Page 20

Perri finally remembered how to breathe. Sucking in air greedily. Her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Captain Talac is the… Prince?”

Her knees shaking as she curtsied. Following yet again a half second behind everyone else in the room.

“Prince Zariffe Talac Bausum Vallas – the fourteenth, in fact.”

Brandth returned informatively. Rising from a bow, casting a look Perri’s way.

“I can help you work on that curtesy later, if you’d like?”

“No one cares about me or my lame curtsey.”

Perri hissed under her breath, anger at Brandth thankfully chasing away the fear that had blossomed upon recognising Talac. Wait. Sitting, she studied the crowd. Strange, there was no recognition in anyone’s gaze as it settled upon Talac… the Prince.

“They don’t know who he is. How is that possible? He travelled with you on your visits to all these families, correct?”

“Under the guise of Captain of my Guard, yes. Nothing more than a servant in the eyes of the aristos, and therefore beneath their notice.”

“Gods… but what if something had happened to him?”

“We’ve been set upon by the occasional bandit brigands but they tend to focus on the brash idiot wearing the silks, satins and family rings.”

Brandth lifted his right hand, wiggling it about, gemstones catching the light.

“I…”

Perri wasn’t sure what to say. Did that mean Brandth was… brave and selfless? That didn’t jibe with his indolent pretty boy exterior and glib mouth. Then she recalled the secret Alia had shared with her, Talac, the Prince, acted as a master spy for the King. Oh. Did that mean Brandth was likewise a master spy? He had all but stated out loud that he wore a costume.

Darnation. Recalling all the conversations she’d overheard him have with her kin. How Brandth never shared anything personal. And by making her kin feel that all the attention was on them, he’d quite easily drawn forth information regarding their everyday lives … which included the workings of the Keep and their father’s habits. Oh, my. Not that they had anything to hide.

But it was galling for Perri to think she might have been… wrong about Brandth De’Luca. Not that this possible new information regarding his character and motivations made him any less annoying.

Perri’s attention shifting to the Dowager-Queen, who was smiling up at her grandson as he bestowed a dutiful kiss upon her cheek, waving him towards the large seat sitting vacant on her left. Thankfully he remembered Alia was standing only a few feet away from him, in the very centre of the room. A haughty grey gaze sweeping over those seated closest to the Dowager-Queen, the majority bridal candidates with at least one intimate companion sitting beside them. The Prince’s intimidating gaze coming to a halt upon a middle-aged florid faced man, dressed in a light blue satin outfit that was too tight over his large belly. His sparse hair swept forward over his forehead to create the illusion he still had lustrous hair. An endeavour that was nothing but a dismal failure.

A royal dark eyebrow rose ever so barely and the florid faced man flushed an even deeper pink, rising to his feet, bowing deeply and hurriedly backing away. Perri releasing a deep sigh of relief as Alia took the vacated chair instead of making a fuss and trying to retreat to the edges of the room.

Lady Cecelia clapped her hands, calling for quiet. The crowd immediately hushing. With a small but satisfied smile on her lips, Cecelia glanced at her grandson now seated beside her.

“Let me make some introductions, this is a get to know everyone gathering, after all. And if we don’t start soon, we’ll miss luncheon.”

A light rebuke for her tardy grandson, who did nothing but lean back in his seat, saying nothing, his expression giving no indication that he felt any guilt for keeping everyone waiting.

“Prince Zariffe, may I present to you…”

Cecelia’s eyes travelled over the candidates, as if she were trying to decide where to start and had no intention of playing favourites. Her gaze finally zeroing in on the young woman attired in a bold orange ensemble immediately seated in the coveted position on the other side of Cecelia.

“Lady Evagene Poclete, of Eagle Mount. Her grandmother was one of my ladies in waiting when I first married.”

Perri sat up straighter so she might see the woman more clearly. Lady Evagene’s gown an unusual colour but it did wonderous things for her creamy flawless skin and dark raven hair, currently twisted up in an elaborate arrangement. She had lovely dark eyes, and a way of sitting that displayed her figure to perfection, announcing she was confident in her beauty and skills.

“I hope the journey down from the Mount was not too tiresome or perilous?”

Words were expected, and the Prince was nothing if not polite, observing the social niceties. His bland question should have deserved an equally bland answer.

Lady Evagene instead gifting him a rather intimate sensual smile, as if he’d just enquired what perfume she was wearing.

“It was very pleasant, Your Highness. Thank you for your concern.”

Her words husky and strangely breathy. Trying perhaps to imply that given their familial connections, Evagene had a personal history with the Prince already.

Meanwhile, the Prince’s attention had already returned to his Grandmother, prompting her with a silent look to continue the introductions.

“Miss Delish Kikmain, of Precet-by-the-sea.”

Perri winced on the tongue-tied girl’s behalf, as her mother, seated beside her, gave the girl a sharp elbow to the ribs, eliciting a squeaky high pitched greeting that brought a flood of colour to Miss Delish’s cheeks, matching almost perfectly the colour of her silk gown.

“I have visited your lovely town. I can highly recommend a swim in the ocean there.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I… I mean… thank you, Your Grace.”

Another flood of colour entered the young lady’s cheeks.

“Lady Parkour Sensch of Green Vales.”

This young lady was all poise, rising gracefully from her seat and performing a curtsey so low and deep that the Prince had no choice but to observe her full and flawless bosom on display, thanks to the very low cut bodice of her pale green satin gown that matched her eyes to perfection.

“Your Grace, it’s an honour.”

“That’s the sort of curtsey you should be aiming for.”

Brandth whispered into Perri’s ear.

“At the very least wear a dress like that and no one will complain if you get it wrong.”

“Hush.”

Perri had missed the Prince’s response to Lady Parkour.

“Lady Tolbeth Intnal, of Intnal Wells.”

“It’s a pleasure, Your Highness.”

The cheerful blonde enthused.

“And may I introduce Sparkles?”

Lady Tolbeth held up a tiny mop of a dog that had been sitting in her lap, all white shaggy curls, a big ribbon, matching the pastel yellow of her owner’s dress holding the hair out of its eyes.

“Do you like dogs, Your Highness?”

“Yes.”

What else could the Prince say. But it was the opening Tolbeth had been expecting.

“Then we have that in common. I take Sparkles with me everywhere. And being so tiny, she needs lots of walks. We’d be honoured if you would join us a time or two?”

“Miss Jacquene Hail, of Benslerra.”

Jacquene had taken a bold fashion path and chosen to wear bridal white. There was even a tiny veil crowning the top of her lustrous brown curls. Perri unsure whether the outfit was to give the Prince a picture aid, as to what his future bride might look like on the day, or just to remind him why they were all here and to cease all the dilly dallying and choose a wife already.

Either way, Jacquene, with her sparkling brown eyes, cupid bow mouth and milk maid complexion did look very pretty, if a little too – on the nose, with a hint of desperation – bridal for the initial meeting with the Prince. Or so the other candidates believed as more than one sent Miss Jacquene a pitying mocking look.

With surprising backbone and spirit, Miss Jacquene didn’t buckle under her peers’ censure, instead, she smiled widely and sent the Prince a sweet welcoming wave.

“I look forward to bettering our acquaintance, Your Highness.”

The next two candidates were so busy glaring at each other that they barely acknowledged the Prince’s introduction. Both adorned in pastel blue.

The candidates failing to realise that the colour did neither of them any favours. Lady Niah Klow of Grand River’s dark skin washed out by the insipid colour. Whilst the matching gems woven into her dark long hair, falling to her waist in two intricate braids, were all but lost.

Lady Cannon Rawn of Spreenta faired a little better when it came to the colour suiting her complexion, even better it made her flaxen hair look rich and glossy. Unfortunately though, there was way too much of the dress. Layers and layers… and then even more layers. You couldn’t see her hands because the sleeves fell past her finger tips, the fabric producing a strange flapping sound every time she moved her arms. The sheer weight of all that material bowing her shoulders and making it look like she was sinking into her chair.

The next to last candidate was Miss Freer Barton, of Kirby Cliffs. Sitting in a shaft of sunlight the female all but glowed, her gown a soft gold, making her hazel eyes sparkle and her curled to perfection dark brown hair shine. She was beautiful, lifting her gaze from her needlework, a pretty smile lifting the edges of her mouth as she made eye contact with the Prince. Her expression mild, yet amusement lurked at the edges of her full lips as if she was secretly laughing at the events going on, and didn’t the Prince think it was all so silly too?

Lady Cecelia sent Miss Freer an approving imperious smile before lastly shifting her attention to Alia. Perri could see her hesitate. Did the Dowager-Queen not know who Alia was? She must have heard Talac… the Prince, refer to her name as he entered. Gods, did she intend to snub Alia, and thus obliterate all their plans in one fell swoop?

“Which leaves our last arrival, Lady Alia Gloomenthrall, of Gloomenthrall.”

Crossing her fingers, Perri prayed Alia would mind her manners and keep her mouth shut. Once this event was over there would be no need for Alia to interact with the Dowager-Queen… or even the Prince again. They would attend the parties, staying out of the limelight, hunt Regal down, reap justice, save Levi, and leave… as soon as possible. Never to darken the halls of the Palace again.

Just play along, Alia, please, Perri pleaded silently.

“An honour, Your Grace.”

Alia nodded her head in acknowledgement of the Prince.

Perri could breathe. Done. Excellent, now-

“Are you sure you’re in the right place, Lady Alia?”

The silken tones of Lady Evagene broke the silence, her words weighted with faux concern.

Damn. Perri’s hands clenched into fists. They’d been so close.

* * *

Alia had just been sitting there, minding her own business, thoughts in a whirl, trying to come to terms with the fact that Talac was Prince Zariffe, heir to the throne of the Vallas Realm. She’d absentmindedly noted the names and demeanours of the bridal candidates as they were each introduced, but her real focus was on the startling revelation that Talac was Royalty.

Worse, he was the Prince whose hand she was currently vying for and he knew… that she wasn’t actually interested in marrying him at all. Had guessed that she was here for other… purposes. And yet he had not outed her as an imposter.

They had barely spoken after that first evening on the journey to Pallene and the encounter in the woods with the rogue suitors. Alia doing her best to keep their personal interactions to a minimum whilst remaining alert for any more bandits or attacks. Talac likewise appeared happy to keep his distance from her, his focus seemingly more on detecting any external threats… that thankfully never materialised.

Looking at him now, in his royal garb, chestnut hair ruthlessly tamed back from his face and cut short, no longer in danger of falling into his eyes, there was nothing to obscure the hard angles of his face; the square jaw, the long nose, those grey eyes that gave very little away. The sparkle that usually resided in their depths barely glimmering. His expression wasn’t blank exactly, it had a haughty edge, which if you didn’t know Talac… Zariffe… the Prince, some might find intimidating.

But not Alia. She habitually wore the mantle of the Beast, she knew what it was like to assume a role that required building protective walls around her true self, to keep others at bay… to keep them in line. For if they presumed to overstep the laws of the Lair, she would be forced to deal with them. Better to be thought cold, deadly, and arrogant, than have to dispense justice constantly because some fool idiot thought he could undermine, or get one over on the Beast of Gloomenthrall.

And now here was Lady Evagene, with her midnight raven perfectly coiffured hair, bold orange gown, and flashing dark eyes attempting to tear Alia down to win points with the crowd. Feeling so assured of Lady Cecelia’s endorsement that she was willing to be the first to question Alia’s right to be here.

“I just thought… given the way you’re attired, that you would perhaps feel more at home in the stables.”

Several ladies and men twittered in mild amusement at Evagene’s observation.

“I’ve already had the privilege of visiting the royal stables this morning, thank you for your concern in regards to my horse.”

Alia shifting her gaze to rest upon Talac, she couldn’t think of him as Zariffe.

“As with everything when it comes to the Prince, they were… magnificent.”

Okay, she was playing with fire, roping Talac into the bitchfest, but it was his party, he should play a part. Thankfully that glimmer in his eyes sparked just a fraction, he was amused. And whilst perhaps not willing to speak, was happy enough to quirk the edge of his mouth upwards in the slightest hint of an appreciative smile at her suggestive compliment.

Evagene kept smiling but her dark eyes narrowed just enough for Alia to know that she had made an enemy here today.

Lady Parkour, fan fluttering prettily, green eyes wide and supposedly full of concern, took up the conversational thread.

“The stables? How adventurous of you, Lady Alia. I do bid you take care as you move about the Palace, I’m given to understand that many of the lighting fixtures here are antiques and considered quite valuable.”

“You are intimating that I might damage them given my… excessive height?”

Alia waited a beat for the soft chuckles of amusement at her expense to fade away.

“But if I’m considered a threat, then the Prince, who is even taller than I, must present an even greater one. Your Highness, Lady Parkour is concerned for the Palace fittings and furnishings, given your excessively abnormal height. Do you leave a lot of damage in your wake as you move about the Palace?”

“No… I… No, that’s not what I meant at all. Your Highness, you are not tall.”

Lady Parkour was pale, her fan now gripped in bone white hands. Several in the crowd laughing quietly but now at her expense as they all stared at the Prince, waiting for his response.

“I am not tall?”

Talac queried haughtily.

“Not too tall. I meant you are not too tall, Your Highness.”

Lady Parkour’s cheeks were splotched with unbecoming colour.

“Then neither can Lady Alia be deemed too tall. Therefore, all the lighting fixtures are safe, you can sleep easily tonight, M’Lady.”

Waiters provided a momentary distraction, bringing around several trays holding miniature cups full of cordial refreshment. Conversations resumed amongst the party-goers. Mamas smiling broadly, giving the impression they were both proud and happy to be there. Discreetly out the corners of their mouths giving their daughters detailed instructions on how to sit, smile, and breathe prettily. Papas busy trying to tease out how rich their companions were, whilst at the same time dropping blatant hints about their own children’s wealth and availability to contract an agreeable marriage. Poor relations and companions fussed at their charges gowns and discreetly fixed flounces and stray curls.

Alia made no attempt to converse with anyone, patiently waiting, knowing it wouldn’t be long now.

“I must say, Lady Alia.”

The voice was carefully modulated, except the moment Alia’s name sounded the crowd hushed as if a whip had been cracked, waiting in anticipation.

“I’m a bit of a slave to fashion.”

Lady Cannon waved an arm, her overlong sleeve making a loud flapping sound like a flag flying in a stiff breeze.

“But your bold outfit has me positively agog.”

It was neither a compliment nor a condemnation. Lady Cannon was waiting to see how the crowd would react.

“Why, thank you.”

Alia took the conversation by the horns. Standing, brushing away imaginary dust from her sleeve. Letting everyone look their fill. Her knee high black boots gleamed, her trousers fitted so they hid nothing of her muscular thighs. And then there was the sapphire blue coat dress, designed and made by Perri. Long sleeved, it was held together by two large dark blue gemstones acting as buttons, highlighting Alia’s small waist, before the material flared out, stopping just below her hips on either side, but falling to the backs of her knees at the rear. The collar studded with more gemstones, but folded back to ensure nothing obstructed the view of the vicious scar that bisected Alia’s throat, or the wide expanse of bared décolletage and full bosom on display. Her dark golden hair pinned back with more gemstones before falling in a riotous heavy mass down to her shoulder blades.

Secretly, Alia thought she looked like some kind of glamourous pirate. All that was missing from the picture was a sword, but Perri had prohibited her from wearing one at this meet and greet event. Stating it would set the wrong tone. Pity, Alia was being attacked – verbally – from all sides, a weapon might have come in handy right about now. But she would have to work with what she had at her disposal, her tongue.

Alia gave the coat a bit of a tug, freeing a little more of her bosom, causing several men to murmur in appreciation and many a lady to cluck their tongue in censor. Taking a seat again, Alia sent Lady Cannon a smile.

“I thought it a bit much, but my dress designer had a vision. And I do love the feel of keymoat.”

She trailed a hand down over her sleeve again. “So soft.”

Keymoat? The word spread like wildfire. The expense. A lady wearing it no less. In such a wonderful colour too. And how had they managed to decorate it with gemstones? The leather was all but impervious to blades and weapons.

Lady Cannon swallowed hard. Perhaps she’d thought her monstrosity of a dress the most expensive here, but now that had been soundly quashed. Still, as her fan fluttered faster and faster, her sleeve flapping back and forth, she wasn’t prepared to give up this conversational gambit.

“It… it just seems unusual for… a lady, to draw attention to her…”

Lady Cannon’s eyes dipped lower on Alia’s form, clearly suggesting with a look what she intended. Letting those listening in avidly to fill in the blanks with whatever they chose to take umbrage or interest in.

“Yes, it was brought to my attention recently that I have good solid birthing hips.”

Alia acknowledged nonchalantly, ignoring the shocked gasp of several older ladies at referring to a body part in mixed company.

“And we all know why we’re here.”

She shot a look in Talac’s direction, that glimmer in his eye was definitely brighter.

“So I thought, why not highlight my best feature.”

“Your Majesty.”

Lady Cannon, face pale, turned to appeal to the Dowager-Queen to put this lowborn interloper back in her place.

Lady Cecelia’s posture couldn’t have been more rigid, her expression seemingly unimpressed, but she had followed the verbal challenges directed at Lady Alia with avid interest, whilst also at the same time observing her Grandson’s reactions. Cecelia might have indicated a personal preference for Lady Evagene, but for the first time ever she’d witnessed a spark of… interest alight in Zariffe’s eyes. If the interloper ensured Zariffe would turn up at the candidate parties and stay longer than five minutes, then Cecelia would happily endorse her… for the moment. She could always condemn Alia later.

Besides, this year’s crop of candidates were exceptionally pretty. The more Zariffe was exposed to their company, the more likely it was that he would finally make a decision and claim a bride.

“Lady Alia is right, Lady Cannon, in her own… unique way. We are all here for a reason… and the candidates must display the right qualities, including those of a physical suitability that would ensure the future of the royal line.”

“I… I….”

Lady Cannon almost hit herself in the face she was fanning herself so hard, her sleeve getting tangled around her wrist because of all the rapid direction changes.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“In simpler terms.”

Alia knew she should stay quiet but she couldn’t help herself.

“You would never cover a timid little ill-equipped pony with a stallion, so we mares all better up our game and display our sturdy flanks.’

A lady to the left slid off her chair in a faint. Lady Cannon’s fan snapped in two. But the one thing that froze the room and captured everyone’s attention, the Prince’s bark of surprised laughter.