hair with a hand, then grasped Anyse by the arm and pulled her on down the hall. “I wonder what father wants me for. Perhaps I'll be able to get out of it soon, then I can get back to rehearsal…oh! Could you rush back and tell Alythia I'll be late? She insists she needs my help to decorate her wedding shawl…my fingers will be raw to the bone from needlework at the end of this, I'm sure of it!”
“I'll tell her, Highness,” Anyse reassured her. “And your gown for the banquet tonight? Shall you leave some time for a fitting?”
“Oh drat!” Sofy said crossly, drawing an amused looked from a tall Royal Guardsman as he stood at attention. “I knew I'd forgotten something…look, could you just arrange the green-and-blue one with the curl pattern? I'd thought since it is a foreign reception and green and blue is not so far from Lenay purple and green, is it?”
“Quite adequate, Highness.”
“And stop calling me that!”
“In the royal quarters, certainly not, Highness.”
They stopped before the grand twin doors to the king's chambers, panelled white and inlaid with gold, unlike the plain dark wood of most of the Baen-Tar Palace. Sofy took a deep breath, wondering at her nerves. It had been days since she'd last seen her father, or Koenyg, for that matter. Lately, they'd both been spending much time in closed chambers with advisors and, some said, the holy fathers of the Saint Ambellion Temple. There was serious trouble in the north with that prize fool Lord Krayliss, they said, and now, a foreign delegation had arrived. She had far too much on her plate to be concerned about the issues that troubled the family's menfolk, but meeting her father was never a lighthearted affair.
Anyse adjusted the silver Verenthane star against her princess's chest. “There. Your Highness is looking forward to M'Lady Sashandra's visit for Rathynal?”
Sofy grinned at her and spun a pirouette. “Sasha's coming to stay!” she sang happily. “I hope she stays a week! No, I hope she stays a year! Maybe I'll…” and she slapped a hand to her mouth, horrified. “Oh no, where are my wits? I'm late already!”
She readjusted her hair and dress in a hurry, with Anyse's mirthful help. Took another deep breath, made a face at Anyse when the older woman could barely refrain from laughing at her overexciteable charge, and pushed through the wide white doors.
The doors opened onto the reception, a grand, rectangular room of dark stone and decorative wall hangings. Upon the wide carpet stood many men, sipping from glasses whilst immersed in conversation, as musicians played the reed pipe and gitar in one corner. Sofy blinked in astonishment—many of them were clearly not Lenay men, for no Lenay man, Goeren-yai or Verenthane, would have been caught dead in the outfits they were wearing. Their boots were high and polished, their leggings tight and their beaded tunics were fitted tight about the torso, yet flared puffily at the shoulders. Cuffs enveloped their hands in explosions of embroidered white lace, offsetting the predominance of darker, richer colours. Many men had curls in their hair and the hint of perfume scented the air, stronger than Sofy's own. They stood in conversation with various palace officials and some officers.
Then she saw Koenyg, excusing himself from one conversation and striding to her side. His calm expression darkened to a scowl when no one could see. “Where have you been?” whispered the heir of Lenayin. Sofy's elder brother was a broad, solid man, with none of the lean elegance of his foreign guests. His wide-sleeved jacket was made of luxuriantly soft skins with a leather tunic beneath, displaying none of the decoration of the foreigners. But then, it had never been the way of Lenay men to preen and prance like mating birds.
“What do you mean ‘where have I been’?” Sofy retorted. “Have you any idea how busy I am?”
“Practising ceremonies and embroidering costumes does not constitute busy,” Koenyg answered, presenting his right arm for her to take. Sofy did so, quickly replacing a scowl of irritation with a friendly smile for the guests. Koenyg walked her to the edge of the carpet and all the men stopped talking to look at her. Something in the foreigners’ eyes made her uncomfortable. Not that their gaze was rude—they were far too cultured and dignified for that—but it was…judgmental, somehow.
Koenyg stopped and, to Sofy's surprise, all the foreign men gave a round of polite applause. Sofy smiled, because