He shook his head.
“When do I get to marry you?”
His smile was warm, and I saw the heat in his eyes. “Next Friday, at eight in the evening, be prepared to exchange vows with me.”
“I’m ready now,” I assured him.
He smiled, and then his brows furrowed like something upsetting had just occurred to him. “It’s good that you ate,” he said, sounding pained, but at least I knew what the issue was, “and I’m sorry it was an issue. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I just need to have food in the fridge.”
“I’m making poor choices today where you’re concerned, and that’s not a good way to start our life together.”
“The only mess-up we had today was me not eating. All the rest was amazing,” I said earnestly, willing him to believe me. “You have to trust me when I tell you things.”
After a moment, merely a heartbeat, he nodded.
“You didn’t tell me I was losing my name when I marry you.”
“No?”
He had tried to sound somewhere between innocent and nonchalant. I wasn’t buying either. “No. Your mother explained that when you marry a crown prince, that’s what happens.”
“I might have neglected to mention that.”
“And left the name in when you were explaining about my new title.”
“Perhaps.”
“Did you want to amend it now?”
He cleared his throat. “You’ll be His Royal Highness, Prince Consort Jason Maedoc, fyrir-einn of Maedoc.”
“Yeah, see? I got no problem taking your name here, and on paper. Back in New Orleans, I’ll hyphenate. Thorpe-Maedoc.”
He nodded quickly, clearly touched.
“Balance.”
“Yes,” he husked, his gaze locked with mine.
“Your mother thinks the fyrir-einn part is nonsense.”
“That’s because she’s never given a damn about titles. But for you, they’re necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not a pure blood, so the title is important.”
“Up,” Tiago ordered under his breath.
“What?” I turned to look at him.
“Here we go,” Varic announced, rising out of the chair.
I let go of him, or tried to, but he twisted his hand in my grip and took hold of my wrist, tugging so that I mirrored his movement, standing as well.
“We will now adjourn to the ballroom,” the king announced in a booming voice, and was then echoed by others positioned around the room.
The king and queen had moved to the bottom of the dais when I wasn’t paying attention, and Varic led me back down the stairs to join them. They led, we followed, as we made our way very slowly—lots of hands reaching out to shake hands and simply touch—around the throne toward another set of enormous gilded double doors now standing open. What should have taken five minutes took us an hour.
His father and mother smiled, Varic smiled, and so did I. A lot. Like, my face hurt with how much smiling I was doing. I thanked everyone who congratulated me, and took hold of hands briefly, since I only had my left to work with. My right was firmly in Varic’s, and he was not letting go, making sure when he moved forward that I remained there at his side. It was very nice to be accepted, but I understood that these were invited guests and not members of the court. The real test was yet to come.
The ballroom was every bit as lavish as the rest of the palace, with large ottomans, settees, and chaises placed strategically around its edges where guests could settle in groups. Each piece looked as though it belonged in the Palace of Versailles, another landmark I’d visited during my trip to Paris.
As soon as the four of us were through the doors, they were closed behind us, and the king turned to the queen, kissed her hand, and then released her, reaching for Varic, slipping his arm around his shoulders.
He let go of my hand and allowed his father to walk him by several groups of people before stopping at a large one. They soon had so many people clustered around them that I lost sight of both king and prince.
“Listen,” the queen said, taking my hand, drawing me close so she could speak to me without anyone overhearing her, “I’m going to be drawn away soon, because I haven’t been here in over twenty years and they’re going to converge on me like vultures. Guards aren’t allowed in this room; no one is armed but Hadrian, because he’s the rekkr. The unfortunate side of that is that because he’s the rekkr, he normally gets caught in the outer room with his admiring fans.”
I smiled at her. “Hadrian has fans?”
“Darling, he’s the most powerful and deadly warrior in our world, and he leads an elite force, those who kill in the prince’s name.”
“And so?”
“The man will be mobbed, as he always is, and Tiago remains with him, making sure that no one tries to seduce him.”
I chuckled over the picture in my mind. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“All this is to say that with Varic monopolized by his father and me set upon by others, you will be alone in this room.”
“I got it.”
“Be on your guard.”
“I will,” I promised her.
“My queen,” several women said as they flocked around her, and I had seconds to get out of the way.
Now that I wasn’t with Varic, it was no surprise that I was ignored. What was good about that was, left to my own devices, I walked to the edge of the room and found a place to sit and watch. I had always enjoyed watching people in crowds, and these were all dressed in finery, which reminded me of watching the Academy Awards on TV.
There were men and women moving through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes filled with what had to be blood, and I realized how thirsty I was when I shook my head whenever one of them drifted toward me out of curiosity.
King Messina Maedoc had not been what I expected. I thought he’d be older or, more to the point, look older. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, his beard and mustache the same. There were deep lines in his face, around his mouth, on his cheeks, and crow’s feet marking eyes the same dark green as he had passed down to this son. All of it, every mark of time, spoke to a great love of life, of laughter and enjoyment of everything and everyone in his orbit. Spotting him and Varic when the crowd parted for a moment, the two of them standing close, the king’s arm around his son’s shoulders as they spoke to their guests, I understood that Varic’s finely chiseled bone structure was a gift from his mother, as his father’s features were blunter, rounder, except for his long, straight nose.
What Varic had inherited from his father were his thick, dark brows, his full lips, and his height and build. His father had the same broad shoulders and wide chest, the narrow waist and long legs. And they both had a seamless fluidity to their movement.
“Good evening.”
My head snapped up, and I found a man who bore a passing resemblance to the king hovering over me.
Standing, I smiled and offered him my hand. “Good evening.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, and he hesitated, almost unsure, before he took my hand. “I’m Alrek Maddox. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh,” I said warmly, taking hold of his bicep as we shook. “You’re Varic’s half brother. It’s a pleasure.”