Page 7 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

T he opening ceremony was long and drawn out. Guests watched from their seats as a long line of soldiers lead my father to the veranda, where a podium had been placed. Small plates and thimbles of wine dotted each table, but the nobles were already restless.

I’ve always considered boredom an important part of any revelry. The more tedious the opening ceremony, the sweeter the celebration afterward.

“Thank you all for coming,” Father began, gaze dragging over the crowd.

Looking for any Tocchians in disguise, I guessed.

This might make for a rather exciting game, I decided, and so I spent much of the rest of the ceremony observing the crowd, trying to decide who could be a Tocchian spy.

The woman in the large yellow hat was definitely up to something, while the man spooning egg and potato mash onto his plate was merely a noble who had nothing better to do this week.

But the man with his chin resting on his fist was working with the woman in the yellow hat. Watching. Waiting.

But I lost interest in the daydream as soon as one of Father’s generals approached the stage, carrying a familiar box .

Father sat, and General Ullman took the podium.

“Your Highness,” he began. “I’d like to present you with this token of luck and prowess.

A gift from your military to you. Your fortitude, grace, and honor are unparalleled.

This sword should make a fine fit,” he said, opening the box to reveal the very blade I’d admired this morning.

Sunlight glinted off its polished surface.

In the bright daylight, the ruby looked bloody and menacing.

The sword was presented hilt-first. King Amonrew rose to take it.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing in each direction of the crowd.

“With this blade, I pledge to honor my people. Defending them, leading them, and now,” a wide grin spread across his face, “entertaining them!” The last words were all but a roar, echoing across the veranda.

Guests leapt to their feet, stomping and clapping, laughing and shouting as the King waved to them, escorted inside by Larry and Hax.

The guests followed. Bracketed by guards, Ria and I were led to our seats at the royal table.

Timin disappeared into the servants’ quarters.

Ria took her seat beside Father, while I sat next to our half-brother, Baden.

By the look of it, he was already deep in his cups, propped up by his chair’s high back.

His hands gripped the armrests as if they were the only things stopping him from sliding to the floor.

Of late, Baden had been struggling. He, too, felt the pressure to marry, and grew steadily moodier as the months passed.

We were never particularly close, as he considered me something of an abomination, but I still noticed his stress.

Luckily, he never took it out on me. Hadn’t since he was twelve and I was nine and he cracked my head against the back of the throne during an argument that had grown physical.

I lost consciousness, but Baden thought he’d killed me.

For a while, he cried every time he saw me, blubbering about how sorry he was.

Even I felt bad for him after a little while.

Just the way I did now. It seemed he was drunk more often than not. How long until he drank himself to death ?

Our half-brother, Rowan, sat on my other side, face hard.

As the more seasoned fighter, he was the bulkiest of my siblings, tanned from days spent sparring and fencing in the sun; hot in the summer, blinding against snow in the winter.

On good days, he let Valeria and me join him, though he was ruthless even in practice sessions, and we left with bruises and cuts that earned the king’s ire.

We were supposed to practice self-defense but somehow avoid all injuries. Though I grumbled that I couldn’t be expected to improve without a few scrapes, Father was firm in his convictions. Every injury earned us a lecture about maintaining our beauty.

Sometimes, I wondered what might happen if I were unlucky enough to take a blade to the face.

If a scar might mar my breast or shoulder.

Would I be married off to the first eligible bachelor, perhaps nothing more than a baron, never to be seen again?

Was it possible that a physical flaw might remove me from Father’s favor forever?

The servants arrived, carrying pitchers of sweet wine and platters of food.

My stomach untwisted, grumbling now. Before us was a feast of lamb with candied almonds and fat berries; potatoes with herbs and rich gravy; carrots glazed in honey; lentils saturated in fat drippings; bread with a thick crust, soft and sweet inside; tiny, frosted cakes; a slice of rhubarb pie; cups of wine that left me giggling at the antics of nobles at the table beside us.

Their argument started as a debate about the prices of cheese in the north and devolved into a contest to see who could stuff the most into their mouth at once. So far, the baron of Elderton’s youngest and drunkest son was winning, red-faced, and spraying chunks of cheese with each labored breath.

I worried that he might choke, but he worked his way through the enormous mouthful, chewing slowly, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s, managing the occasional swallow while his friends chugged ale and cheered him on .

What was it like to be so carefree? If I choked to death on a wheel of cheese, Father would probably die of shame (Valeria certainly would), and I couldn’t say that I would entirely blame him.

And yet, I was envious that I could not dive so deeply into my cups or my plates.

Gluttony is unbecoming, but freedom is a relentless craving, and I would take it any way that I could.

An extra spoonful of honey, five more minutes at the forge, an unattended stroll around the gardens—anything, everything.

A few of our guests excused themselves to bed early. Someone threw up on the floor and was met with excited cheers. A fight broke out and ended with the Earl of Riching’s eldest son shouting obscenities and bleeding as he was escorted from the banquet by an exasperated brother and cousin.

The mingling began. The band onstage played the first of the waltzes.

Nearly everyone at the royal table rose to their feet; my father, stepmother, Ria and Rowan.

Even Baden downed a final goblet of wine and trudged reluctantly to the floor.

I excused myself, claiming that I simply must finish my potatoes before engaging in the festivities, and was left blessedly alone.

Until suddenly, I wasn’t. Alger dropped into the empty seat beside me and reached for Baden’s abandoned goblet. He stank of ale and gravy. “Is this any different than what they served the rest of us?” he asked, tilting the liquid suspiciously.

“The very same,” I assured him, though I had no idea.

“Hmm,” he said, and drained the wine. Wiping the back of his mouth, he turned to me and said, “You lied.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. You said it wasn’t different. And yet, it’s not nearly so sweet.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Seems an odd thing to lie about. I’d think the king would resent his bastard telling lies. ”

I scowled and stood. “Forgive me, My Lord, but I’m wanted elsewhere.”

Alger followed me, gesturing. “Where? Where might you be wanted? I don’t see a single person who might be in want of you right now except for me, Princess, and you just walked away.”

“I’m weak of stomach,” I said, spotting the line for the toilets around the corner, extending down a long hallway. I started toward them. “I’m afraid you’ll not want to witness this.”

“Gods,” he said, stopping in his tracks, a look of disgust on his face. “And you’ll tell anyone that, won’t you?”

“You asked!”

“You lied! You aren’t wanted anywhere!”

“The King will want me near the toilets, rest assured.” My palms began to sweat. My stomach roiled. I’d hoped Alger would give me privacy, but it seemed he had no intention of backing off. “Please, I’d be happy to talk to you later?—”

“You’re full of shit,” he snapped, swaying on his feet.

I caught the eye of a guard and inclined my head. She approached instantly, glaring at Alger.

“He needs a little help returning to the banquet hall,” I explained, smiling my prettiest smile. “I’m afraid he’s a tiny bit drunk.”

The guard nodded and turned to Alger. “Come with me.”

“She’s a liar!” Alger cried, pointing to me with a shaking finger.

“Sure,” said the guard, catching his wrist, and forcibly lowering his hand. “Let’s go.”

“No!” snarled Alger, wrenching his arm free.

“You can’t follow the princess to the toilets, sir.”

I took advantage of the distraction, and scampered away, losing myself in a crowd of noblewomen and their chaperones.

A hundred pairs of eyes followed me, and I fought the urge to hunch my shoulders.

I didn’t want Alger anywhere near me, and I certainly hadn’t invited him, but I knew how it would be perceived, regardless.

If he continued to force his presence upon me, I might have no choice but to marry him to retain my honor (and the king’s).

And I desperately didn’t want that.

I looped back to the banquet hall, skipping the toilets altogether, deciding that the dance floor would provide better security. Perhaps Duke Callum might take pity on me again.

If Alger came near me again, I’d scream. The guards would remove him despite his protests, and I’d survive the banquet without entering into a betrothal manipulated by a foul man hoping for special treatment. I wouldn’t be the one to warm the cold, lonely halls of his castle for him.

Somewhere in the distance, a shout rang out.