourning robes are a stark contrast to her painted face. Blue dust glitters across her deep brown cheeks, brightening the violet of her eyes. Her black hair is undyed but braided up in a crown.
“Welcome, Your Highness,” Zora says with a bow. “It seems I owe you congratulations.”
Marek pats Sei’s hand, and Sei jolts beneath his grasp. “Zora, this is Sei Mallory. Sei, this is Countess Zora Bernek.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Sei says.
“Welcome, Sei.” Zora rests her hands on her hips. “I’d offer refreshments, but we’re packing up the place. I leave for Parsk the day after next.”
Marek doesn’t point out that Zora wouldn’t have offered refreshments anyway. Remembering that sheshouldmust be a new concern after becoming countess. “So I heard. I wanted to give my condolences before you left.”
“You and half the palace.” Zora sighs. “I don’t mind seeing you, Your Highness. It’s just been a long fucking month.”
Marek can relate, for different reasons. “I’m sorry about Petir. I knew he was struggling, but I had no idea it was that bad.”
“Neither did I.” Zora glares then. “No, don’t bother asking me.”
“Asking you what?”
Zora throws her hands up. “What everyone has been asking. Did Petir really kill himself? Do I think somethingsinisterhas happened?”
At Marek’s side, Sei tenses. He draws closer to Marek, and Marek feels an incredible urge to pull Sei behind him. To stand between him and Zora’s anger.
Her anger isn’t directed at Sei, though. Nor at Marek.
Zora deflates. “I’ve been mourning my brother for years. I have to let him go if I want to protect the house he left to me.”
“I won’t ask, then.” Marek will find another angle of investigation. He doesn’t have the heart to dig into Zora’s pain. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
The routine words, however sincere, wash over Zora without changing her. She must have heard the platitudes a thousand times these past few weeks. “Thank you, Your Highness. Was there anything else?”
“Lady Zora.” Sei’s grip tightens on Marek’s arm. “I didn’t know your brother personally, but my fellcat told me that Count Petir snuck treats to him at parties a few times.”
“Did he really?” Zora asks, her surprise mirroring Marek’s.
Sei nods. “Osric remembered your brother’s kindness well.”
Zora’s painted lips spasm. She looks away and takes a slow breath before answering, “Thank you.”
Sei’s grip tightens more. Marek covers his hand.
“We’ll leave you be, Zora,” Marek says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
