“Yes.” He gave her an exasperated look.
Ari brightened. “I’ll be in charge of courting a relationship with the Eldrians. Draconi make excellent allies.” And if she was really lucky, maybe she could convince one of the Eldrians to step outside and shift into a dragon for her. She’d always wanted to see a dragon in real life. Maybe the dragon would even give her a ride. Thank the stars she’d had Cleo cut her out of that corset. The night was starting to look interesting.
“I’m being serious, Ari.”
“So am I.”
He looked at the ceiling and drew a deep breath. “You have to be a proper princess. No snorting in scorn.”
“Even if someone richly deserves it. Understood.”
“You dance with everyone who asks.”
“Wait . . . everyone? Even if they’re old?”
“Yes. And you make polite conversation. No wayward opinions about how boring you think small talk is.”
“It’s not just boring, it’s entirely useless.” Ari twitched her skirt to the side as the first trio of maids from the kitchen, carrying trays of food for the buffet table, hurried past.
Thad lowered his voice. “It’s not useless. Think of it as an interview to see if you both understand how to be diplomatic.”
Ari sighed. “So to be clear, I’m not supposed to show my true opinion—”
“If your true opinion is something other than polite, diplomatic interest.”
“I can’t express myself with inarticulate noises—”
“Not under any circumstance.”
“I have to dance with everyone who asks, even if my feet hurt or I want to go eat some snacks in peace—”
“And that’s another thing. Don’t get caught stealing snacks.” He gave her a stern look.
Stars, not this again. “It was only the one time. Besides, technically you can’t steal something that is offered to you for free.”
“It was still difficult to explain to Lady Barlis why the newly acknowledged princess of Súndraille would stuff one of every appetizer in her handbag and try to smuggle them out of the ballroom.” Thad held her gaze. “Just be a proper princess tonight. Please. We need allies, and these people need to believe wholeheartedly that you are next in line for the throne in case . . .”
“In case you die? You’re seventeen, in perfect health, and nearly always surrounded by guards. Why are you talking like this?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but his words had ignited a spark of fear she didn’t know how to extinguish. The loss of her mother was a dark pit of grief inside her. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her brother too.
He cast a quick glance at the open doorway fifty paces to their left and leaned closer to her. “There are only two of us left, and it’s my job to make sure Súndraille stays safely in the hands of a competent leader. Someone the people will follow. When—if I’m not here to rule, then you have to be ready to take my place. That means you need powerful allies. And you don’t get powerful allies unless people view you as a real princess. A true heir to the throne.”
There was an edge of desperation in his voice, and she studied him for a moment. He’d lost weight in the three weeks since the rest of their family had died. She’d baked obsessively—it was the only thing that kept her grounded in the chaotic upheaval of her new life—but even Thad’s favorite dessert hadn’t tempted his appetite. His formal coat hung a little loose across his shoulders, and his high cheekbones were sharp slashes in a face that otherwise looked remarkably like her own—golden-brown skin, full lips, and the wide dark eyes they’d both inherited from their father.
Whatever burden of grief Ari was bearing, his was twice as heavy. The weight of the kingdom had fallen across his shoulders, and if he needed her to pretend she was comfortable acting like nobility, she could do it. They only had each other now.
Before that thought could worm its way into her heart and send another piercing ache through her veins, she forced herself to give him a little smile. “Fine. No scorning dumb ideas, no turning down dances with potential allies, no complaining about small talk, and no sneaking a Draconi into the garden for a little midnight dragon ride. You really know how to take the fun out of things.”
Thad laughed—a quick burst of merriment that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. Tucking her arm in his, he said quietly, “Thank you. You and me against the world, right?”
She pressed her free hand against her fluttering stomach and took a deep breath. “Always.”
TWO
THE CORONATION SPED by in a blur of droning words from the head of the noblemen’s Assembly, the unfamiliar weight of the crown on Ari’s head, and the stomach-churning knowledge that the eyes of Súndraillian nobility and the invited representatives from seven other kingdoms were focused on her. It was a relief when the ceremony concluded and the dancing began. At least now she had to deal only with the scrutiny of one dance partner at a time.
Also there were the delights of the buffet table to consider.
Three hours later, Ari was busy wishing a pox upon the ballroom and everyone in it. She’d danced with every person who asked (oh joy). She’d made small talk until she was in danger of losing her mind (more joy). And she hadn’t put a single snack into the beaded bag that hung from her wrist (one giant stinking heap of joy).
She’d been the most proper princess who ever set foot in a ballroom, if you didn’t count the times she’d accidentally stepped on the hem of her gown and been forced to clutch her dance partner to keep from tripping. Three hours of behaving like royalty and all she had to show for it was a headache and a list of dance partners who’d wanted to talk only about Thad and the sudden death of the royal family as if she might spill a tidbit of gossip for them to devour.
Lord Hamish from Ravenspire had speculated that someone from the Assembly had poisoned the king, queen, and baby prince in the hope that Thad would make a more malleable ruler. Sir Jabin of Balavata had talked for ages about the economic ramifications of having a seventeen-year-old king whom half of Súndraille seemed to distrust. Lord Kadar of Akram had winked and assured her that many a throne had been taken with bloodshed and there was no shame in it.
But none of the foreign guests was as bad as her partners from Súndraille itself. Each wore a black cravat in honor of the mourning period that would continue for another three weeks. And each asked razor-sharp questions that both grieved and infuriated Ari. She had her answers memorized by now.
Yes, their father had asked them to leave the palace after the baby prince’s birth, but he hadn’t done so out of anger, and he’d given them a generous stipend to help them build a new life somewhere else.