The Betrothed (The Betrothed #1) - Kiera Cass Page 0,14

suggesting she was looking for something.

The father knelt, bringing his knee to the floor, before rising and presenting himself to the king. Even if we hadn’t been told they were from Isolte, it would have been obvious. The land was dreadfully windy in the summer, and the winter went on far longer than it did here. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear they were still seeing light snow, even now. As such, Isoltens spent more time indoors, and the sun-kissed cheeks seen everywhere in Coroa were missing on them.

“Good morning, sir,” Jameson said, inviting the man to speak.

“Your Majesty, I pray you will forgive our poor state, but we came straight here,” the father began humbly.

I would not have called their appearance poor. Velvet draped across every member of the family, with plenty to spare . . . which forced me to press my lips together so I didn’t giggle. Honestly, who in the world designed those sleeves? I could make an extra gown from the yardage draping off their arms. And the hats! For my life, I never understood the fashion from Isolte.

In truth, I never even understood people from Isolte. The word that came to mind most of the time was unoriginal. Yes, I’d heard of their great findings in astronomy and herbology, and that the medicines discovered by their doctors were yielding great benefits for their people. But the music they made was bland at best, the dances they performed were copied from ours, and most other efforts at art were modified forms of something seen elsewhere. Their fashion seemed to be their best attempt at something no one else laid claim to. And why would they?

“We come asking for your mercy, to allow us to settle in your land, offering us sanctuary from our king,” the father continued, his tone carrying an edge of nerves.

“And where is it that you come from, sir?” Jameson asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Isolte, Your Majesty.”

“What is your name, sir?”

“Lord Dashiell Eastoffe, Your Majesty.”

Jameson paused. “I know that name,” he murmured, brow creased in thought. Once his memory came back to him, he eyed the visitors with something that looked like a mix of suspicion and pity. “Yes, I can see why you would want to leave Isolte indeed. Oh, Hollis,” he said, turning to me with a playful glint in his eye, “do you ever thank the gods that you have me for a king and not that grouch, King Quinten?”

“I thank the gods that we have you above any other king, Your Majesty.” I batted my lashes flirtatiously, but I truly had thanked the heavens for him. He was younger and stronger than any king on the continent, much kinder than his father, and far less temperamental than the other leaders I’d heard about.

He chuckled. “If I were in your position, I, too, might have fled, sir. Many families have chosen to immigrate to Coroa recently.” There was one such family living in the castle, but I never saw them. “It makes me wonder just what dear old King Quinten is up to these days to strike such fear into his subjects.”

“We also have a gift for Your Majesty,” Lord Eastoffe offered instead of answering the question. He nodded to his oldest son, and the young man moved forward, bowing before the king and holding up a long velvet parcel.

Jameson walked down the dais steps to the young man and flipped the fabric back. Beneath it was a golden sword with an array of jewels resting in the hilt. As Jameson lifted it, the new spring sun bounced off the blade, temporarily blinding me.

After inspecting the sword, Jameson pulled out a lock of the young man’s long hair and sliced through it with his gift. Chuckling as it cut away with ease, he held the sword up again. “This is impressive, sir. I’ve never seen its equal.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lord Eastoffe said gratefully. “Alas, I cannot take credit for it. I was raised a gentleman, but my son has settled upon this craft, choosing to be capable of supporting himself, with or without land.”

Jameson looked down at the boy whose hair he’d just so graciously trimmed. “You made this?”

The boy nodded, his eyes downcast.

“As I said, impressive.”

“Your Majesty,” Lord Eastoffe began, “we are simple people, without ambition, who have been forced to abandon our estates due to serious threats on our lands and our lives. We ask only to settle here peacefully, and vow to