The king’s boisterous voice pulled her attention back to him. She eyed his wide shoulders and his handsome form dispassionately. He was a man in his prime. Since he’d taken no liking to either of his sons, she wouldn’t be surprised if he attempted to sire another male heir.
He glanced over his shoulder at Tempest, a charming smile lighting his face. It did not mask the greedy, predatory glint in his eye as he cast his gaze down her figure. Tempest immediately looked down at her plate of untouched food, wishing for nothing more than to flee from the banquet table.
Stupid. Stupid. Her attention on him would surely have him seeking her after the meal. So much for avoiding him.
After what felt like an appropriate amount of time staring at her hands, Tempest dared to look back up and was relieved to see King Destin engaged in conversation elsewhere. But the crown prince was now looking at her, and, when he caught her eye, he winked. Winked. Winter’s bite. Could she not escape vile men? Tempest ignored him and shoveled food into her mouth in the hope that she could end the dastardly meal. That was if she could keep it down. The food was lavish and luxurious—full of butter, cream, and herbs—but it tasted like ash in her mouth. All Tempest wanted was a loaf of bread shaped like a tulip from Rina’s bakery and a bowl of heartwarming rabbit stew. A stew Pyre had made for her.
Stop thinking of him.
She scowled and swallowed an altogether too-large mouthful of food. The Jester. A despicable knave. And yet, she preferred his company to the fiends surrounding her now. Tempest did not want to think of Pyre, with his quickly swinging moods, wickedly seductive smile, and confusing intentions. If she dwelt on him for too long, her heart did strange things to her. Things that were not acceptable at all.
She dropped the pretense of eating and scanned the table. Her lips thinned when she spotted the younger prince looking at her. He licked his lips in a very deliberate fashion that made her want to stab him. A dagger found its way into her hand, and Temp leaned her elbow onto the table, deftly twirling the weapon through her fingers, causing the blade to dance and spin at an alarming speed. He didn’t flinch. The prince watched her every move. She stopped spinning the dagger and used it to pick at non-existent food between her teeth like a barbarian. Let him think she had no manners.
The smallest movement from Madrid caught her attention. He shot her a disapproving look that screamed: Act like a Hound, like a lady. The two statements were not mutually exclusive; however, Tempest had witnessed many of her Hound uncles using blades to clean their teeth. Though I venture they never did so at the king’s table. With a grimace, she slid the dagger back into its sheath at her hip. She was drawing more attention to herself than she wanted.
A feminine snigger—an unexpected noise considering there were but three women at the table—reached her ears. Tempest did not imagine the snigger belonged to the single other woman on the war council, and so could only conclude that its source belonged to none other than the king’s one and only daughter Princess Ansette.
Interesting.
Tempest bent forward slightly to look down the right-hand side of the table and caught the princess’s eye. The teenage girl was smiling at her. It was not mocking, nor disgusted, nor forced.
It was genuine.
Perhaps not everyone in the royal family is so bad, Tempest thought, risking a smile in return. Perhaps there is hope for one of them yet.
Two
Tempest
Tempest hid her smirk as the youngest royal continued to exchange secretive smiles with her across the table as servants came in to clear the dishes and bring out sumptuous, rich desserts for everyone to sample. Chocolate cakes shot through with dark coffee beans, topped with impossibly light and airy whisked cream. Exotic fruits macerated in vanilla sugar and liquor were served with wafer-thin shortbread and a brandy chaser. Her mouth watered as flaky cinnamon pastries were set near her. Her favorite. While the evening had been ghastly, at least something good had come from the night. She took a bite, and cinnamon goodness exploded across her taste buds. She hadn’t enjoyed the taste of one since—
Before my trial. When Juniper pilfered some from the kitchens for me.
She lowered the pastry to her plate, the icing sticking to her fingers. Tempest’s heart stung merely thinking of her best friend. She had not spoken to Juniper since her return from the shifter village, for fear that she would open her mouth and all the secrets and lies she had become privy to would pour out. While she longed to speak to someone who wasn’t stuck in her tangled web of lies, she couldn’t put Juniper at risk. The king viewed all shifters as expendable, and if he discovered Tempest’s treachery… Well, it wouldn’t go well for her loved ones. She wouldn’t put more of a target on her best friend’s back than was already there, if she could help it.
Tempest wiped the frosting from her fingers and glanced to her right. Levka stood in a group of young men, his laughter boisterous and loud like his father’s. She quickly turned her attention back to the table, her gaze scanning the sweet delicacies while her hands fidgeted in her lap. She’d been avoiding him, too, though for entirely different reasons. After he’d professed his attraction and kissed her a week ago, it was far too difficult to face him. She’d never been a coward, but how was she supposed to tell him she didn’t want him in that way without making things awkward?
Then there was the timing of it all. He’d never shown the slightest inclination toward her until she’d passed her trials and gained a place on the war council. Was he courting her just to gain status? Her lips pursed. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Others had courted and married for less.
Temp sighed. Now was not the time to be worrying over such trivial matters.
“You have sighed a lot tonight, Lady,” Madrid said, once more speaking so quietly that nobody else heard him—except for Ansette, who was still watching Tempest with a curious look in her eye.
Tempest forced a smile to her face. “I am tired, that is all. I look forward to the end of this meal so that I might retire to bed.”
Madrid let out a huff of laughter. “You are on the council now. Your days of escaping social gatherings in favor of sleep are long since over.”
“Perhaps I should reassess my life choices,” she joked back, though it was not a joke at all. She’d spent much of the last week doubting and cursing every choice she had made that resulted in her being there, at the wicked King of Heimserya’s table, with the intention of bringing him and his coconspirators down. Her stomach swooped.
Even if his coconspirators were her uncles. Even if they were her family.
She retreated into her own head as the desserts were cleared from the table and people began rising from their seats to mingle with one another, goblets of wine and glasses of fire whiskey in hand. Tempest made certain to avoid both princes when she stood up, as well as the king, and in the process of doing so found herself standing next to Ansette.
The young princess curled her lips into the smallest of smiles. “My dear father is about to make an announcement I believe you may quite like, Lady Hound.”
That was debatable. “Tempest is fine,” she replied. “Or Temp. I am not one for formalities.” She blinked slowly at the words that had carelessly passed her lips. It wasn’t done in court circles to refer to each other so informally. What the devil had possessed her to say such a thing?