If following their guidelines—as she was going to call them in her head—would keep her from any more scary run-ins with the Zane, then that was reason enough to do so.
“No traveling the castle without an escort…,” Magnus began. He straightened in his seat, shoulders broad and pulled back as if it were necessary for him to intimidate her now when he’d been trying so hard not to up until this point. “And absolutely no leaving the castle grounds. We’re currently removing any political personnel who don’t need to be here, making sure that there is less opportunity for you to fail.”
She took offense to that, but he was already continuing.
“It is our hope that Olena will be found in a timely fashion, but until then you must limit the number of people you interact with. Fortunately, our daughter is … somewhat of a loner, so no one will expect you to make small talk with them.”
Joy. Of course, parts of that statement matched up with the things Pettus and Gibus had told her last night, while others … Was one considered a loner when they were such a raging bitch that no one wanted to be around them? Or did that just make them a pariah? Not to mention the fact that everyone else seemed to think that Olena liked to party, whereas her father was painting her as a recluse.
“Now”—he folded his hands before him—“to get down to some of the basics. Our daughter is not fond—”
The double doors behind the Basilissa burst open then, cutting off anything the Basileus might have been about to divulge. Trystan appeared with two sentries at his back, their eyes sheepish and downcast. Clearly, he’d forced his way in despite their efforts to stop him.
He grabbed the edges of the doors before they could slam against the walls, standing there for a moment, eyeing them all. It was a bold move, being that he was in Vakar territory, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned by his show of rudeness. In the extremely green room, his blue uniform stood out like a beacon.
Green walls, table, chairs. Gold accents. Yup, definitely a pattern. She was actually slightly relieved she’d gone with gold; it helped her to blend in a bit more. Absently, she reached under the table and tugged at the strange shirt Lura had given her. It was tight, almost too much so, and pressed against her chest in a way that made her look like she had a lot more going on upstairs than she really did.
It was shorter in front, exposing an inch of bare skin at her stomach, and long at the back, reminding her a bit of the penguin suits with the tails that men used to have to wear. It was a dull gold, not too shiny but not bland enough to be considered brown, either. Her skirt, which she didn’t really even consider a skirt so much as a dinky piece of cloth, barely covered her thighs, and even sitting, she tugged at the hem, desperate to lower it at least a centimeter.
Lura had insisted that both items of clothing matched and had to be worn together. The only thing Delaney actually liked about the outfit was the boots, which were a soft buttery brown that stretched a good three inches above her knees. They had a slight heel to them as well, which was great, because around these people she was beginning to feel short.
“Zane Trystan.” Magnus didn’t bother hiding his displeasure. “I trust you slept well.”
“The room is to my liking,” he agreed with a single nod. Stepping in the rest of the way, he finally let the doors swing shut, and moved over to the unoccupied side of the table. He chose the seat directly across from Delaney, though he didn’t spare her so much as a glance. “You’ll forgive my intrusion; I was told this was where breakfast was being served.”
He was tiptoeing a fine line, balancing in that space between polite and rude. They had a treaty, but that didn’t mean any of the royals currently in the room had to like it.
It became even more apparent in that moment how badly the Vakar needed this merger to work. If they didn’t, there was no way Magnus would allow Trystan to speak to him like that or barge in the way he had, especially because he was a prince, where Magnus was a king.
“Of course.” Tilda was the one to reply, that small smile returning, though it didn’t fool anyone. She tapped her hand against the tabletop, just a light rapping of her knuckles, but almost immediately the doors on either side of the room reopened.
Delaney inspected the staff as they whirled by, providing golden platters for each guest. They’d let them go in the air about three feet up, and the tray would then float at an angle downward, landing perfectly centered before each of them. It took all of her willpower not to gape stupidly at it.
The last golden tray floated down to land in front of Trystan, and then all at once the lids that covered them rose up into the air at the same slow pace. They twisted, doing a circle, and then eased backward. Once they were a foot behind each of them, the servers reached up and plucked them out of the air, turning and exiting through the four doors that led in and out of the green room.
The second her plate became fully visible, she blinked.
There were three different foods on it: One looked to be a vegetable of some kind, stringy and a vibrant green. Maybe sort of like green beans if they’d been pulled apart at the seams. Another was flat and solid, reminding her of very burned toast, and then what she figured had to be the main course, a chunky bright neon-pink piece of meat that smelled a lot like bologna.
She gulped, audibly, too, because both the king and Ruckus turned her way. Risking a glance up, she almost flinched when she realized she’d caught Trystan’s attention as well.
He was frowning at her, just the corners of his rose-petal-pink lips turned downward. The furrow between his brows was minuscule. When their eyes met, his hardened, the blue lightening to the color of steel in an instant.
She really wished she knew what Olena had done to piss him off so badly.
“So, Olena”—the Basileus cleared his throat—“did you enjoy your denzeration?”
He picked up the gold utensils at the right of his plate, sneakily showing her that they were exactly the same as knives and forks back home. In her nervousness, she hadn’t noticed.
Anything he’d been going to say to her before was now impossible in Trystan’s presence, so they were all forced to act like everything was normal. This would be her first real test, made even more so because it was in front of the Basileus and Basilissa.
“I did,” she said, following suit. She really didn’t want to eat that pink stuff, but knew she had to eat something or else she’d cause suspicion. Cutting into the greens, she lifted a half-inch piece to her lips.
“A bit too much, it would seem,” Trystan spoke, eyes still locked on her. “She almost didn’t leave.”
“Nonsense.” Magnus waved him off. “She simply wanted to experience one last festival.”