a throne, the princess would have had her share of suitors to fend off. Then they passed Prince Leäfrich’s group.
He paused midsentence, though his companions didn’t notice in their chatter. Leäfrich glanced at his sister, offering a slight nod of some covert agreement. Then he looked once toward the back of the long chamber.
A shadow of concern raced quickly across the tall prince’s face.
Reine tried to follow his gaze. Wherever or whoever he had sought, there were too many people to pick out his target.
Around a cluster of self-amused debutantes, Reine spotted Uncle Jac with the king and queen of Malourné. He smiled at her, though it looked forced, veiling some unspoken worry. King Leofwin, hand-in-hand with Queen Muriel, looked to his daughter.
“Keeping our cousin well cared for?” he asked.
“Always, Father,” thelthryth answered. “Like my very own.”
Familial references were common respect for royalty of allied nations, but it left Reine unsettled—more so when King Leofwin glanced in the same direction that the prince had only moments before. Reine tried again to find their source of concern.
Queen Muriel whispered something in her husband’s ear, too soft and low to catch. Leofwin slumped, hanging his head. His eyes clenched shut, and Muriel grasped her husband’s hand in both of hers.
“Come,” thelthryth urged. “Let us find a defensible spot with more room to breathe.”
Reine was swept onward before she heard anything more.
What was happening here? And why had her uncle looked as concerned as the reskynna?
At the hall’s rear, before a tall window of crystal clear panes, stood a fragile-looking young man, his back turned to everyone. He was dressed plainly but elegantly in a white shirt of billowing sleeves beneath a sea green brocade vest. All alone, he faced the outside world, and dangling locks of sandy blond hair hid any glimpse of his face. His shoulders bent forward under some unseen weight, his hands braced upon the sill.
Was this where all wayward glances had turned?
“Freädherich?” whispered thelthryth. “Could you keep our cousin company?”
Again that familial term.
It bothered Reine even more—especially as she stared at the younger prince’s back. She wouldn’t have recognized him as he was now, though she had met him earlier that day. He’d been silent then as well.
“I must see to late arrivals,” thelthryth said, and still her youngest brother didn’t turn.
Reine began to heat up with barely suppressed anger.
For all Uncle Jac’s supposed understanding, was he now trying to make her suitor to some foreign prince? Or had the reskynna coerced him into this, so quickly executed by thelthryth?
Reine turned on her royal “cousin,” ready to remove herself, even at the cost of insult—but she held her tongue.
The princess watched her brother with the same wounded concern as had the king and queen and Prince Leäfrich. Then her gaze wandered.
thelthryth stared intently out the window beyond Freädherich. Her fixed eyes turned glassy until she blinked suddenly. With a shudder, she pulled Reine back a step.
“Please,” she whispered, “decorum’s pressure might force him to speak with you.”
With a final pained glance at Freädherich, thelthryth turned away, gliding back through the crowded room.
Reine was left alone with the young prince, but it only made her ire grow.
She wasn’t about to be played, especially under her uncle’s betrayal. No wonder he’d fended off suitors in their own land. He’d kept her like a prized purebred to barter for political gain. Why not just throw one of his sons at thelthryth and aim directly for the crown of Malourné?
No, that would be pointless. Edelard was already heir of Faunier, and Felisien . . . well, his numerous indiscretions leaned entirely in another direction.
Reine turned like a cornered fox and cast her spite across the room at Uncle Jac. But King Jacqui only lowered his head with firmly pressed lips, and then cocked it slightly toward Freädherich. All Reine saw in her uncle’s face was more concern, and Queen Muriel watched her with frightful expectation.
Reine slowly turned about, frustrated as she gazed at Freädherich’s back.
Something more was happening here, aside from an attempt to throw her at the young prince. Much as she wouldn’t allow the latter, she stepped closer, coming around two paces off so as not to startle him.
Prince Freädherich was young, certainly a few years younger than she was. Shoulder-length sandy hair framed a long, pale face. His narrow nose looked slightly hooked, but nothing too severe or unappealing. The thin lips of his small mouth were parted, as if his jaw hung slack, and his eyes . .