I smile. “Not as much as we would like.”
The king considers that. “Do you plan to be in Montrice at the end of the week?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Cal, even though we have no idea if the Duke and Duchess of Girt would extend their hospitality to us for that long.
“Excellent,” says King Hansen. “Then you will both join me on the royal hunt.”
“We would be honored, Your Majesty,” I say as Cal agrees.
King Hansen nods. We bow and curtsy again. The vizier steps forward and says, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and leads us away.
He is even more excited than we are. “Such a great compliment!” he exclaims. “A royal hunt! And guests of mine—this is good for us all. One must always be concerned with staying in the king’s favor.” He titters nervously. “Excellent job, Lady Lila. Your charms made quite an impression on His Majesty. Did you see how he looked at you?”
I certainly did, and it was unnerving.
“The king is rumored to marry soon, after turning down many suitable maidens, which makes this all the more fascinating, don’t you think?” asks the vizier.
In my opinion, fascinating is not the word.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Caledon
ANOTHER HUNT, AND SHADOW IS invited this time. The royal hunt, as is customary, has provisions for the ladies to participate. Duchess Girt spent all morning after the meeting with King Hansen instructing us on proper etiquette. Demanding a guest slaughter the prey is noticeably absent from her lessons, but Cal doesn’t say anything about how the duke behaved at the last one. The other day, he told Shadow what he’d overheard among the Montrician lords during the hunt. The lords are certain that war is coming to their lands—but when? And how?
For now, Duchess Girt is preoccupied with outfitting both of them. Because they are her houseguests, the duchess has taken a special interest in their appearance. The way Cal and Shadow look reflects directly on her and the quality of the company she keeps.
And the way the duchess feels about Cal and Shadow directly affects their ability to fulfill his task in Montrice.
That’s how Caledon finds himself back in a tailor shop. Being measured and draped in one fabric after another, all indistinguishable to him. Duchess Girt takes it upon herself to monitor the situation this time, though, which he welcomes since her presence prevents the tailor from asking too many questions. The basic story about Lord and Lady Holton worked the first couple of times, but now that they’ve run out of things to discuss, the nosy little man is starting to probe further.
“I want him to have the most traditional Montrician hunting attire,” the duchess tells the tailor. “But perhaps with just a touch of Argonian flavor. What do you say, Lord Holton? What sort of details do you miss from home?” She looks at him expectantly.
Thankfully, Cal is up to the task. “Well, Argonian hunting jackets always include a small green rose on the lapel, typically embroidered, to represent the defeat of the Stavinish invasion that ended the Twenty Years’ War.”
“Would you require a green rose on the lapel, then?” the tailor asks.
“Certainly,” Cal answers. “And one for Lady Holton as well. But the women never wear a green rose. Make certain it is a yellow one.”
“You are so sweet to be concerned about your sister,” says the duchess as she leans back against the chaise and fans herself, watching him.
* * *
BACK AT THE GIRT estate, the duchess presides over dinner that evening with the kind of giddiness Cal had previously seen only in children eagerly awaiting a much-desired gift.
“The Vicar of Rivefont will attend, though he is staying at the vice minister’s house, as usual, and the vizier, naturally, and . . .” She rattles off a long list of names. Cal’s thoughts begin to wander as he watches one of her dogs wrestle with a stray chicken bone at her feet. Then she says, “And Ambassador Nhicol of Renovia will attend with his husband, Mathieu . . .”
Shadow kicks Cal under the table.
The duchess continues talking. “They will stay here, of course, since their country house is a bit away, and we have the room.”
“Did you say the Ambassador of Renovia is staying here?” Cal asks.
“Yes, he was home in his own country but just returned to Montrice for—what was it—a missing piece of art? Something valuable.” She looks at the duke.
He startles and looks up from the book he’s reading. “What was that?”
“Oh, never mind. What do you think the ambassador is looking for, Lord Holton?” She bats her eyelashes at him.
Cal has no idea. But he does know he must keep away from the ambassador, who is sure to recognize him as the lowly blacksmith who killed the grand prince and escaped from Deersia.
“Who can say?” says Cal. “But are you wise to host the Renovians? I think only of your safety, Your Grace.”
“Oh! You are too sweet. Worrying about me. There is still peace between the two kingdoms, is there not? Besides, we are well protected here.” She looks over at her husband, who doesn’t seem to be aware of anything that’s happening around him.
“We are quite friendly with the ambassador. I cannot wait to introduce him to my distinguished guests. But it will have to wait, I’m afraid, because they’re due to arrive late in the evening. I’m sure they’ll want to retire immediately. But breakfast tomorrow—it will be a treat! The cook will prepare a special batch of scones.”
The duchess continues telling them her complete breakfast menu, but Cal tunes her out. He has to figure out how to avoid being introduced to Ambassador Nhicol and the Renovian entourage.
* * *
CAL EXPLAINS THE DANGER he’s in while Shadow paces the room. Her pink dressing gown, a gift from Duchess Girt, billows out behind her as she goes, so it looks like it’s chasing after her, trying to keep up. She’s taken her wig and jewelry off, so her wavy dark hair, growing out already, rests around her ears in a short, cropped bob. Cal likes the way it frames her face.
The duke and duchess have gone to bed, with orders to be awakened when the ambassador arrives.
“I can’t go to breakfast; I will stay up here while you make excuses for me,” he tells her.
“What?” she asks, pinching her nose.
“I’ve caught some kind of fever, some kind of terrible disease from Argonia,” he instructs.
“But then I have to go down and meet him?” she says, obviously panicked.
“Shadow.”