Page 29 of The Sun King's Noon

“You must alter your ways,”Aralynn had warned the Estaran prince.“Continue down a cruel path, and I see a hollow future for you. Filled with silks and gold, but also of friends with fake smiles and servants who sneer behind your back. But the Threads do not show just one path. If you learn to listen more than you taunt, to shield rather than trample, then your life changes. Then, one day—not soon, but not so very far either—you will meet one who loves your temper. One who laughs in your face when you deserve it, and stands at your side when you do not.”

Richard shook his head free of the memory and spoke to Penelope. “All efforts shall be made to ensure your stay here is pleasant, Princess. And once the ball is over, you will leave.” He ignored Elara’s thunderous glare and gazed towards the setting sun. “For Estara is not the only realm with woes. And I fear Ardenia’s have only just begun.”

* * *

Richard leftElara’s bedchamber with Corwin and Kaelen in tow. The corridor was awash in fading rays of sunlight, and ahead, Dain and Selwyn had rounded the corner, clearly in the midst of an argument. On spotting Richard, they halted.

“Well?” Selwyn hefted her basket of fruit higher on her hip. “The princess?”

“Settled with Elara.” Richard glanced at Dain. “The Sylari?”

“Settled too,” Dain said gruffly. “The dryads have taken well to the back garden, and the fauns are dining under the pavilion. Raucous lot—already drunk.”

“And the druid?”

Dain shrugged. “By the dryads. Seems a quiet sort.”

Richard nodded and raked his fingers through his hair. He straightened the collar of his doublet and brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder. “Do I look satisfactory?”

Blank stares greeted his question.

Dain’s bushy brows knotted together. “Do you look satisfactory?”

“That is what I asked.” Richard rubbed his nape as the staring persisted. “Well, I intend to visit Orric, and one should not greet a guest in a disordered state.” He smiled. “There is a great deal I wish to ask him, you see. About the Greyhide pack, for a start. Are they solely wolf-shifters, or do other animal forms exist within the druidic orders? And how long does the change take when done in full? And do the wolf’s senses remain in human skin after returning? And the olden ways Orric mentioned—what precisely did he mean by it? Why does his mother view Ardenia with such suspicion? How many are there of?—”

“Do you think the druid handsome, my king?”

Richard blinked at Kaelen. The knight’s gauntleted hands were fisted at his sides, and his lips were pursed.

What a strange question to blurt out after two days of stony silence.

“Of course he is handsome,” Richard said. “Any with eyes would say so. His features are striking, his hair is long and dark, and he carries himself with great assurance.”

Kaelen’s face turned funny again, cycling through shades of maroon, and warping into a grimace. Dain swore and swatted his pauldron. The clap of palm against steel rang down the corridor, and Kaelen flinched, shooting his father a betrayed look.

Richard squinted. “Why did you?—”

“Never you mind,” Dain muttered as Selwyn massaged her temples, huffing a noisy sigh. Corwin slung an arm around Dain’s shoulders, his grin as wicked as Elara’s had been this afternoon.

“In any case,” Richard said, mystified, “I had considered hosting a fighting tournament alongside the ball. But I am glad I did not, in hindsight. It would have been terribly one-sided with Orric present. In his wolf form, he would be nigh unstoppable. The sheer?—”

“I would win.” Kaelen puffed his chest against the breastplate.

Richard paused. “What did you say?”

“The tournament. I would win.”

Richard shook his head. It was becoming far too common for Kaelen to dispute him on every matter. At least, he supposed, the man was speaking to him again. “You would not.”

“I beg to differ, Your Majesty.”

“Come now, Kaelen. Orric’s beast-form would tower above you on his hind legs. His reach would be broader, his centre lower and his bite force?—”

“I have slain basilisks. I can deal with bite forces.”

Richard rolled his eyes. Yes, Kaelen had slain a singular basilisk at nineteen, but the attempt had almost killed him. The creature’s fangs had pierced Kaelen’s ribs, and its venom had rendered him unconscious for over a week. Even Selwyn had not been sure he would wake.

This would be different. This would be a competition, which meant no deadly force, a rule Kaelen would no doubt adhere to with his usual honourability, and one that would disadvantage him.