group or another: “Those two traveled a hundred miles to be here today and probably won’t be seen. They are putting on airs—but they lost everything, including the family seat, to gambling debt, yet they retain the title, so here they are. Over in the corner—now that’s a juicy one. The Earl of Neri’s second wife, the one with the horrible yellow gown? She’s been having an affair with the grand duke, the king’s uncle.” The lady in question turns sideways, her gown protruding in front of her. “The swollen belly? Well. You know where I’m going with this—but you didn’t hear that from me.” The duchess nudges me and winks, her enormous bouffant wig bobbing along with her head as she does.
The senior guard stands at the top of the step again. “Lord Callum Holton of Backley Hold, and his sister, Lady Lila Holton.”
The others watch as we walk toward the throne. Cal offers me his arm. It feels almost like we’re walking down the aisle at a wedding. My cheeks flame from the idea even though Cal can’t possibly know my thoughts. I wonder if he has the same one, though, because he seems to deliberately avoid glancing in my direction.
When we reach the dais, the guard puts his staff across our path to stop us, then he steps sideways. Cal bows; I curtsy. “Your Majesty,” we both say.
King Hansen, slouched in his padded silver throne, barely nods at us. He looks impossibly bored. Like his statue, he’s handsome. His hair is fair, as is his skin. He is nineteen years of age and came to the throne when his father died after a long illness. Hansen has the physique of someone who jousts and rides for sport. Or for the mirror. From his floral perfume and the gold entwined in his lace cuffs, he reeks of vanity and pompousness. I almost expect him to pick up a looking glass and gaze into it right in front of us.
“The vizier tells me you’re visiting our great kingdom?” the king says.
“Yes,” Cal answers. “We’re headed north into Stavin.”
The king nods and says to Cal, “A lot of good hunting in Stavin.”
Cal agrees.
“Do you like fishing?” the king asks.
“Fishing? Yes, I’ve done a bit of that lately,” says Cal, without looking in my direction.
The king nods approvingly. “I spent quite a bit of time fishing at the summer palace last year. One of my larger lakes is there. Truly blissful. The trout were amazing. I’m quite looking forward to next year. I intend to spend the entire season, rather than just a month. Breeders are working on restocking the lake for me already. I want them nice and big by the time I get there. Otherwise, what’s the point?” He pauses.
“There is none, Your Majesty,” agrees Cal, and I swear I can see an imperceptible lift in one of his eyebrows.
The king nods to the vizier, who steps forward to usher us away. No! Wait, it can’t be over so soon.
“Your fields and valleys are beautiful, Your Majesty,” I blurt. How am I supposed to get the king’s attention if I don’t even address him?
“Have you seen much of the country?” The king looks in my direction as if noticing me for the first time. His eyes lazily take in the shape of my dress and wander over the low neckline of my gown. I am on display, and available for the plucking should he so desire.
I smile. “Not as much as we would like.”
The king considers that. “Do you plan to be in Montrice at the end of the week?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Cal, even though we have no idea if the Duke and Duchess of Girt would extend their hospitality to us for that long.
“Excellent,” says King Hansen. “Then you will both join me on the royal hunt.”
“We would be honored, Your Majesty,” I say as Cal agrees.
King Hansen nods. We bow and curtsy again. The vizier steps forward and says, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and leads us away.
He is even more excited than we are. “Such a great compliment!” he exclaims.