“Nothing like that,” he says, and my pounding heart immediately slows. “You look…” He clears his throat. “That dress is very pretty.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say, glancing away as if I’m flustered. As if I hadn’t again intended it to show just an inch more skin than is common. This time, the top is conservative enough, with saffron yellow silk draping over both shoulders in wide swaths and a neckline high enough to cover my clavicle. I asked Hoa to pin the bodice tighter around my torso than I usually wear it so that it highlights the curve of my waist. She secured it with a ruby pin at my left hip as I instructed—higher than usual, so that the slit starts higher as well. Now each step I take reveals a glimpse of half of my leg. I practiced walking in it for almost an hour this morning in front of a mirror, trying to find the right balance between tantalizing and vulgar. If the way he’s looking at me is any indication, I’ve succeeded.
“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” I ask, deciding to test him. “To secure the trade route from Dragonsbane?”
“In four days, yes,” he says. And there it is—his eyes dart from me, giving away the lie.
So my gut was right—they aren’t going to secure the trade route. I can’t do anything with that information until I know for sure where they are going, but I still feel a rush of pride at being correct.
“I’m a bit nervous about it, to be honest,” he admits.
“I don’t see why you should be,” I tell him. “From what I’ve heard, you’re excellent in battle, and Dragonsbane only has a small fleet. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
He shrugs, but he averts his eyes again. “It’s the first mission I’ve been put in charge of, without the Theyn’s guidance. There are a lot of expectations resting on it, and I’m not…”
He trails off and clears his throat, looking flustered at his admission of weakness. Before I can think of a way to respond, he changes the subject.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t continue your tour of the ship myself.”
“Oh, don’t be,” I say lightly. “It was very kind of you to look after Crescentia, and Erik was a wonderful replacement. It’s a beautiful ship. Does it have a name yet?”
“It does, actually. Or rather, she does. The crew…” His eyes dart away. “After you left, they—we—decided to name it for Lady Crescentia.”
I couldn’t care less about what he chooses to name his boat, but he’s watching me for my reaction, and who am I to disappoint him? Let him believe I’m concerned with something so silly. I tighten my smile so that it looks vaguely forced. “That’s a fine name. She was, after all, the first lady to step on board, wasn’t she?”
“You both were,” he says. “But…” He trails off again, unable to finish.
“But I’m not a lady,” I fill in. “Not really. That’s what they said, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t deny it. “They thought it would be bad luck. I disagreed, Thora, and so did Erik, for that matter. But…”
“I understand,” I say, making it sound like I don’t.
The trick with S?ren, I’ve realized, is to let him believe he’s seeing through me, past the act I put on for everyone else. But he can’t, not really. There always has to be at least one more layer so that he’ll keep looking.
I lower my voice for effect. “I heard what they said about me,” I continue, pretending to lay out my cards. “They think I’m your paramour. Only they used a fouler word that I won’t repeat.”
He believes the lie easily. His arm goes stiff beneath my fingers and his brow furrows. “Who said that?” he asks, angry and a touch afraid. I’d imagine the last thing he wants is that rumor getting back to his father.
“Does it matter?” I reply. “Of course they think that. Your guards likely think it, too.” I glance their way, though they keep their eyes politely averted. “The one who delivered your letter certainly did,” I add, knowing that the guard from earlier isn’t present. “Even I would believe it if I didn’t know better. Why else would you be seeking me out like this? Inviting me to lunch?”
I wait on edge for his response. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds and I worry that I’ve pulled the rod before he could fully swallow the bait. He turns toward his guards and waves his hand. Without a word, they turn and go back inside, though I’m sure they’re still watching.
“That isn’t going to help things,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t have a chaperone, and—”
His ears redden and he turns back to me. “You did get my letter, then,” he interrupts. “But you didn’t reply.”
I bite my lip. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to accept your invitation, but I wasn’t sure I was allowed to refuse. No answer seemed the best answer.”
“Of course you could refuse, if you wanted to,” he says, looking surprised. “Did you want to?”
I let out a forlorn sigh and glance away. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” I tell him. Not answering will drive him all the more mad. “You should have asked Crescentia. She likes you, and she’s a more appropriate companion.”
I expect him to deny it, but he doesn’t. “I enjoy spending time with you, Thora,” he says instead. “And it was only a lunch.”
It’s easy to act like a damsel in need of rescuing. All it takes are wide eyes, tentative smiles, and a wolf at my heels. “I don’t think your father would approve,” I say.
He frowns and drops his gaze. “I wasn’t planning on telling him,” he admits.
I can’t help but laugh. “Someone would have,” I say. “You’ve been gone for a long time, S?ren, but ask anyone—your father sees everything that happens in this palace. Especially where I’m concerned.”
S?ren’s frown deepens. “You’ve been with us for ten years,” he says. “You’re more Kalovaxian than not at this point.”
I think he means the words as a comfort, but they strike me like daggers.
“You might be right,” I say instead of arguing. It’s time to play the card Cress left me, the one that will make me more a damsel in distress to him than ever. “He’s planning to marry me to a Kalovaxian man soon.”
“Where did you hear that?” he asks, alarmed. I suppress a smile and try to look troubled, biting my lip and wringing my hands.
“Crescentia overheard her father and yours talking about it. I suppose it makes sense. I’m of age, and as you said, I’ve been a Kalovaxian now longer than I was an Astrean.”
“Marry you to who?”
I shrug but let my expression cloud over. “She mentioned that Lord Dalgaard offered the most to own the last Princess of Astrea,” I say, letting just a touch of acid into my voice.
It’s treason to even use that title to describe myself, but S?ren seems to like flashes of honesty. It’s a gamble, yes, but all of this is a gamble. One wrong move will leave me buried.
S?ren swallows and drops his gaze. He’s likely been in more battles than I can name, but the threat of Lord Dalgaard leaves him speechless. He glances past my shoulder to where his guards are waiting, just out of earshot.
I reach out to touch his arm lightly and lower my voice.
“I’ve done everything your father’s asked of me, S?ren, given him everything he’s asked of me without complaint, trying to show that I can be a loyal citizen here. But please, please, don’t let him do this,” I plead. “You know about Lord Dalgaard and his poor wives. I have no dowry, no family, no standing. No one would care what happens to me. I’m sure that’s part of the appeal for him.”
His expression hardens into granite. “I can’t go against my father, Thora.”
I drop my hand and shake my head. I take a breath as if to steady myself and stand up a little straighter. When I look at S?ren again, I let another layer of my mask fall into place, this one cold as ice.