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Shame cut her. She tried to shove that aside. “He will forgive me.”
“Will he?” Skyer’s voice lowered. “Imara, you have no idea what’s been happening in Zennor. The demonstrations I mentioned earlier are only a small part. Our people feel the tension. Your father feels it even more than most. His health is declining.”
Shock jolted her. Zaire Buhari was a giant. The strongest man she knew. “My father is ill?” she asked.
“He eats little and sleeps rarely. This I am told by your mother, as your father would not admit weakness.”
No, he wouldn’t. Imara’s shoulders sagged, and she leaned more heavily on her cane. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“You were selfish,” Skyer said. There was no true insult in his tone—only fact. “This will be remedied when you return and do as you promised.” He turned from her and sat on the center of the settee. His long arms stretched over the back, nearly covering the whole thing. Relaxed in a reclining sprawl, he studied her. “Tell me of your cousin, Prince Grandeur.”
The question surprised her. She shifted her weight with the cane, trying not to reveal the building strain of simply staying upright. “I’m not sure what you’d like to know. He’s the crown prince of Devendra, and we’re not close.”
“Why?”
Imara sighed. “We don’t have a good relationship, that’s all.”
“Hm.”
Imara’s good leg shook. She limped toward the nearest chair, but Skyer’s words halted her. “Sit beside me.”
“I would prefer to sit in the chair.”
“And I would prefer it if you’d sit beside me.” Skyer smirked. “Stand or sit with me, Imara—it is your choice.”
He was trying to exert power over her. He wanted her to cave and sit beside him. Or perhaps he thought she’d try to sit elsewhere, and he could have grounds—however weak—to accuse her of disobedience. Disrespecting him was something she couldn’t overtly risk; he could hold that against her and her father.
The one thing Skyer didn’t expect was for her to stand her ground.
Her hold on the cane tightened, and she remained standing. “Grandeur may not look physically impressive to you, but he has teeth. You should be careful.”
“You worry for me?” Skyer asked.
She ignored that. “That’s all I can say about Grandeur. The rest you would no doubt find boring. Childhood spats.”
He tipped his bald head, the muscles along his dark arms flexing as he shifted into a deeper recline. “Tell me about Desfan.”
Warmth infused her cheeks, and she prayed Skyer wouldn’t notice in the flickering lamplight. “He is a new ruler, but a strong one.”
“He is your friend.”
“Yes.”
“More than a friend?”
Her throat cinched. “No. Of course not. He is engaged to marry Serene, and I you.”
“Yes. But that does not always stop a man from dallying.” He glanced at her cane, which trembled a little. “Are you sure you would not rather sit beside me?”
“I would rather go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Soon,” he said. “I have a few other questions. I heard of Prince Liam and Prince Grayson’s attack during the treaty signing. Are they still in prison?”
“Yes.” There was no way she would share Grayson’s mission to Ryden with Skyer.
Something flashed in Skyer’s eyes, gone too quickly for Imara to interpret. “What can you tell me about the Rydenic princes?” he asked.
She truly didn’t know what he wanted to hear. She kept to basic facts, answering shortly any of his additional questions.
