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They have shopped and dined in each district. Keen-eyed witnesses say they are even sharing fashions, leaving us to ask: is this friendship or something more? When wedding bells ring in two weeks, we might just see Her Highness challenging her brother at the altar for his bride. Stars know, our princess always gets what she wants.
I’d howl with delight if that happens, but Nadiya is too mousy to be Camilla’s type. Although, maybe not after the princess is done transforming her. Ziza is usually at least half-right.
I’m midway through hate-reading the article when the steward to Lord Denning walks by with a plate of whitefish. Casting an eye at the newsletter, then at Dante, he says loudly, “I should’ve done more traveling. Clearly, our royals have a taste for the exotic.”
I have to hold on to Dante’s cuff as his mild manners evaporate in a blink. I can imagine his retort, unspent in the back of his throat:Clearly, you have a taste for getting clobbered in the face.But Dante hasn’t lasted so long in theAuvenese court without knowing how to restrain himself, even when others don’t deserve it.
When the steward departs, Dante mutters, “Wart. I should’ve punched him.” He picks up the bread crusts I discarded and reaches for a slather of butter to finish them with.
“And have a duel thrust on you?” I chide. “The Council meeting was rough. The king wants to spread the idea of unity with Balica, but I think he’s creating more contrarians from it.”
“The frustrating thing is, if Balicacouldtrust Auveny, we would work together to find the witch.” He sighs. “People think we only work together in one way, if you know what I mean. My visits to the royal wing haven’t gone unnoticed. As if all I have to offer the crown is myveryfit body!”
“Well, it isvery fit,” I say dryly. “They’ll respect you when you’re a king’s adviser.”
He waves a spoon around, vehement. “Ifthat happens, they will think Islept my way there.The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that, frankly, Iama fantastic lay—”
A little bit of the soup I’m drinking goes down the wrongway.
“—and I wouldn’t be opposed to certain arrangements if circumstances were different. I’d want Cyrus to have high standards.”
“How generous of you?”
“Thank you.” Dante gives me a sidelong glance. “Could be to your benefit, too.”
“Shut up.”
When we finish with our meal, we walk out into thegardens. I can sense Dante weaseling toward the topic every time Cyrus comes up, but anything we might discuss wouldn’t be safe to mention in public.
As he can read my thoughts, he asks, “Want to go outside the city?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“I amverybusy. But if I have to decipher another page of the Head of Gramina’s handwriting, I will lose all literacy.” He unholsters the pistol at his waist and spins it around his finger. “Didn’t you want to learn how to shoot once?”
“No, Camilla just wanted to teach me.” Last winter was nothing but constant rain and sleet, and she went stir-crazy indoors. A Yuenen princess had gifted her a set of pistols with grips carved in the shape of twin serpents, but the ground was too marshy to hunt anywhere interesting. The palace emerged from that season bearing a number of new bullet holes and short two sets of dinner plates. Camilla let me try them out, but I was a terrible shot and she was a terrible teacher.
“Could show you how to spar,” Dante offers. “Never know when you face a beast again these days.”
I’ve seen him spar with Camilla, but I thought he was humoring her; I didn’t know he liked it. “They taught you this at the university?”
“Too many bored aristocrats sent there with father’s coin.” He grins. “I pick things up fast, is all. Come on, I need a distraction.”
We head out near the hunting grounds again, where there’s a wide-open space just for shooting and archery practice. The rippling grass is thick and golden-green;wading through it is as satisfying as combing through a groomed horse’s mane. I stretch my arms in the air to catch the breeze.
Dante ties his curly hair back with a string, and then we get started. He shows me a few weak spots, a stance where I can use my body as a lever, and how to best swing my limbs depending on what parts of me are trapped. I knot my skirt for better motion; I can match his moves well enough, just not with his speed. I knew he was strong, but he surprises me still.
While practicing a jab, I forget to give warning and nearly smash his nose with the heel of my palm.
Dante lowers my hand from where it had been, an inch in front of his face. “So. About your thing with Cyrus.”
“Do we really have to talk about it?” I try to kick at him, but he sidesteps.
“I was just wondering,” he says, shrugging with exaggerated flippancy, “are you…inlovewith Cyrus?”
“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” I hiss.
“I wouldn’t make judgments if you were.”
