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The woman’s hands trembled as she opened the lid of the basket, and Mehl itched to grab the sword he no longer carried. As it was, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping in front of Toren, who huffed out an impatient breath and pushed at his lower back. But only when the guards had rushed forward did he allow himself to return to Toren’s side.

Toren shot him a telling look—You are not my bodyguard—and Mehl gave a quick, unrepentant grin in answer.

In the center of the room, the woman withdrew a bundle of waxed paper, and only then did she take in the guards who had advanced with swords drawn. She froze, her hand wavering like a water-drenched leaf beneath her burden.

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “I suppose I should have had your servant take this from the basket.”

“Open the bundle,” Toren ordered.

She bit her lower lip, and Mehl’s body gave an unexpected twinge of interest. Frowning, he shoved the reaction down deep and focused on the paper in her hand. She was beautiful, but she might be deadly. He knew all too well the cost of distraction.

Finally, the woman gathered the courage to unwrap the bundle, and the lump of greenish-black seemed to confirm her claim. At least as far as Mehl knew. He’d never had cause to use any kind of dye, so his knowledge here was terribly lacking. Toren’s probably was, too, if his frustrated sigh was anything to go by.

“Feref,” Mehl said, drawing the attention that had mostly been reserved for Toren. “Are you familiar with such things?”

Feref inclined his head. “A little, Your Majesty.”

“Is that dye as she claims?”

“It appears to be so,” the servant answered. “But I would need to examine it more closely. I can at least see if this is what triggered the warning spell.”

As usual, Toren took charge once more. “Do so. And have her walk through without it.”

Mehl held back a sigh. A simple request for clothing had turned into a farce. He’d told Toren this extra step was unnecessary, but of course, his husband had wanted to make a statement. As if a new bit of fabric would prove their intent. Now poor Feref carried the paper bundle through with his arm extended, no doubt worried about what it contained.

What a mess.

* * *

Toren kepthis eyes trained on the woman as a guard nudged her through the door behind Feref. At first, he’d been furious at her deception, but deliberation had soon taken over. Nothing about her spoke of treachery. Fear and honest pride, perhaps, but not deceit. And he’d be willing to bet Mehl had come to the same conclusion, or he never would have stepped aside when she’d drawn out her bundle.

They’d been married nearly a century, but Mehl still guarded him the same.

He leaned close to Mehl. “Thoughts?”

“Innocent,” Mehl answered, his voice too low for the others to hear. “Though something about the tailor…”

Toren had to agree. If he’d known anything about Belak beyond the quality of his designs, he never would have commissioned the man. Belak tried hard to hide his fury, but the knuckles of his clenched hands were white, and the looks he darted toward the doorway were far from concerned. Curious, since rumor had it the woman was his daughter.

Ria. That was what he’d called her. There was something curious about Ria, too, and it wasn’t her current situation. She was beautiful in a way that stole his breath, and the way her father had snapped out her name had sparked Toren’s own anger. It made no sense, but it was different enough that he might risk unfurling a piece of his magic to test her. That had been hard enough on Mehl, a warrior. What might it do to a young tailor’s apprentice?

His curiosity would have to remain unappeased.

“You’re frowning,” Mehl murmured.

“A common enough complaint.”

Mehl snickered, but the woman reentered before either could speak again. Toren wasn’t attuned to the spell on the door—his gift would overwhelm it—but Mehl showed no reaction, at least not until Feref entered with the bundle. And the castle healer.

“She is clear of poison, but this isn’t,” Feref announced. “Forgive me for taking the liberty, Your Majesties, but I thought you might want this analyzed quickly and so summoned the healer.”

For the sake of efficiency, Toren bit down on his irritation at the breach in protocol. “Very well.”

“Pardon me.” Belak took a tiny step forward, bowing as though that would excuse his presumption. “Might I speak with my daughter, Your Majesties? I would like to see to her health during this shock.”

Hah. It was more than obvious that the tailor cared little for his daughter’s well-being, but Toren could think of no good reason to deny the request. Besides, observing the interaction could be…enlightening.

“You may do so while the healer works,” Toren granted.