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“ T hat woman is going to be the death of me,” Jaoven announced as he crossed into the diplomatic quarters. Only two of his advisors were in the common area, the others presumably dressing for dinner.

“Which one?” Clervie asked. “The shallow older sister, or the subversive younger one?”

He fixed a hard stare upon her, but when she neither flinched nor apologized, he shifted his attention to Neven instead. “Did it bother you, being ordered around this afternoon?”

The Viscount of Combran, seated upon one of the long ivory couches, arched his brows.

“Did it bother you?” Jaoven asked again.

“I lost both of those rounds fair and square,” Neven said.

“Which can’t be said of Yanna on any of the rounds she lost,” said Clervie, plopping down beside him.

The prince shook his head. “Don’t call her that. Yanna of Ghemp doesn’t exist. We’re dealing with Iona of Wessett, who is far more dangerous because she’s far more powerful. ”

“Is she, though?” Denoela emerged from her private room, in the middle of letting down her brown hair from its knot of braids. “If she’s attending these gatherings solely because her father instructed her to, does she have any power at all?”

“Her power lies in subversion.” Clervie wrapped herself around Neven’s right arm and snuggled close to him. He looked inquisitively down at her, at the blatant show of affection. She met his gaze, unrepentant. “If she planted any thoughts of unrest in you, I’m going to root them right out again.”

He extracted his arm, but only to drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She almost purred in delight as she settled against him.

Jaoven, well aware of how things lay between that pair, shifted his attention to Denoela. “Iona might turn on us at any moment. We have to be on our best behavior where she’s concerned.”

She combed her fingers through her loosed, wavy hair. “Were you on yours at that little confrontation you just had?”

“No.” The curt answer conveyed more than enough information.

“Methinks the older sister’s favor will be much easier to garner,” said Denoela, pacing back into her room.

“Lisenn is easy to please. She wants to like us.”

“She wants to like you ,” said Clervie from the couch, “and if you always let her win at chess, why shouldn’t she?”

He turned, hands on his hips and an aloof expression on his face. “She is an excellent chess player.”

“But you still threw the game in her favor. Don’t deny it.”

“I may have made a foolish blunder or two, but she could have won regardless.”

Clervie grunted. Jaoven, stiff-backed, ignored the glint of mocking in her eyes. Too much of his willpower had gone into not playing his opponent to the fullest. True, it had been more important to win the crown princess’s good humor, but he despised such spineless victories. The verbal spar with her younger sister had proved a much more interesting challenge, his defeat at her hands notwithstanding .

“Iona predicted it,” Neven said, jarring him from this introspection by naming the very subject around which it revolved, “just like she predicted that we’d all try to let her win at cards.”

“The problem is that she can read us all like open books, but she’s as transparent as a block of wood,” Clervie added. “We had too little information about her when we came because we assumed we wouldn’t need it, and what we remember of Yanna of Ghemp won’t suffice.”

The prince shook his head and paced away from her. They had communicated with Wessett for weeks before sailing across the channel. This visit was supposed to cement the treaty agreement, not introduce a whole new set of obstacles. And although Iona claimed she had no intention of interfering, he couldn’t trust her to keep such a promise.

Her very presence among them presented a threat.

The door from the hall opened, and Riok slipped through, a pensive expression on his face. Rather than accompany the younger crowd, he had spent his afternoon with Wessettans of comparable rank, including the king’s own steward, Kester.

“What’s wrong?” he asked upon noticing his pacing prince.

“Princess troubles,” said Clervie, still curled against Neven on the couch.

The diplomat’s brows arched. “Did you offend Lisenn?”

Again Clervie answered before Jaoven could get a word in edgewise. “Iona was there, and she can see through all of our false facades.”

“They’re not false,” Jaoven snapped. “Just because we’re on our best behavior doesn’t mean it’s fake.” Eager to dismiss the subject, he asked Riok, “How was your afternoon? Did you learn anything of import?”

“The castle dignitaries are in favor of this treaty, to a man.” Riok crossed to the couch opposite of where Clervie and Neven sat. “They’re hedging on certain details—what to call the kingdom when it merges, for example—but they have such a conciliatory manner, as though they’ll agree to whatever we ask with only a little persuasion. ”

The prince’s expression went blank. “We’ll call the joint kingdom Capria. It was Capria before Wessett’s secession, and Capria will account for the majority of land and people when we merge.”

“Land, yes. People, maybe. But asking an entire kingdom to abandon its national identity because of a historical precedent when we have come to them for stability is, perhaps, not the wisest course of action.”

“They want us to change our name to Wessett?” Jaoven asked.

“There was some discussion of calling the new kingdom ‘Capria and Wessett’ or of choosing a new name altogether.”

“Perhaps we should have treated with Tuzhan or Uthala instead,” Clervie quipped.

“Bite your tongue,” said the prince.

She grunted a laugh and shifted her attention to their senior diplomat. “You said they all approve of the treaty? No subtle glances or signs of double-crossing?”

A corner of his mouth pulled to one side. “Their interest in a treaty with Capria seems sincere, but I do get the sense they’re holding something back. Of course I can’t ask about that outright. The crown favors a treaty, so all who serve under it must favor one as well.”

“The longer we’re here, the worse I feel about this,” Jaoven muttered, and he resumed pacing.

“I think that’s Iona’s influence on you more than anything else,” said Clervie.

Riok regarded the prince with a calm eye. “If you’re worried about the lack of dissent, it might be worthwhile to negotiate ourselves into the countryside.”

“What? Why?”

The diplomat spread wide his hands, palms aloft. “Suppose there is a movement coaching everyone in the castle to support our cause. It can’t extend to the entire kingdom. If you want a taste of Wessettan opposition, we’ll find it out there. The farmers and yeomen have a longstanding enmity with Capria. Should our worst fears come to light and Tuzhan or Uthala overrun our borders, they’re the souls that King Gawen will order to our aid, to protect his future legacy. If you want your true patterns ”—here he tipped his head to Clervie—“you have to go to the source.”

“Would travels like that put us at any undue risk?” Jaoven asked.

“Nothing worse than you’ve faced before. I highly doubt the hills of Wessett are crawling with Tuzhani mercenaries. The bigger challenge might be getting King Gawen’s approval. For all its assets, Wessett is far smaller than Capria, and a tour of the island will only confirm that fact. He’ll see it as us asserting the need for greater concessions on his part.”

“So how do we get him to agree?”

A predatory grin leapt to the diplomat’s face. “Talk about a dozen other topics first, and then blindside him with a request for a land survey. We’ve brought our own, fresh off the presses. It was your father’s first decree, to determine what properties belonged to which titles, and what we could realistically claim as our provinces and borders. It’s really only fair that Wessett provide the same information.”

“What if they have it ready?” the prince asked.

From the other couch, Clervie chuckled. “Their titles are old, Jove, and their borders are the sea. Wessett hasn’t performed a formal land survey in over a century, and the delay such an endeavor would cause should make our proposal of touring the countryside instead an appealing alternative.”

“It might give you some respite from Iona, too,” said Neven.

Clervie chuckled again. “Does he want that? Even as the mere son of a duke Jove loved a good challenge.”

The comment earned her a dour stare from her crown prince, but she only grinned all the more.

On the opposite couch, Riok leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of challenges, Clervie, your mother did request me not to allow any unnecessary contact between you and your young viscount. ”

Neven, coloring to his ears, started to shift, but Clervie only wrapped an arm around his torso and snuggled all the closer. “I assure you this is extremely necessary,” she said.

Riok smothered a laugh and pushed up from the couch. “Fine, but please don’t give me a reason to regret my leniency.”