“Like you and Duchess Girt, I presume?” My good mood sours.
“Exactly.”
“She is certainly quite taken by you,” I snap.
He returns my gaze levelly and I break my promise not to look into those dark eyes of his. “It is an advantage, Shadow. And we use every advantage we have to fulfill the task at hand. It is what they teach us at the Guild. What you will learn if you are permitted entry.”
“Then I will make certain to arouse the king’s ardor!” I cry. “If that’s what you want.”
“What I want is immaterial; this is about the security of the kingdom,” he says.
“Is that all you care about? Oh, why do I even ask!” I turn away, shaking.
“Shadow!”
“Just go away,” I tell him.
Cal moves from the window so that he’s standing right in front of me, and I put up my hands to shield my face, just as he takes my wrists in his. He lowers them so he can look right into my eyes. His own look wild, desperate.
“Shadow of Nir, Maiden of the Honey Glade,” he says, his voice low and husky. His hands are rough from the road, but his touch has always been gentle. My wound is gone; not even a scar remains. “Renovia does not claim all my heart.”
“Caledon Holt,” I say. “What do you want from me?”
“I want . . . ,” he begins to say, but he never finishes as there is a short rap on the door. He releases me so quickly that it catches my breath.
A lady’s maid walks into the room. “The vizier is ready for you, milady, milord.”
“We will be down shortly,” Cal tells her as I search around for my satin shoes. I find them near the bed. They’re awful, pinching my toes and rubbing against my heels until they’re raw, but it’s what’s expected. I am a lady of court now, and the irony that this would have been my life if I had stayed in Renovia doesn’t escape me.
He doesn’t finish his sentence and I find I don’t care to discover what he meant to say. Cal is right, I am here as a spy and must employ every weapon in my arsenal, including, it seems, my femininity.
We’re quiet for a moment while I check my hair in the mirror and straighten my borrowed gown. It was a little big in some spots and too tight in others but the duchess’s seamstress took care of it. I fret about the neckline, that it’s too low, and fuss with ribbons around the waist.
“Ready?” asks Cal. He doesn’t say anything about my obvious discomfort in the gown nor does he finish what he began to say before the maid interrupted us.
I nod. He has ordered me to catch the king’s fancy and I only mean to satisfy. I am his apprentice, and I learn from the best.
* * *
WE ARRIVE WITH THE duke and duchess for the king’s weekly audience. There are at least a hundred people in the great hall and almost as many armed guards as there are courtiers. Cal scans the room, reading and remembering each face. Is the Aphrasian conspirator here among these obsequious aristocrats? Or is it the king himself?
King Hansen has already begun receiving visitors by the time we arrive. The senior guard bellows out names; once that person is announced, they approach the dais. I have no idea how the order is decided. One after the other, Montrice’s aristocrats are beckoned forward. I hear “Duchess Aysel,” whose name I recall from the vizier’s dinner party.
Duchess Girt speaks close to me, pointing at one group or another: “Those two traveled a hundred miles to be here today and probably won’t be seen. They are putting on airs—but they lost everything, including the family seat, to gambling debt, yet they retain the title, so here they are. Over in the corner—now that’s a juicy one. The Earl of Neri’s second wife, the one with the horrible yellow gown? She’s been having an affair with the grand duke, the king’s uncle.” The lady in question turns sideways, her gown protruding in front of her. “The swollen belly? Well. You know where I’m going with this—but you didn’t hear that from me.” The duchess nudges me and winks, her enormous bouffant wig bobbing along with her head as she does.
The senior guard stands at the top of the step again. “Lord Callum Holton of Backley Hold, and his sister, Lady Lila Holton.”
The others watch as we walk toward the throne. Cal offers me his arm. It feels almost like we’re walking down the aisle at a wedding. My cheeks flame from the idea even though Cal can’t possibly know my thoughts. I wonder if he has the same one, though, because he seems to deliberately avoid glancing in my direction.
When we reach the dais, the guard puts his staff across our path to stop us, then he steps sideways. Cal bows; I curtsy. “Your Majesty,” we both say.
King Hansen, slouched in his padded silver throne, barely nods at us. He looks impossibly bored. Like his statue, he’s handsome. His hair is fair, as is his skin. He is nineteen years of age and came to the throne when his father died after a long illness. Hansen has the physique of someone who jousts and rides for sport. Or for the mirror. From his floral perfume and the gold entwined in his lace cuffs, he reeks of vanity and pompousness. I almost expect him to pick up a looking glass and gaze into it right in front of us.
“The vizier tells me you’re visiting our great kingdom?” the king says.
“Yes,” Cal answers. “We’re headed north into Stavin.”
The king nods and says to Cal, “A lot of good hunting in Stavin.”
Cal agrees.
“Do you like fishing?” the king asks.
“Fishing? Yes, I’ve done a bit of that lately,” says Cal, without looking in my direction.
The king nods approvingly. “I spent quite a bit of time fishing at the summer palace last year. One of my larger lakes is there. Truly blissful. The trout were amazing. I’m quite looking forward to next year. I intend to spend the entire season, rather than just a month. Breeders are working on restocking the lake for me already. I want them nice and big by the time I get there. Otherwise, what’s the point?” He pauses.
“There is none, Your Majesty,” agrees Cal, and I swear I can see an imperceptible lift in one of his eyebrows.
The king nods to the vizier, who steps forward to usher us away. No! Wait, it can’t be over so soon.
“Your fields and valleys are beautiful, Your Majesty,” I blurt. How am I supposed to get the king’s attention if I don’t even address him?
“Have you seen much of the country?” The king looks in my direction as if noticing me for the first time. His eyes lazily take in the shape of my dress and wander over the low neckline of my gown. I am on display, and available for the plucking should he so desire.