Page 14 of A Court of Masks and Roses (Royal Scout #1)
The princess’s eyes stay on me long enough that I’ve the odd sensation of being measured. An echo of the manner in which boys’ gazes weigh Kal. Competition. I just wish the princess would bother to inform me of what we are competing for. Or how.
“Ah, Lady Lianna,” says the king, following the girl’s gaze.
He waves me forward and directs the attention of the diners seated beside him.
“Allow me to introduce my niece, Lady Lianna, who’s just arrived at court.
” In royal families, “niece” is a loose term that carries little genealogical meaning, but it does signal me as some sort of royal relation.
Which is how Firehorn can use the term without anyone suspecting my true closely twined bloodline.
“Lianna, please meet Prince William and Princess Violet, Envoy Jajack and Princess Raza from Everett, and the leader of the Order of the Goddess, His Grace Bishop Bahir. I imagine the others will introduce themselves to you in short order as well, but for now, I thought you and Raza might enjoy spending the evening together.”
The other dinner guests nod their welcome while a servant pulls a chair out for me.
I smile at the princess.
“I never realized such modest dress and flat color was a fashion in Dansil,” says Raza. She cuts a quick glance at Trace before returning her attention to me. “Is that what intrigues Dansil men?”
My cheeks heat beneath my makeup as I feel Trace’s gaze join Raza’s.
I’ve faith that whatever Firehorn placed in my closet is appropriate for Lady Lianna’s social standing, but tonight I was more concerned with hiding welts and bruises than bringing out beauty.
Have I done such a poor job that my unattractiveness calls attention to itself?
Enough that Raza and Trace have both noticed?
Certainly, Raza’s gown accentuates her perfect body in a way that no clothing could manage on me.
“I can hardly say, Your Highness,” I tell the girl.
“I’ve always thought it was my poisonous personality that scared away admirers.
But perhaps it’s just my clothing choice. ”
The corner of Trace’s mouth twitches in a suppressed smile.
Raza’s jaw tightens, her gorgeous green eyes darkening to a storm. “One hardly excludes the other.”
Besides Raza and myself, Violet is the only other female in the room.
Fourteen, and finely framed like her brother, the girl has plainly gone to some trouble to make herself seem full grown this evening.
Her golden curls are perfectly arranged, her posture pristine, her lips painted.
She is attempting to look like a queen but comes off a doll.
“How do you find life at court, Lady Lianna?” Violet asks, leaning forward.
“Don’t bother your cousin, Violet,” Firehorn tells her quietly. “Children are to be seen, not heard.”
“I’m not a child,” Violet hisses, but she sinks back into her chair at her father’s stern glare.
I smooth the shawl that covers my shoulders despite the heat and smile at Violet. “To be honest, I’m so newly arrived that I find it all a bit overwhelming.”
“Quite understandable,” interjects the man sitting on the other side of me—Bishop Bahir, the second most powerful man in Dansil.
With a full goatee cut to a point and coal-black hair brushing his rich blood-red robes, Bahir resembles a wealthy merchant more than a pious guide.
His eyes, a dark brown with speckles of yellow and green, are uncomfortably intense despite an otherwise kindly smile.
A heavy golden ring inlaid with a stone I fail to recognize adorns one of his fingers, which are manicured but calloused.
“Do let me know how I might help you adjust. The Goddess embraces her returned children, for fresh young minds pave the way to our future.”
Wil grins, his eyes filled with mischief that sets the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention.
“So then, Cousin Lianna, have you a thought on how Dansil and Everett might resolve their differences in the mortal world? Speak now, for by the end of dinner you will be so fatigued of everyone’s opinions that you will agree with anything just to get dessert! ”
I wait a breath for Firehorn to shut Wil down as he did Violet, but discover my hope to be in vain.
When it’s clear that Wil’s trap-filled question stands, I check my voice to the light, breathless timbre of an awe-stricken girl.
“I would not presume to offer an opinion on so complex a matter, Your Highness. But I am grateful for the current ceasefire and hold hope that one day both our nations might peacefully prosper.”
Raza folds her delicate hands in her lap. “Yes. Well, unfortunately, trusting Dansil is like shorting a whore—you never know how the night might end. The last time Everett agreed to pull back our troops, Dansil destroyed two of our mines in Sylthia.”
The envoy’s face flushes in shame. “Princess Raza,” he says pointedly. “Perhaps you might take some water?”
She flips a hand at the man. “Really, Jajack, do you imagine that the king of Dansil can’t speak for himself?”
The corners of Wil’s mouth twitch in a suppressed smile. The brat knew exactly what he was baiting.
“Unless there is something I am misunderstanding?” Raza adds, batting her curled lashes.
“Dansil loses Sylthia to Everett. Dansil fights a losing war for twenty years.” Raza ticks the items off on her fingers as she speaks.
“Dansil begs for a ceasefire. As soon as Everett agrees, Dansil attacks Everett’s mines in Sylthia. Have I misunderstood something?”
“Dansil didn’t attack Everett’s mines. Viva Sylthia did,” Firehorn tells Raza. “They are a rebel group, and we denounce their violence as much as you do.”
“How... convenient.” Raza empties her water glass and holds it over her shoulder. “Get me another one,” she snaps at one of the servants.
I avert my eyes. With the Dansil heir a rebellious adolescent and the Everett crown princess a spoiled, entitled damsel, my fear for the future of both our kingdoms goes beyond military conflict.
Lord Gapral used a heavy hand in raising me and the other scouts, but I’m willing to bet my life that even the youngest of his trainees is a more responsible human being than either of the royal heirs.
King Firehorn clears his throat. “Perhaps you might bless the meal, Your Grace. A full belly does wonders for both spirit and mind, and I admit that I have been admiring those meat pies for some time.”
Bahir waits until everyone at the table bows their head, then raises his powerful voice across the room.
“In the spirit of the Goddess, our mother, blessed be the food before us,” Bahir intones with an orator’s presence that hints at how this man of barely forty years has singlehandedly grown the Order from a scattering of small temples into Dansil’s dominant spiritual force.
Before Bahir, religious followings were as numerous and varied as the kingdom’s towns.
“May it strengthen our bodies against disease. And may it strengthen our spirit against unholy temptation and corruption of your grace. So say we all.”
I cut my gaze to our Everett guests, gauging their emotions, while the others murmur the prescribed “so say we all.” None of the Everett delegation look the bishop’s way, their dislike of him palpable.
Everett’s late Prince Rune, who died five years ago at Viva Sylthia’s hands, was a strong whisperer and the love of his people.
Bahir’s views on whisperers earn little goodwill from our intended allies.
And given the delight that is Raza, it’s little wonder they wish Rune still lived.
Picking up a basket of rolls, I offer one to Raza. “How were you ever able to travel here, Princess Raza?” I ask in Lianna’s butterfly-light voice. “I hear no child drought plagues Everett, but did the journey not pose a great risk to the crown princess?”
Raza lifts her wine glass and offers a smile that falls short of her eyes. “Some journeys are worth the risk. It’s crown business—I would hardly expect you to understand.”
I force myself to smile politely. “Indeed.”
“Plus, I think Rune would have been happy to see me here,” Raza continues.
I think Rune would have been appalled at the pretty monster his sister has grown into. Seizing the bread basket again, I turn away from Raza and offer the rolls to Bishop Bahir.
Engaged in conversation with the Everett envoy, the bishop reaches blindly for a roll. His hand glances against mine as I hold the basket steady, and then slides forward toward the bread.
Blinding pain explodes behind my eyes as the bishop’s ring touches my skin.