her now. She was not sure she had ever seen him look scared before. ‘Refuse and come to me at once.’
‘What the hell has Bayaz to do with anything—’
‘Everything!’ He gripped her even tighter, pulled her even closer. ‘I hardly think you have considered the danger of your position. Bastard or no, you are the king’s oldest child. That could make you very valuable. And very vulnerable. Now pull yourself together. This sulking is beneath you.’ He let go of her, wiped a tear from his weeping left eye and began politely to applaud as Leo dan Brock rode into the square, smiling hugely, and the cheering was redoubled.
Savine slowly straightened, rubbing at the livid marks her father’s fingers had left on her wrist. She wanted to punch him in his toothless mouth. She wanted to scream at the mad top of her voice, right in the king’s face. She wanted at least to storm furiously away.
But that would only draw attention. And no one could know. Her father was right about that. Or he would have been, if he had been her father. Bayaz was still smiling straight at her. Less majestic than the statue which stood not far off on the Kingsway, but a great deal more smug. All Savine could do was turn her attention to the square, push her shoulders back, her chin up and her face into the blandest smile imaginable, and clap.
And fume like a boiling kettle.
Orso heard the cheering ahead as the parade reached the Square of Marshals. He heard the chanting of, ‘Leo! Leo!’ The calls of, ‘The Young Lion!’ There could be no doubt the manly bastard filled the role of hero spectacularly well. Far better than Orso ever could.
He had to admit to being pleasantly surprised by the new Lord Governor of Angland. He had expected him to be a humourless thug and, yes, he had the usual provincial prejudices, but he turned out to be rather winningly honest and generous. A hard man to hate. The poor bastard had no idea he was hammering nails into Orso’s skull when he talked about Savine. He had no idea about a lot of things. Probably she would squeeze the hapless fool until his pips squeaked and leave him a pining husk. It would hardly be the first time she’d done it. All it took was the thought of her with another man to leave Orso wanting to puke out his eyes.
Then he caught sight of Rikke, and found he was smiling in spite of himself.
She slouched in the saddle, squinting angrily up at the sun as though she was taking its shining personally. He wasn’t sure she’d changed a thing since getting out of his bed. Among that immaculately tailored, groomed and decorated company, he found her total lack of effort oddly attractive.
He had wanted to marry the best-dressed woman in the Circle of the World, after all, and look how that turned out.
‘Your Highness,’ she grunted as he dropped back towards her.
‘Your …’ Orso frowned. ‘What’s the term of address for an emissary from the Protectorate?’
‘Rikke?’
‘You don’t stand on ceremony up there, do you?’
‘We stomp all over it. What are you doing back here with the chaff? Not enough width on one street for two heads so swollen as yours and Leo dan Brock’s?’
‘I quite like him.’ Orso shrugged. ‘A great deal better than I like myself, at least. In which I think, for once, I am in tune with the public mood.’ Those commoners who looked in Orso’s direction did so, in the main, with hatred. ‘No doubt I deserve it, though.’
‘Unpopular at home, you came down here to work on overseas alliances. You’re not the self-obsessed rake I was expecting.’
‘I fear I’m even worse.’ He leaned towards her, dropping his voice. ‘There’s only one alliance I want to work on, and it’s the one between my prick and your—’
He caught sight of the man riding just behind Rikke. A towering old Northman with the most monstrous scar he had ever seen, a bright ball of metal gleaming in the midst of it. His other eye was fixed on Orso with an expression fit to freeze the blood. Though it must be hard to find warm expressions when you have a face like a murderer’s nightmare.
Orso swallowed. ‘Your friend has a metal eye.’
‘That’s Caul Shivers. Got a good claim to being the most feared man in the North.’
‘And he’s … your bodyguard?’
Rikke shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘Just a friend.