I squirmed uncomfortably. “I think you overestimate the ball’s appeal. The entire production is to impress the Pythians—Blayne and Darren have orders to engage the duke the whole evening.” I made a face. “Mine are to embarrass the Crown as little as possible.”
“You won’t embarrass anyone in this, my lady.” She adjusted the top. “Even if you make a mistake you will be far too enchanting for them to take notice.”
“Where have you been all my life?” I gave Sofia a mock curtsy with grand flourish. “You do wonders for my self-esteem.”
The other lady-in-waiting, Gemma, scolded me for moving. The two proceeded to pile my locks into a tumbling array of curls, a couple loose strands to soften the hard lines of my face. Then they hung a small gold chain around the base of my hairline, a small sapphire hanging from its clasp.
I could admit I did feel a bit like Sofia described by the time we were finished. I had never seen Priscilla in anything half so nice as what I was wearing now. I knew the king had only issued such an extravagant order because of the Pythians’ arrival, but there was no harm in reaping the benefits.
When I arrived at the hall outside the grand ballroom, I had another small victory when I caught sight of the non-heir.
He was staring. A lot. Lips slightly parted, I don’t even think he realized that he was doing it.
Maybe Celine was right. I should wear dresses more often.
Darren muttered something as I took his arm—just loud enough for me to hear—and I was blushing uncontrollably. I looked away immediately, but out of the corner of my eye I could see his gaze hadn’t left my face.
We waited for the herald to announce us to the awaiting audience.
When we were finally called, Darren led me across to King Lucius and the crown prince at the edge of the room.
We sat in silence and watched the courtiers mingle for the next hour. Finally, when I was fighting hard not to fall asleep at the chair, the herald returned to announce our guests of honor had arrived.
“Duke Cassius, brother and ambassador of King Joren of Pythus, and his attendants.”
I watched as a towering man sauntered out into the hall, thick, corn-yellow braids swinging with each mighty stride of his legs. He bore a heavy cloak trimmed in fur, and heavy boots that seemed to crush the rug as they moved. Every step he took seemed slow and deliberate—a fact made even more evident by the quick patter of his guards.
When he finally reached the throne, Duke Cassius bowed the bare minimum afforded the Crown, for the bare minimum of time. Then he returned to a stand, the hint of a sneer playing along his lips.
“My dear, King Lucius. It’s been years. You’ve grown a beard.”
“And Duke Cassius. Always the charmer.”
“Am I?” The man smirked. “I do not remember paying you a compliment.”
Standing uncomfortably, I watched the royals proceed. For a moment there were false pleasantries, and then I heard Darren laugh—a little too loudly—at something the ambassador had said. As soon as the duke turned his back I watched the non-heir wipe his sweaty hand on his sleeve.
Blayne cleared his throat expectantly and addressed the duke with more force. “Care to take a tour of the grounds, Your Grace? I assure you it will be much more alluring than talk of old men’s beards.” He was using his courtier’s charm, the one that might have fooled me years ago before I discovered his true nature. It was full of airy brevity and wit. Persuasive. I could immediately see why Ella had found him captivating before the incident that had forced her to leave court.
“I have only just arrived. Any gracious host would have already found me something to drink.”
My head swerved in the duke’s direction. It was impossible to miss the absence of Blayne’s title, or the command in his voice.
Already I could see why the Crown had spent so much time preparing for the ambassador’s arrival. In the two minutes that had passed since his introduction, one thing was already evident: the Pythian duke was not going to see his niece wed to Jerar’s crown prince willingly. And whatever the duke believed, his brother—the king—was sure to follow.
How were we ever going to convince the Pythians to accept Jerar’s proposal?
Blayne nodded pleasantly in return, and I wondered if he had heard the duke’s underlying scorn. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
Still, his expression didn’t falter.
The duke adjusted his belt and watched the crown prince through narrowed eyes.
“Rupert!” Blayne snapped. So he did hear it, after all.
A nearby guard dropped his post at the young man’s command. “Yes, Your—”
“Get the Pythians a drink. They are thirsty.”
“Sir, I’m not supposed to leave my post,” the man stammered.
“Then. Find. Someone. To. Do. It. For. You.” Blayne flashed an apologetic smile at the duke. “I apologize for not anticipating your needs earlier, Your Grace.”
“Do you?” He studied the prince with a furrowed brow. “I’ve heard you only anticipate your own. Why else would the Borean princess flee an arranged marriage?”