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A sudden chill scraped down her spine, painful and unnerving. She looked over her shoulder and spotted Skyer. He prowled into the room, like a panther scanning a clearing for weaknesses. He found her and stared.
Her breath seized in her lungs. She prayed he wouldn’t make a scene. That he wouldn’t demand she move and sit beside him—
Grandeur stepped up to Skyer, extending a hand as he no doubt offered an introduction. Imara couldn’t hear her cousin’s words over all the other sounds in the room, but it was an obvious deduction. While Grandeur had never met Skyer, whispers carried gossip quickly through the palace. No doubt everyone knew who Skyer was. His presence was large, and the khalmin markings on his body were unique.
Skyer shook Grandeur’s hand, his face too stone-like to read. After a brief conversation, Grandeur gestured for Skyer to join him at the other end of the table, near Sers Sifa and Anoush and their sons—Ranon and Arav.
After Skyer joined Grandeur, Imara relaxed a little.
Razan noticed. The skin around her eyes tightened as she viewed Skyer. “Your betrothed, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“He seems . . .” Her voice drifted, struggling to find any appropriate word.
Imara sighed. “Yes. He is that.”
Razan frowned. “Are you safe with him?”
“Of course.” She managed to sound wholly confident, when inside, some deep part of her trembled. Skyer had never hurt her, though—and he never would. He wanted this alliance far too badly to risk her father’s wrath. He was rude. Overbearing. Dominant in a way that made her spine stiffen. But he would not dare harm her.
Razan set a hand on Imara’s arm. “Princess, I know you and I haven’t had a chance to truly become friends, but if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
For the second time at this table, Imara struggled to keep her emotions in check. “Thank you,” she said. “I truly appreciate that.”
The meal continued. Imara managed to eat a little, but it wasn’t long before she excused herself. Skyer’s plate was still quite full, since he’d just loaded it with more rice and fish, but that wasn’t the reason she hurried out now. No, she wasn’t running. She was just tired.
She almost believed her own lie.
She half expected Desfan to follow her, but he was locked in conversation with one of the council members. Maybe she’d planned that, too; she didn’t think she could summon up the energy for a conversation with him right now. It didn’t matter what he wanted to discuss—Skyer, or his admission of love. Both were topics Imara ardently wished to avoid.
She made it to her room with Kaz helping her along, and when he wished her goodnight and closed the door, some of the tension in her body drained.
She called for Hanna, but she hadn’t made it to her bedroom before there was a loud knock on her door.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She knew who it was.
Twisting back to face the door, she gripped her cane in both hands and raised her chin. It was a gesture Serene used to convey strength, and fates knew she needed that. This conversation needed to go differently than their last one. He had caught her off guard before, but she was Imara Buhari. She was no quaking woman.
“Enter.”
Kaz prodded open the door, and Skyer stalked in. “We must speak,” he said without preamble. “Privately.”
Imara nodded once. “We should.”
Kaz’s mouth was a tight line, but he obeyed her silent command and closed the door—keeping himself in the corridor. Hanna also retreated back into the bedroom she’d just emerged from.
Imara faced Skyer, both of them standing on opposite ends of the large braided rug that dominated the sitting room.
Skyer broke the short silence. “You can walk.”
“Not well. And not for long distances.”
“I will speak with your physician tomorrow,” he declared. “I want to know how soon we might leave.”
“I’ll introduce you to him.” It was easier than arguing, and what was the point? She needed to go home, even if she didn’t want to. “Do you have any messages from my father?”
“No formal ones.” He strode toward her, stopping only two paces away. His gaze was direct. She barely knew the man, but she knew that about him. “He was disappointed that you left. Hurt. Embarrassed.”
