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FollowingMortisiantradition,Desfanstood at the doors of the throne room, greeting the men and women who had come to witness his coronation. Though he’d only managed to snatch a couple hours of sleep, he wasn’t tired. His stomach rippled with nerves, and an anxious, restless energy thrummed through his veins as he smiled and welcomed the seemingly endless parade of witnesses.
Karim stood at his shoulder, a full row of guards just behind him. That wasn’t strictly following tradition, but Desfan didn’t argue. Frankly, he was afraid Karim would hit him if he protested.
It was impossible to see the end of the line, because it extended beyond the palace walls. He only saw who was next when they stepped through the outer door and into the corridor. The procession had begun an hour ago, but he knew he was nowhere near done.
In the throne room, music played for those who had already greeted Desfan. He hoped there was enough room for everyone who had come. Invitations had been sent out soon after Serjan Saernon’s death, and while many nobles had arrived weeks ago, some of the faces Desfan saw were new. He tried to memorize names and faces, but it was always a relief whenever he saw someone he knew—until he saw Princess Serene.
Guilt pierced him, though he managed to keep his smile in place. “Serene.”
“Desfan.” She tipped her head in a slight bow. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of Imara last night.”
Heat touched his cheeks. “Of course. She saved my life.”
The corner of Serene’s mouth lifted. “She mentioned that. But truly—thank you. You protected her, and insisted that she receive the best care. I’m in your debt.”
“Nonsense.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He knew he would have to tell Serene that he’d kissed Imara. But before he did, he wanted to speak to Imara about things. Until that happened, things were bound to feel strained between them. Thankfully, Serene didn’t linger.
After she’d disappeared into the throne room with her guards, Desfan greeted several members of the council and their families, including Ser Anoush and his son, Arav—who was a little younger than Desfan, and a rather arrogant young man who had taken an instant dislike to Grayson. Right behind them came Ser Sifa and his son, Ranon. Ser Sifa often aligned with Ser Anoush on council matters, though his personal grievances against Ryden had ensured his hatred of Grayson and Liam, even before the Rydenic princes had betrayed them. Ranon, on the other hand, had become a friend to Grayson. Desfan felt a little guilty seeing him now, because Ranon had been asking for a meeting ever since Grayson’s arrest. He suspected Ranon wanted to visit Grayson, since he—like most people in Mortise—thought Grayson was in a cell with Liam. Obviously, a visit wasn’t possible, so Desfan had been avoiding the Mortisian nobleman.
Ranon greeted him respectfully, and Desfan was relieved he didn’t bring up Grayson. Then again, his father was standing right beside him; Desfan didn’t imagine Ser Sifa appreciated Ranon’s friendship with the Rydenic prince.
As Desfan greeted Ser Sifa, he was reminded of Yahri’s desire for him to choose an heir. It wasn’t something he wanted to do. Naming another heir while Meerah still breathed felt wrong. Regardless, he knew he had no intention of naming Sifa as his heir. Distant relation or not, Sifa was far too quick to anger; especially where Ryden was concerned.
Then again, that may not be such a bad thing, with war looming.
After the Sifas moved on, Razan Krayt approached.
Karim stiffened beside Desfan, but Razan only glanced at him as she stopped in front of Desfan. Instead of just clasping his hand as everyone else had done, she gave his fingers a comforting squeeze. It was a silent show of friendship, and it loosened some of the tenseness that had built up in his shoulders. “Thank you for coming,” Desfan said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Her mouth twitched up at the corner. “In fact, I think I’d lose my seat on the council if I did.” She looked at Karim, and Desfan could practically feel her nervousness. “How is your leg?”
“Fine.” His tone was short, inviting no further questions.
Razan’s spine straightened. She tipped her head, saying nothing else before she walked into the throne room.
Desfan eyed Karim. “You need to tell me what’s—”
“No.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing to say,” Karim bit out lowly. “Nothing has changed between us.”
Desfan made a scoffing noise in his throat. “That’s a load of rubbish. You were inseparable during the fight last night. Even if I have to tie you down, I’ll—Thank you for coming, Serai Nadir.”
Tamar Nadir had a small smile playing about her lips as she stepped forward. “I feel as if I’m interrupting a good conversation.”
“It will keep,” Desfan said, while Karim snorted irritably.
Tamar was a middle-aged widow who lived on the border, close to Devendra. Desfan had come to truly respect her. Not just for her unwavering support for peace with Devendra, but also for the kindnesses she had shown Serene and Imara.
Tamar Nadir’s smile was not quite as bright as it had been when she’d first arrived at the palace. Desfan knew that she and Dirk—one of Serene’s bodyguards—had grown very close, and she clearly still mourned his death. Desfan wanted to allow her the time and space she needed, but he was also anxious to meet with her.
“Did you receive my missive?” he asked her.
“I did.” Serai Nadir’s curiosity was obvious in her gaze. “Am I to be told the nature of this meeting you’ve called me for?”
“I would value your opinion on some matters,” Desfan said.
