Page 71 of The Faceless Queen

“My favor?” I asked, barely hiding my disdain.

“Yes, yours, Your Highness. I dearly wish to have your favor.” He shrugged. “What more could a man want before a brutal joust than the luck and well wishes of the most beautiful woman in the realm,” he said, his voice as boastful as I remembered. His charm, his flirtation, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world when he spoke to you.

It was sending me back to when I was Alyra, to when I was a fool. A shiver ran down my spine. My wrist burned.

“To our Lady of Beauty.” He edged his moonstag even closer, his voice low and full of honey. “Though truth be told between you and I,” he winked, “I wish things might have been different between us, that I was the one betrothed to you.”

I stood up then, not liking that I sat on the floor for this, or at the king’s feet. If I was going to face the bastard, I needed to be standing, needed to be on even ground, even without the king’s permission.

I walked to the very edge of the stage and stared down. “My Lord,” I said, confused. “I am to be your cousin.”

“And?” He shrugged again. “Can I not share my dreams with you? Can cousins not be close?”

“I fear you are too bold in sharing your dreams with me,” I said, stepping back again, anger now touching my voice.

His stag’s eyes lit up, his head turning to track my movements. Suddenly he was pushing himself against the stage, his nostrils widening, sniffing me.

Recognizing my scent–the one thing I couldn’t change, couldn’t alter, no matter how many times I changed my skin or clothes. Jaron was even closer than before, his eyes running up and down my body with propriety, as if he owned me. As if I weren’t betrothed to his cousin. To the crown prince himself.

But Barron was still acting strangely, and it was becoming more obvious to anyone who saw.

“I think he likes you,” he said. “Strange, Barron hardly ever likes anyone.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “The last woman he liked …” He frowned suddenly, his own nostrils flaring before he shook his head, his gaze distant. When his eyes had refocused, his jaw tensed, and he looked me up and down, his expression full of suspicion.

“I am quite fond of animals,” I said, “and they are fond of me.”

“I think he’s more than fond of you, Your Highness.” Jaron cocked his head to the side. “I think he wants something from you. Like I do.”

“I thought you came for my favor,” I gritted my teeth.

“I did.”

“Calm down that damn beast,” the king growled. Barron was trying to push his head against the floor of the pavilion, his ears pushed forward, like he wanted me to touch him. Pet him.

I’d seen him do that before.

“Well?” Jaron’s eyes narrowed from below his helm, his visor pulled back. “Why don’t you pet him? Give Barron what he wants.”

My blood was boiling, my pulse racing, but I bent forward, stroking the moonstag’s head, just between his antlers. He calmed beneath my touch. Too quickly. Without warning, Jaron’s hand sought mine out, and his fingers squeezed.

“My Lord,” I said in warning. My stomach turned, my chest tightening with pain. A sudden connection formed between us. Powerful, strong.

A memory.

I’d just come off the stage from my dance set. My hair was red, my name was Alyra, and Jaron had been front and center of my show, not taking his gaze off me once. Already his eyes were hooded, his lust eking toward me, feeding the Azete.

“Have your eyes yet had their fill of me?” I’d asked, pulling my sweaty hair from my shoulders.

He chuckled. “My lady, how can any man ever have their fill of you?”

“You don’t even know me,” I retorted, already surmising his station, wondering if he was indeed who I was beginning to suspect he was. I’d seen the crown prince before—only once. When I was a girl, King Tirian came to visit my mother for negotiations. The prince had stayed in my tower with his companions, and I’d snuck down to their room just long enough to catch a glimpse. He’d been sparring, and he saw me. For one second—his green eyes had held mine. And I’d always remembered. Until King Tirian’s men helped kill my mother. Then I’d banished those eyes from my memory. And I wondered if perhaps he was not like his father at all.

“Well, I cannot deny the truth,” Jaron said. “I don’t know you. But I will.”

“Bold.”

“That I am, and I think you are, too.”

“Perhaps,” I’d said, with a wink. I sent a burst of magic to my breasts, and they swelled, nearly bursting from my coin bra. Another dancer lingered nearby, but I shook my head, warding her off. This one was mine, and I was going to get far more than gold that night.