spoke of his compassion. What he said aloud was, “Sioned also mentioned something about sneaking around in the dark.”
A genuine smile curved Rohan’s mouth. “Oh, did she, now?”
“Is it another game?” Riyan asked eagerly. “Can I play, too?”
Ostvel winked at Rohan. “When you’re older! Say good night to your prince.”
“Good night,” Riyan echoed dutifully. “Don’t forget about playing dragons.”
“I won’t forget. Sleep well.”
When the door had closed behind them, he resumed his dinner with an appetite that would have pleased Walvis, who, along with Sioned, waged a constant battle against Rohan’s tendency to work too much and eat too little. When the food was gone he lazed back in his chair, wineglass in hand. Obedient to the teasing promise they’d made, he and Sioned met every so often in the gardens late at night. Their household grinned, pretended not to notice, and strictly observed the rule that whenever the prince and princess disappeared, nothing short of the impending arrival of Roelstra’s armies was to disturb them. Such delicious foolishness was exactly what Rohan needed tonight, and when it was dark he took a full bottle of wine and the glasses with him from the chamber.
Barefoot, clad only in a thin silk robe, he went down the privy stairs and made his way through the empty gardens to the grotto. Sioned was a whispering excitement all along his body, a cool breeze through his heart and mind. He stood before the waterfall and closed his eyes, sensing her presence an instant before her arms slid around his waist and her body pressed to his back. He savored the enchantment as her lips brushed his nape.
Her first words melted the spell of contentment. “You were shut away with those reports all afternoon. We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
“It’s nothing that can’t wait.”
She let him go and he faced her. “Tell me, Rohan.”
He lifted the bottle and glasses ruefully. “And here I thought we were going to—”
“Oh, we will,” she assured him, and bound the promise with a kiss. “But I haven’t seen you all day. Come talk to me, beloved.”
They sat together on the soft moss, her head resting on his shoulder, the wine set aside for later. In her arms he had found joy, and in her love, strength. But perhaps the gift he cherished most was the solace of her mind. Most princes merely had wives; he had found in Sioned a princess worthy of the royal circlet he had given her.
He told her about the dragons, and as he held her he felt her reactions in her body. She could keep her expression as cool and neutral as Andrade, but just as his aunt’s drumming fingers could give away her mood, Rohan had only to touch Sioned’s hand to sense her real feelings. She was tense now, lithe muscles tightening.
“We’ll have to cancel the vassals this year,” she said when he’d finished. “Then there won’t be anyone to demand a Hatching Hunt.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Feylin is right about the dragons not coming here to Rivenrock, so there wouldn’t be any sport for them anyway. But we have to summon the vassals. This is the first Rialla in six years. We all need to have a good long talk, and the ones who’ve inherited since the Plague must pledge to us in front of the others.”
“Are you going to tell them about the dragon gold? They’ve been wondering where the dranath money came from, you know. When Farid was here last year he said that his people know where the gold comes from—”
“And haven’t breathed a word about it for twenty years,” he reminded her.
“Of course not. But those who don’t actually work the caves think it’s a mine like any other, without any connection to dragons. Maybe we should tell the vassals that.”
“I’m not concerned with them as much as I am with Roelstra.” Mention of the High Prince brought even greater tension, and he stroked her back soothingly. “Watchers have been sent to Skybowl—merchants, travelers, and so forth. They come away none the wiser. Farid’s a crafty old liar, bless him. But Roelstra’s had three years to puzzle out where I got so much gold so quickly. And I don’t believe that he believes I wanted the dragons saved only because I’m a sentimental idiot.”
“He can believe what he likes! As long as no one ever finds proof, what does it matter? Your father had the right idea. Let people think your wealth comes from the