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“Arguably,” said Conor, “that would have happened anyway.”
Sarany looked directly at Conor. Something flickered in her gaze—there was a flash of anger, but that hunger remained there, too. She said, her voice dark and sweet as chestnut honey, “My dearUr-KörolAurelian. Might I give you some advice?”
“I am dreadful with advice,” said Conor. “I so rarely take it. It is a besetting sin.”
His tone was casual but his hand was in danger of crushing the stem of his wineglass. Sena Anessa had abandoned any pretense of speaking with Kel and was staring from the King to Conor, and back again.
Sarany said, “I have known, in my travels, many young lords and princes. In love with fun and adventure and ease.” She made a face that indicated she was familiar with none of those things. “Those whom the Gods have blessed with a royal position inherit much from their forebears. Nobility and power, certainly, but also responsibility. Alsodebt.”
The King looked at Sarany as if, in her face, he saw the gallows.
“I owe no debt to Malgasi,” Conor said, and Kel saw an ugly smile flash across Fausten’s face. He wanted to get up and throttle the astronomer until he told what he knew.
“Oh, but you do,” said Sarany. “Your father might not have told you, but long ago you were promised to Elsabet Belmany. Before either of you were born. It was a union written in the stars.” And she looked at Fausten with her narrow, predatory gaze, the force of which made him shrink back a little.
Conor had gone an ashen color. “Promised? What nonsense is this?”
“Markus.” Lilibet’s voice was chilly calm. “Say it is not true.”
“A King does his duty,” King Markus said. “Conor’s duty is to marry Elsabet Belmany. To unite the blood of Belmany and Aurelian. The stars have foretold it. It must be so.”
Conor knocked over his wineglass, spilling rosy liquid across the tablecloth. The servants at the door exchanged glances, then vanished back into the kitchen.
“Formonths,” Conor snarled, “we have been discussing the nature of the union I must enter into: which countries, which nobles, which alliances. And you have saidnothing.I take it Bensimon does not know, nor my mother, nor Jolivet. You have lied to us all—”
“There was no lie,” hissed the King. “Let the Council of Twelve bicker and barter. See where their alliances lie. It does not matter what they say, or do. What is written in the stars cannot be undone.”
“No, my lord,” said Fausten, in a voice like a chant. “Oh, no, it cannot. Never.”
“Enough!” It was, of all people, Sena Anessa. She was on her feet, her crown of white hair trembling with indignation and rage. “Enough of this ludicrous discussion. It is too late forthe stars.” She spoke the words with contempt. “PrinceConor, in the name of the agreement that exists between us, put a stop to this—this—misunderstanding,before the Ambassador from Malgasi is further embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?” echoed Sarany, her voice rising. “What is this? I demand to know.”
There was an awful moment of silence. Conor looked down the table—not at Anessa, but at Kel. There was something like an apology in his eyes. It sent a dart of fear up Kel’s spine.
“Conor,jun,” said Lilibet. An endearment, one she rarely used. “What is all this about?”
Conor flung his napkin onto his plate. He looked around the table with defiant eyes. “It is really very simple,” he said. “I am already engaged. To Princess Aimada of Sarthe.”
Ambassador Sarany’s mouth fell open. Lilibet looked stunned, Sena Anessa vindicated. Kel felt as if his mind had gone blank for a moment. How could Conor have done this? Or, if he were honest, how could Conor have done thiswithout Kel knowing?
“There you have it,” said Anessa. “The contract has already been signed.”
“Conor,” said Lilibet, urgently. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” said Conor. “It is not a joke.”
Lilibet whirled on Anessa. “This may well not be binding,” she said, “given that neither myself nor the King knew anything about it.”
Anessa’s smile soured. It seemed clear she had not been aware that Conor was making this agreement in secret, without the agreement of the King or Queen, though Kel imagined she would deny it if asked. “My dear Queen Lilibet,” she said. “Prince Conor is not a child. He can make his own agreements. We have his signature, his seal, and we have already delivered the dowry payment.”
The words flashed like lightning behind Kel’s eyes. What was it Beck had said? About being paid in Sarthian gold? “Ten thousand crowns,” he said, then clamped his lips together; he had not meant to speak at all.
But Anessa was crowing. “See,” she said. “Even his cousin knows.”
“Fausten,” Sarany hissed, her blood-red lips twisted into a grimace. “You lyingtraitor.”
The King looked between Fausten and the Malgasi Ambassador, his brow darkening. But Legate Jolivet—Jolivet looked directly at Kel, and for a moment, Kel felt pierced by his disapproval. In Jolivet’s eyes, Kel should have not only known Conor’s plans, but been able to stop them.
