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Before I could catch what Lord Greyson was saying, he stopped speaking and strode toward his wife, bending to kiss her cheek. “Sorry we were so long. We uncovered a wealth of evidence, and I needed Lord Kent and Madam Calla to confirm the validity of the claims.” Greyson surveyed the table.

Lyra smiled up at him. “The food was delicious. We didn’t know how long you two would be, and I didn’t want Mistress Rue to eat alone.”

“Was it all tested?” he asked.

“Martin tasted everything before Mistress Rue arrived,” she assured him.

Lord Greyson claimed the chair next to his wife with one hand while he motioned for Kent to join us. “Come, let us join the ladies and eat. You must be famished. I know I am.”

One glance at Kent’s tight, pale expression and I could tell the unease he radiated was more than just mild discomfort. I wanted to reach out to him, but I resisted, folding my hands in my lap instead. I waited until he took a seat next to me before leaning over to ask, “Are you well?”

He frowned. “I am well. I just saw my mother.”

“How is she?” It struck me as strange that I hadn’t seen her since leaving their cottage.

“Not well. The banishment mark on her was poisoning her. All this time I believed she was weary because that mark was a curse eating away at her magic, not—” Anger flared—sharp and fresh—from him. “This from the man who is supposedly my father. He was killing my mother—his fated mate.”

“My healer has removed the poison and given a positive prognosis.” Lord Greyson filled his plate while the new stranger did likewise before placing a plate before Kent.

“What is this?” Kent demanded warily.

I flinched, and our companions both regarded Kent with surprise and concern. Though the intensity coming from Lord Greyson felt more dangerous than the sympathetic curiosity of his wife.

“Your meal, my lord,” the tall man replied.

Kent sighed and closed his eyes, clearly struggling. “Forgive me, Raven. In the future, ask me if I wish for you to prepare a plate for me at a meal.”

“Then you don’t wish for me to assume—”

Kent sharply shook his head. “I can feed myself.”

“Understood, my lord.” Raven bowed to Kent and began retreating.

“Raven.”

“Yes, my lord?” Raven bowed again.

Kent sighed. “Please stop bowing. I simply wish to introduce you to my friend, Mistress Rue, and it is hard for her to get a good look at you if you are constantly bobbing in and out of view.” He motioned toward me. “Rue, this is Raven, my new constant companion and fellow prisoner of propriety. He appears intent on removing all opportunity for me to do anything for myself ever again.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Rue.” Raven bowed deeply to me—despite Kent’s instruction—before turning back to Kent. “You only have to instruct me in your preferences, my lord.” He barely bobbed his head, seeming to recall at the last minute that he wasn’t supposed to bow to Kent anymore.

“Be careful you don’t ruin him, Kent,” Lord Greyson commented. “Such modifications to procedure are all well and good in some social settings, but once we are at court, lack of adherence to protocol can give a poor impression of your discipline.”

“You might be labeled an eccentric,” Lady Lyra added with a wink and a slight tilt of her head in her husband’s direction.

“I will have you know, wife, that I have worked hard to cultivate my status of eccentricity,” Lord Greyson protested with feigned offense.

Lady Lyra laughed.

Lord Greyson smiled slightly before turning his attention back to Kent. “However, it takes work to maintain effective eccentricity, especially if one is king.”

Kent groaned. “And what if I don’t want to be king?”

Lord Greyson’s dramatic brows lowered in concern, and Lady Lyra placed a hand on his arm as though to caution him.

“We would not force you, Kent.” Lord Greyson set his spoon down on his dish with excessive care. “But I would ask that you learn more about the role and the needs of your people before you decide. We need you.”

“What if I take the throne and do nothing that you advise?”