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“If the former even shows up tonight,” Talasyn mumbled.

“Oh, he will.” Urduja took another sip of champagne. “That boy positivelylivesto inconvenience me.”

How long,Alaric asked himself an interminable while later,have I been standing in this room?

Surely longer than it had felt casting the eclipse sphere against the Void Sever. Surely longer than Bakun had been sleeping beneath the bones of the world.

More and more nobles were coming up to him, talking to him and thentalking with one another. Etiquette dictated that everyone, even those who splintered off into their own little groups nearby, use Sailor’s Common, so that Alaric could participate whenever he wanted to. And hehadto participate,or he would waste the Dominion’s hard-earned goodwill. The talking never stopped.

To make matters worse, Talasyn had been whisked off to the dance floor some time ago and she had yet to return, as she was busy going through one eager partner after another.

“Not only did the Lachis’ka stop the Voidfell, but she has also pulled off quite a splendid party,” remarked one of the nobles. “Her Grace is a woman of many talents, it seems.”

Alaric tore his gaze from Talasyn and her dance partner to glare at the man who had spoken. Or theboy, really. He looked to be in his early twenties, with lips nestled between the razor-sharp fangs of a bat’s mask and a teardrop-shaped peridot hanging from one ear. Alaric had no idea who he was, but he swiftly came to the conclusion that he loathed this person.

Alaric loathed the man Talasyn was dancing with, too, the pompous frog-masked noble who’d had the gall to just—justgo up to her and request a waltz—when she hadobviouslyjust finished dancing and any decent person would have let her rest for a while. He also loathed the nearby trio of dandies who were making no secret of their admiration, commenting on the excellent sense of rhythm ofhis wifeand the fine figure she cut over the marble tiles.

“I profess myself rather envious of Lord Yaltik,” one of them said. “I do hope Her Grace will spare me a dance as well.”

“She already smiled at you at the last formal dinner,” his friend protested. “Let us have a turn—”

The third member of the group was the one who noticed that Alaric was frowning at them. He nudged his companions, and they all smiled politely and bowed in sync. Then they resumed their conversation.

Alaric tried his best to not feel insulted beyond belief, but it was hard going.

Prince Elagbi wandered nearer, lifting his glass in what to all outward appearances was a cheerful toast, but the words he spoke close to Alaric’s ear were serious. “I realize that things are different on the Continent, Your Majesty. Here, it is expected for men to fawn over the ladies at these gatherings. It’s simply another way to pass the time, and the women take it as their due.”

Alaric was glad for the stag’s mask hiding the flush of his cheeks. Was he beingsotransparent?

Elagbi flashed a wry grin. “That scowl speaks volumes when it’s aimed at all the young lords, Emperor Alaric.”

Taking heed of Elagbi’s warning, Alaric attempted to relax the line of his mouth after the prince went off to mingle with more festive partygoers. To distract himself, he turned his attention to Urduja—just in time to see her stride onto the dance floor with an elderly rajan in a boar costume. There was a subtle change in atmosphere as the Nenavarene started whispering among themselves behind lace fans and gloved hands.

Lueve Rasmey promptly filled in Alaric. She’d been gossiping with him all night—or, to be more accurate, gossipingathim. He attributed the daya’s chattiness only to her relief that they hadn’t all died. “That is Rajan Birungkil of the Mist Terraces. He was a favorite of Queen Urduja’s back in the day.”

Alaric froze. “A favorite,” he said, before he could think better of it. He knew what that actually meant in court parlance. One had a spouse, and then one had afavorite.

Lueve shot him a look of vague reproach. “The Zahiyalachiswasyoung once, Your Majesty.”

That wasn’t the reason for his discomfiture. Despite those pretty vows that he and Talasyn had sworn to each other at the dragon altar, apparently marriage was as sacred here as it was in Kesath—which was to say, not at all.

Lueve continued defending her sovereign from what sheclearly thought was Alaric’s prudishness, with the breezy affectations that came so naturally to all the Dominion nobles. “I’m sure I have no idea how it is in Kesath, but it’s par for the course here, Emperor Alaric. Married people still need to form strategic alliances, after all. And just like marriage, it’s simply another way to maneuver in the political landscape …”

Alaric tuned out Lueve, and his gaze darted to Talasyn in something not dissimilar to panic. She’d gone through two new partners since the frog-masked lord, and more than a few noblemen, waiting for their turn, were gathered at the edge of the dance floor.

Not wasting time excusing himself, Alaric walked away from Lueve, setting a brisk pace for the dance floor. He had some faint idea of cutting in. It might be a bit of a social gaffe, butsurelyhe was well within his rights,surelya husband could rescue his wife from all these lechers who wanted to use her for political gain.

Isn’t that whatyouwere doing when you married her?queried his nasty inner voice, which he pushed to the back of his mind, but not before it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Before Alaric could reach her, Talasyn switched partners again, her old one having deposited her into the waiting arms of a shaggy-haired noble wearing an eagle mask and a feather-flecked brown-and-gold costume that showed off his sinewy frame.

Surakwel Mantes.

It was telling that all of the chatter rippling around Alaric was conducted in the Dominion tongue rather than Sailor’s Common, even though he was in the vicinity. The Nenavarene knew when to be polite and when to be discreet. But their bouts of quietly suggestive laughter, the intrigued tone of their remarks, needed no translation.

Surakwel was holding Talasyn closer than was strictlynecessary, and she was leaning in, too, the two of them murmuring to each other as they danced. A sickening blend of rage and despair welled up inside Alaric until he could barely see straight. Perhaps he should have seen this coming the night Talasyn leapt in front of the Shadowgate for Surakwel and referred to him by his given name. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time since then.

The lights in the ballroom were too bright all of a sudden, and the noise of the crowd almost deafening. Alaric balled his hands into fists to stop the tremors that shot through his fingers, and before he could allow himself to think twice, he resumed a determined path toward his wife.His.