words gave the lie to the face he chose to present.
“And where, exactly, is your son?” he asked the queen, his deep voice grown cold with dislike. “I’ve been patient with him, and with you. I’ve coddled him and made allowances for his dissolute habits. But this is a matter of grave importance to the kingdom, and he cannot continue to play games with his duty. He’s disrespecting me and the continued safety of all Garimore with his reckless, irresponsible behavior, and I cannot permit it to continue.”
Leisa shuttered any expression of surprise and concentrated on maintaining an outward appearance of polite disinterest. Not that it was easy. These were precisely the sort of details she needed to know about His Highness, Prince Vaniell, if she were to determine his suitability as a match for Evaraine. And as a spy, though an ineffective and inept one, it seemed important to note the degree of discord between the king and queen.
Though considering the nature of their argument, perhaps it was normal, both for monarchs and parents. Not that she had any way to know about either.
Hoping to disguise the fact that she was avidly following their conversation, Leisa turned to observe her surroundings, noting almost immediately that there were an unusual number of guards in evidence. Perhaps that could be explained by the fact that the entry hall was poorly designed for defense, or perhaps simply because King Melger was hoping to overwhelm his guest with a show of wealth.
That the royal palace was far more opulent than King Soren’s she already knew, or at least guessed, but the vast difference between them was a testament to Garimore’s legendary affluence. The entry hall was tall and wide, with marble walls carved in bas-relief and a glass roof that permitted a great deal of natural light. The supporting columns were embellished at the top with gold leaf, which could very nearly be seen reflected in the polished marble of the floor. And hidden unobtrusively behind the columns, at least eight footmen hovered nearby, while perhaps a dozen guards stood silent sentry, each one outfitted in gold-chased armor that seemed more for show than actual function. Gold was too soft and too heavy to be any but a fool’s choice for protection.
None of the footmen or guards appeared to notice they were being watched, but a waiting bevy of what Leisa assumed were court officials did seem just a bit too pointed in their refusal to look in her direction.
“He must be made to bestir himself for his kingdom,” the king continued, “not force us to continually berate him for failing to meet even the simplest of his obligations!”
The queen wore a placating expression and seemed poised to protest on her son’s behalf when a new voice intruded on the conversation.
“I can hardly be blamed that the delegation from Farhall arrived several hours early,” the newcomer announced, in a cultured tenor drawl that grated on Leisa’s ears. “It seems no one could be bothered to inform me they were already here, or I would have been present to greet my bride. I don’t suppose she is…”
It seemed to be a cue of some sort—he’d been speaking far too loudly for anyone to miss—so Leisa turned and finally beheld Princess Evaraine’s potential fiancé as he strolled into the hall. Their eyes met, and a smirk lifted one corner of his lips, while the beginning of a sneer pulled at hers. His expression was quickly covered by a long-fingered hand, but she saw it, and he knew she saw it, which made it difficult to conceal her burgeoning dislike.
Prince Vaniell was—if Leisa were being entirely fair—magnificent. His dark hair was glossy and coiffed in artfully messy waves, while his coat appeared perfectly fitted. But said coat was also pure, pristine white, and encrusted with enough gold braid and gilt buttons to sink a sloop. Beneath it, the prince wore a startling yellow waistcoat embroidered in gold thread, which matched the topaz rings on every finger, and even a small golden gem that glittered from one ear.
In build, he was more like the queen, slender and graceful, though not as tall, and his skin was as fair as hers. His eyes were light and hooded, with mockery lurking in their depths, while that slight smile continued to pull at his mouth. Handsome, he certainly was, but cold, and older than Leisa had assumed. In fact, he probably had several years on her, who at twenty-three was