sound of a door opening made them both jump.
“That will be Finn.”
Sure enough, the boy sauntered into the room. “My lord,” he said, bowing with finesse. “Mistress Lydia.”
“Perfect timing, Finn,” Killian said. “Take Lydia to the barracks and get her introduced. They’re expecting her.”
“Was my agreement such a sure thing?” Lydia asked.
Finn laughed and Killian shrugged. “Good instincts. They’ll give you what you need. Finn”—he jerked his chin at the boy—“give her a story that won’t invite questions.”
“I only speak the unaltered truth, my lord.”
Killian snorted in amusement, but there was affection in his gaze. The sort, Lydia thought, that one had for a younger brother. Protective.
“I need to be at the palace.” He turned to go, but Lydia stumbled after him. “Killian!”
He turned, and she caught his bleeding forearm, holding it for a heartbeat. “Thank you.” Then she trotted over to Finn and followed him out the door.
27
KILLIAN
Hours after he’d left Lydia in Finn’s capable hands, Killian could still feel the sensation of her long fingers wrapped around his arm. Of the pain receding as his skin knit together, leaving not even the faintest of scars behind. The only proof the injury had been there at all was the blood staining the linen of his shirt.
“What do you think of this color?” Malahi asked, holding up a scrap of finely woven wool in front of his face. Killian frowned at it. “Seems a strange choice for a gown.”
“For you, Killian. Not for me.” She frowned. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
The honest answer was: no. The room was full of ladies, all of them agonizing over what they’d wear to the ball. Several dressmakers were in attendance, along with their assistants, and samples of fabric and lace and gods knew what else were floating around the room. With so many present, there wasn’t a chance he’d leave Malahi’s side, but remaining had meant offering his opinion on things far outside his area of expertise. “I…”
Malahi huffed out a breath of amusement. “This is why your mother still has to send you clothing.”
Killian’s cheeks warmed. “She does not—”
“This will do fine.” Malahi handed the sample back to the waiting tailor. “Black embroidery, of course. Nothing else will suit.”
“The jewelers have arrived, Your Highness,” Lena announced from the doorway. “Are you ready to meet with them?”
“Yes,” Malahi replied, and moments later two older women entered with two boys behind, a large chest suspended between them. Curtsying, the women showed Malahi tray after tray of jewels, only moving on to the other ladies after she’d made her selections.
“I’ve already acquired something new, thank you.” Helene’s voice dominated the room, demanding everyone’s attention. “With a piece like this, I need nothing else.”
“Lovely,” one of the jewelers said. “Might I take a closer look, my lady?”
Helene pulled the ring she was wearing off her finger and handed it to the woman, who’d already extracted her magnifying glass. Holding the ring up to the sunlight, she examined the gemstone, turning it this way and that. “Exquisite work, my lady. And this color … I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you say you acquired it?”
“A Maarin captain brought it back from across the seas.”
Killian’s ears perked, as did those of everyone in the room.
“Someone has been telling you tales, my lady,” the jeweler responded with a nervous laugh. “The mark of a good salesman, yet—”
“Yet you’ve never seen anything like it.” Helene’s eyes were fixed on the gemstone. “And the Maarin do have their secrets.” She smiled. “And all for a handful of silver.”
“Let me see it, Helene,” Malahi said, reaching out a hand.
The other girl dutifully plucked it out of the jeweler’s hand and brought it to the Princess, who slipped it on her own finger. Killian stiffened as he recognized the ring as the one Lydia had worn. The one she’d sold in an effort to flee the city.
“It’s beautiful.” Malahi tilted her hand back and forth to admire the glitter.
“I couldn’t say no to the poor girl,” Helene said. “She was desperate to sell it. And I know Your Highness values charitable actions.”
Killian ground his teeth, trying to keep his mouth shut. But it was a lost cause. “Charitable?” He gestured to the jeweler. “How much would you say this ring is worth?”
The woman accepted the gem back from Malahi before conferring with her colleague. “Five hundred gold pieces, for certain, Lord Calorian.” Then she rubbed her chin. “And if research proved it to be as unique as