“Good-looking young man like you shouldn’t be used to spending nights alone.” The duchess takes a bite of her toast and chews slowly. “I’m sure that’s a rather rare occurrence.”
“Perhaps. One does tire of traveling companions, however,” says Cal, taking a dig at Shadow, who has yet to acknowledge his presence or bid him good morning.
Shadow picks up her teacup. “May I have a fresh cup as well?” The server steps forward to pour her one too. She grabs a sugar cube with the tongs and has her revenge soon enough. “My brother is lonesome for his lady,” she says. “Oh, has he not mentioned it?”
“Mentioned what?” asks the duchess, looking alarmed.
Shadow titters coyly. “My dear brother, do share with the duke and duchess the news of your engagement!”
“Engagement?” the duchess says before taking another bite of toast. She can’t keep her eyes off Cal.
Cal raises his eyebrows. Strike and parry. “Pray, tell them, sister.”
“Oh dear,” Shadow says, placing her hand over her heart. “Was it still hush-hush? Have I spoiled the surprise?”
Cal tries not to smile. Shadow seems determined to keep him away from the duchess, for reasons that he hopes are in his favor. He takes a sip of his tea. “We’d intended to announce together, of course. As we’d met quite by accident.”
“Do tell the story,” says Shadow.
Cal taps a finger against his cup. “It was almost as if she just appeared in my room one day, out of the blue.”
“Oh! Who is she?” cries the duchess.
“A lady I met in Renovia,” he answers, as Shadow’s cheeks burn. “In a castle.”
“Renovian,” says the duchess with distaste. “What is she like?”
Shadow is about to answer when Cal cuts her off. He looks right at her when he speaks. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Brave, courageous, and loyal. In all the kingdoms of Avantine I have never met her equal.”
“And how did you propose, brother? Seeing that you had sworn off marriage and children to look after Mother’s estate,” says Shadow softly.
“Ah, but she too had vowed not to marry,” Cal answers. “So we promised to be unmarried to each other, but together, forever.”
“What an atypical arrangement,” says Shadow, not quite meeting his eye.
The duchess was fully agitated by now. “Sworn off marriage and children? How strange! What kind of engagement is this?” She takes an aggressive bite of toast.
“A promise between two souls,” he says, but he only has eyes for Shadow.
“A promise can be broken,” Shadow replies.
“Not mine,” he says, so quietly that he’s not sure she can hear him.
“Nor mine,” she says, which means that she did.
They catch each other’s eye, and Cal wants nothing more than to reach across the table for her hand and pull her to him. But they are at the Duke and Duchess of Girt’s table, and must conform to propriety.
* * *
THE SNAP OF THE duchess’s fan brings them back to the present. The duchess flicks it open once more with a snap of her wrist and begins airing herself. Then she closes the fan in her right hand, her eyes trained on Cal. She knows exactly what she is doing and what she has signaled. “Dear Lord Holton, it certainly doesn’t sound like any kind of engagement to me,” Duchess Girt drawls. “Besides, the only reason to get married is so one can have affairs.”
The duke is oblivious to all of this. He seems to regard himself as above everyone else, even—and maybe especially—his wife. Like they’re all children he’s tolerating until they’re sent back into the nursery with the governess. He continues to read the previous day’s news, paying no mind to the way his wife gushes over Cal. Maybe he really doesn’t notice. Or maybe he hopes someone will take her away from him, or at least entertain her for a while.
He wishes he and Shadow were alone, so they could talk more openly. He tries to catch her eye but she is resolutely studying her plate, as if her breakfast were the most interesting thing in the world.
A loud bell clangs outside. The duke throws down his paper. “Hunt is on. Come on, Holton.” The duke and duchess rise from the table, and there’s a clatter of activity as servants rush behind them, gathering dirty cups and plates. The duchess bustles away and the duke marches out after her. Cal follows, except Shadow holds him back. “A word, brother?”
He nods and they find a quiet alcove. “Yes?”
Her eyes are dewy and her cheeks flushed. It looks as if she wants to say something important, but all she says is, “Be careful, on the hunt.”
“Is that all?” he asks.
She nods.
“I assure you I shall return in one piece, my lady,” he says, and bows.
* * *
CAL JOINS THE OTHER men gathering near the stable, hunting dogs milling about between them. He chooses a bow and quiver from the duke’s collection even though he has no intention of using it. He has always detested the sport.
The duke introduces him. “Lord Holton of Argonia.” The duke’s friends murmur appropriate greetings. This is the center of the aristocracy and Cal has been accepted as one of their own, a foreign lord who has won the duke’s approval.
Hours pass on the duke’s hunt. Cal lags behind the men with his borrowed bow and borrowed horse. The boar they’re chasing holds no interest for him, but then he overhears a conversation that does. “Renovian problem,” someone says. He rides up to try to get closer so he can hear them better.
“They’ll take us if we don’t take them first,” says a second voice.
“Don’t disagree.”
“Montrice cannot fall.”
“War is inevitable.”
But before he can hear more, the dogs begin running and barking furiously: They’ve found the boar. They corner the animal in some dense hedges. It cowers there, squealing. The sound is horrendous. The men rush forward, praising the dogs: “Excellent work, Whitefoot” and “Good job, Jak.”
Cornering an animal with dogs is not hunting, Cal thinks. But at least it’s nearly over and they can soon go back to the house. He’s eager to talk to Shadow about the day and the snippet about Renovia he overheard.
The men all move aside to allow the duke to ride through and approach the boar. He dismounts and removes a dagger from his boot. “Lord Holton,” he says.