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“I heard you weren’t feeling well today.”

“I was only tired. I feel much better now.”

“You do look… well.” His face tints red.

“Thank you.” I take his arm, and we walk into the lounge.

Urian appears to choke on his wine when he glances our way. My smile widens. His glare rakes up my body, and it’s as if every inch of exposed skin adds to his rage. A well-placed gust displays how high the slit in the skirt goes up, the waist is certainly tight enough to prove I’m not pregnant, and the trail of skin showing from my neck straight down to the waistline is as direct a response as I could give him. I won’t even think him vain for assuming this has to do with him. I’m glad I had Lucy remove the strap between my breasts. Keeping them contained isn’t a problem, but they look like they’re waiting to fall out.

I turn around to get a glass of wine and display the back of my dress where the two lengths of fabric from the front come together to form a single braid down my back. Let’s see Urian maintain his Cerauno decorum now. I’d kill to hear his thoughts.

Jamys and I sit with Lillian; her countenance is tight, discomfort thinly veiled by refined manners. Regret ricochets through me—it was only Urian I wanted to upset, not anyone else. Jamys relaxes from his initial shock, though, settling closer to me than usual.

“Lovely as you are in the Cerauno gowns,” he says, “this is a stunning alternative.”

“Thank you. It’s a matter of comfort.” I turn my attention to his sister. “Your fortitude to wear those beautiful—but heavy—gowns every day is astounding.”

Lillian’s smile becomes a touch more natural. “It’s all a matter of what one is used to.”

Throughout our conversation, my gaze flickers to Urian to see that his glare hasn’t softened, and my chest swells with pride. How such a brute managed to have a son and daughter who are so agreeable is beyond my comprehension. Queen Anilla’s involvement in their upbringing probably saved them. But then Jamys and Lillian turn their attention toward their father as well, and I see that one of their attendants has come in to speak with the King.

His eyes widen, and his face colors a deeper shade of red. He speaks in hushed tones to the man and stands abruptly. “Elea, Gratian, I’m afraid I must cut my visit short.”

Anilla’s demure smile drops. “What is it?”

“A Penuman army is a day’s march from Dockerly Keep. I’m leaving at once.”

“How is that possible?” Now Jamys is on his feet.

I sink back into the sofa and take Lillian’s hand as Rylan pushes his shoulders back, straightening into a rigid posture. “How could they have marched all the way across Ceraun to the coast without your notice?”

“I don’t know,” Urian says. “It shouldn’t be possible, yet there they are.”

“I’m going with you,” Jamys says.

“No. You’ll stay here with your mother and sister.”

“That’s absurd. I can’t just—”

“It was not a suggestion.” Urian’s words are steel.

Mother presses her lips together as she glances between them. “Can we send aid?”

Urian looks to his attendant who nods. “It sounds as if that would be useful. Thank you.”

“Of course. Arabella, would you bring a message to Lord Coyle for me? His fleet will be able to approach from the sea.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Yes, of course.” My skin feels too tight as I wait for her to prepare a message. If Lord Coyle’s fleet sails to Ceraun, I know who will be at the head of it.

***

Though the flight doesn’t require any physical exertion, I land at Highbluff out of breath. I blow the doors open and let myself in, which sends the staff fumbling to announce me.

“The Princess—”

“That won’t be necessary.” I cut the footman off as I bustle into the sitting room.

Jo and her mother talk over each other asking what’s the matter, but Tomas only keeps his unyielding gaze on me.