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Caulder didn’t have a reply for that, so he merely picked up his fork and took another bite of lamb.
“Prince Urban,” my sister said, startling me with her decision to enter the conversation. When he glanced at her slowly, almost suspiciously, she asked, “Since your one true love is already taken, will you move on and settle for happy enough, then? To combat the loneliness, like your sister suggested.”
His gaze swirled with pain before the strangest thing happened. He glanced at me. It lasted only a second. He returned his gaze back to Yasmin so quickly I’m sure no one else in the room even noticed his attention stray from her. But it felt like a lifetime to me, because in that one short stare, he seemed to ask me something, beg me, as if he needed me to save him from the pain afflicting him.
But then, just like that,
he was focusing on Yasmin again, and his expression was tempered back to normal, making me wonder if I’d imagined the entire glance.
“I’m not sure,” he finally admitted. “I just learned who my mate was quite recently. I haven’t really gotten past the shock of knowing her name yet to think much past that.”
Yasmin didn’t seem to have a response, other than a quiet, “Hmm,” so she followed her husband’s example and picked up her own fork before taking a bite.
When an uncomfortable silence followed, Brentley cleared his throat.
“Well,” he announced into the lull. “This has turned into quite a maudlin dinner conversation. Princess Allera...” He turned to his fiancée with a ready smile. “Would you think less of me if I confessed I wanted to be a court jester when I was young?”
Allera laughed and covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling with amusement, before nodding and saying, “Oh most definitely, yes, I’d have to say I would think very lowly of you, indeed!” But her grin told us all she was teasing. “I always fancied the bards, myself.”
Brentley grinned back, “Then I’ll endeavor to teach myself the fine art of song, my lady.”
They laughed together, and Prince Urban watched them with scrutiny before picking up his own fork and tasting his meal.
He must’ve sensed my gaze on him, however, because he looked up with his fork poised halfway to his mouth. When a knowing smirk lifted the corner of the scarred side of his lip, as if he knew every thought in my head, or worse, how he’d affected me, I flushed and glanced away, mortified to be caught staring.
I wasn’t sure if my husband could sense that I’d just had inappropriate thoughts about another or not, but he chose that moment to speak up.
“Prince Urban.” His voice was smug and self-righteous. “Is it true one of your brothers married a mere servant because of this…this love mark nonsense you people have?”
The princess of High Cliff’s fork clattered to the tabletop when she dropped her silverware to gape incredulously.
I resisted the urge to kick my husband under the table. We’d just avoided all possible altercations with the newcomers. Princess Allera and Prince Brentley had even smothered the tension with their playful banter. Why was Soren bringing it up again?
Prince Urban narrowed his eyes before he gave a single nod. “My brother Erick, yes,” he finally said, his voice pleasant enough, though a vibe streamed from his gaze that would’ve frozen Soren to solid ice if such things were possible. “He met his wife while he was walking through the courtyard where she was cleaning sheets with the other washer maids.”
“I see,” Soren murmured with a condescending snicker before he asked, “And this brother...Erick? Is he the crown prince?”
Mouth tightening noticeably, Prince Urban nodded again. “That’s right. Erick’s the oldest.”
Soren laughed, “So, let me get this straight. He’ll be the king one day, which means…his wife, the future queen of High Cliff is going to be…a washer maid?”
He started laughing, even though no one else joined in.
“Soren,” I murmured in warning, hoping that would rein him in and shut him up, but I’d never been able to control a thing he’d ever said or done before, so I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to stop him now.
He glanced at me, still chuckling. “What? Don’t you find it as ridiculous as I do?”
“Not really,” I said under my breath. I kind of liked the idea of power coming to an underdog. In fact, if the ruling class were decided upon through merit instead of ranking birth order, I think I would respect it even more so.
“The future queen of High Cliff,” Prince Urban spoke up, his voice clear and level and brooking no room for counterargument, “is going to be the queen. And that is all.”
“I think,” Caulder said, speaking once more, his gaze hard on Soren, “that the people of High Cliff are our allies now, and whether we agree or disagree with their customs, they are to be respected, as we would expect them to treat our customs.”
Soren sat back in his chair with a moody grunt and took a long swallow from his goblet.
“Well said, Brother,” Brentley cheered at the other end of the table as he lifted his own cup to add, “Hear, hear.”
“Hear, hear,” Princess Allera echoed, grinning at him and clinking her goblet against his before they drank together, smiling at each other as they did.
