“But I was up all night,” I groan.
“Those little scamps nearly burned off my eyelashes again.” Brac pats my back in a conciliatory manner. “It’s your turn.”
Natesa knocks and bustles in. “One of you needs to go to the dining hall. Your trainees set fire to the table linens during breakfast!”
“The prince expects me for a meeting.” Brac throws me a smirk and strides out.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“Not looking like that you won’t,” Natesa counters.
I brush rice crumbs from my lips as she digs through my dressing cabinet. Natesa and I were raised together in Samiya. We became friends after Tarek claimed us, she as a courtesan and me as a rani, and we competed in my rank tournament. Her jade sari and short blouse complement her curves. I have become shapelier since my younger years, when she teased me for my thinness. Our mutual friend and healer, Indah, insisted I eat heartily to keep my soul-fire well stocked, which in turn healed the aftereffects of Kur’s fiery venom and increased my weight.
While she is turned around, I put on my prosthesis, winding the leather strap around my shoulder. The wooden fingers have no joints but are the same size and shape as my functioning left hand.
Natesa holds up a black training sari. “This one will show off your full hips.” She drapes the sari across my bed. “Get changed before your trainees burn down the palace. Yatin will take one of them over his knee if they don’t start behaving.”
My trainees are the last two Burner children in the Tarachand Empire. Yatin would never lay a hand on them, let alone any child, but another guard might. “I’ll speak with the girls. Any news of your wedding plans?”
“Yatin and I agreed the ceremony can wait until we’re less busy.” Natesa has been working to open her inn, and Yatin accepted a promotion to captain of the guard. “The inn is ready for me to move in to.”
I repress my surprise. “I didn’t realize you were leaving the palace so soon.”
“I didn’t want to . . . ,” Natesa leads off, twisting her lotus engagement ring.
Everyone does this now, calculates their speech and anticipates my reaction. They presume I will crumble under a single unplanned word.
“Didn’t want to what?” I press.
“I didn’t want to boast.”
Her careful treatment of me pricks. Still, I keep my tone airy. “Telling your friend good news isn’t boasting. When the time comes, you’ll be the most beautiful bride in the empire.”
Natesa glances in the vanity mirror glass. “You should see Princess Gemi’s bridal sari. Asha outdid herself on the bodice. I may ask her to embroider mine.”
“Princess Gemi is lovely, but she isn’t you.” I replay my words and quickly cover my mouth. “Please don’t repeat that to the viraji.”
The formal term of endearment crowds my throat. I disliked the title when it was mine. It feels odd conferring it upon another.