was as if the entire room began to breathe again. Had they been waiting for him to dash the cup to the ground? Behead her in cold fury? Or had they simply expected him to ignore her as he typically ignored everyone?
As he should have done.
Why hadn’t he?
Interest seemed a poor excuse for his actions. Yes, she interested him, as precious little had interested him in the past ten years. Little, that is, except his desire for escape. For revenge. Those filled his heart and mind so completely, there should be room for nothing else.
So how had she suddenly captured his attention to the point of provoking him into behaving out of character?
He could blame her lies, or the secrets she carried behind her enigmatic green eyes. Blame her bizarre shifts from shy and stammering to pointed and provoking. Or he could blame that unfamiliar power that seethed beneath her skin, calling him as nothing else in this dry, magic-dead country had called to him in years.
She was smiling now, as she gazed into her tea—a mysterious expression that made her look… happy.
Why should it have made the princess happy to give him tea?
And why did she not smell so afraid anymore?
Ahah. Perhaps that was the explanation. She was still attempting to make him more real, more knowable. As she had in the ballroom, she was attacking her own fear by changing her perception of him.
The Raven experienced a moment of startled respect as he acknowledged her tactics and wondered whether he’d erred by allowing her to succeed.
If she’d actually succeeded. And if she had, it was only on her own behalf—no one else in the room was bold enough to allow their glances to wander in his direction. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to be unnerved by their exchange.
But unnerved or not, now he was stuck with tea that he couldn’t get rid of.
Fortunately, he was saved from this dilemma by the return of Captain Orvell, an obsequious little weasel who lived to do his king’s bidding. He was an excellent captain in many ways, but he hadn’t a thought in his head that the king hadn’t put there and would probably hesitate to draw a breath without the king’s express permission.
Which explained why, in the face of a princess who refused to behave as expected, he’d gone running to fetch His Majesty to solve the problem for him.
King Melger strode into the room, surrounded by the near-visible cloud of his annoyance. At his heels? Prince Vaniell.
After so many years, the surge of hatred that followed his captor’s appearance had grown almost unnoticeable. Commonplace. As familiar as the burning ache in the Raven’s chest where his magic boiled and churned behind its invisible chains.
The king was… frustrated. After all this time, the Raven knew his moods, could feel them from halfway across the palace. And he was deeply aware that Melger had little patience for anything that did not fall in line with his plans and expectations.
The princess from Farhall had been chosen for Vaniell in part because she seemed weak. Easily manipulated. Easily controlled. With every passing hour, that assumption came further into question. Which meant that the king’s mood would grow ever more volatile.
Which was when he tended to employ violence to get what he wanted.
So swiftly it would have been difficult for eyes to follow, the Raven emptied his cup into a nearby vase, then set it on the floor. He could have set it down still full, but…
He hadn’t. And he did not care to dissect his reasons. He was certain they would make him uncomfortable.
The roomful of guards leaped to their feet as the king entered, those from Garimore bowing deeply, while the four from Farhall remained stiffly at attention.
Melger’s eyes, however, were not on the armed guards. He was watching his true mark—the princess, who even now met his eyes as they took one another’s measure.
The Raven could feel the king’s uneasy curiosity, the beginnings of questioning his own decision. Was this woman the sweet, quiet, fragile person they’d been led to believe? She was meant to be the simplest part of the plan. Easily manipulated, easily overlooked. Wooed, won, and then forgotten.
If only the Raven could have cheered for her success in upending their expectations. But those who disappointed Melger’s expectations tended to meet a swift end—on the edge of the Raven’s blade. Every life he was forced to take ate away at another corner of his soul, and this one…