The hour is still early, so only a few dozen people fill the room. These will be the true loyalists, the Grand Marshals and their Seneschals from towns who’ve already sworn fealty to Rhen. These will be the people who want to be seen arriving first, as if they’re among the prince’s inner circle, even though Rhen himself hasn’t deigned to join them yet. They’ve brought their own guards, too, which isn’t unusual, but a bunch of armed men and women lining the walls doesn’t make for a very welcoming party.
A page at the top of the staircase steps forward as if he’s planning to announce us, but I wave him away. My heart thrums in my chest, and I smooth my hands along the navy blue of my skirts. The last thing I need is for Rhen to hear us being announced without him. He’d be pissed, and I’d probably knock him down the stairs.
I hate feeling this way.
Zo studies me, and as usual, she can practically read my thoughts. “We have not yet been announced,” she murmurs. “We can return to your chambers. There is still time to wear the dresses he selected.”
“No.” I glance at her and wish I could read her thoughts. “I mean—we can. If you want.”
Her eyes stare into mine. “I didn’t want to before.”
That makes me smile. I squeeze her hand and head down the stairs.
Without being announced, we don’t draw much attention. I’m sure Rhen knows every single person here by name, but I don’t know them all, especially the people who are from more distant cities. I spot Micah Rennells, a trade advisor who meets with Rhen once a week. He’s one of the least genuine people I’ve ever met, and the false flattery he lavishes on Rhen makes me want to stick a finger down my throat. Zo and I head in the opposite direction, toward a table that has been laid out with glasses filled in an alternating pattern of red wine and glistening gold champagne.
Wow.
“You think anyone will even notice we’re not wearing gold and red?” I whisper to Zo, and she grins. I take a glass for each of us, and it’s tempting to drain mine in one swallow.
Then I turn around and find myself face-to-face with a shortish man with weathered, tan skin, gray hair, and troubled blue eyes. If I met him in Washington, DC, I’d say he looked like retired military, because he has that kind of stature: fit and trim and very upright. His clothes are elegant but also simple: a dark jacket buckled over a red shirt, calfskin breeches, and tall, polished boots with worn laces.
“My lady,” he says in surprise, and his voice is rough and raspy but not unkind. He offers me a bow and glances past me before returning his eyes to mine. “Forgive me. I did not realize you had joined the party.”
When he extends a hand, I take it and curtsy. “I haven’t been here long.” I search my memory banks for his name and come up with nothing. I bite the edge of my lip before reminding myself to knock it off. “I’m so sorry. I don’t recall if we’ve met before.”
He offers a small smile. “We have, but it was a different time, and I have not traveled to Ironrose since Karis Luran was driven out of Emberfall. I am Conrad Macon, the Grand Marshal of Rillisk.”
Rillisk. I freeze. Rillisk is where Grey went into hiding after he ran from his birthright. When we spent months thinking he was dead.
Conrad’s expression goes still as well, and that troubled look returns to his eyes. “I was a bit relieved to receive His Highness’s invitation to attend tonight. We have heard rumors that Rillisk may have fallen out of favor after … after the false heir was found hiding in our city.” He pauses, and the tiniest note of desperation crawls into his voice. “We have always been loyal to the Crown, my lady, I assure you we had no idea—”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “Rhen has no doubt.” I think. I hope.
Relief blooms in his eyes. “Oh. Well. Perhaps the rumors will quiet. Since the heir—” He stumbles over his words. “Forgive me, since the false heir was captured in Rillisk, we have struggled a bit for trade, and we are not a seaport town—”
“Silvermoon is a seaport town,” says another man, “and we are also struggling.” I turn and recognize this one. Grand Marshal Anscom Perry, from Silvermoon Harbor. He’s got thick hair, thick pale skin, and a thick midsection that’s asking a lot from his jacket. I liked Marshal Perry’s amical demeanor when we met him in Silvermoon, but then he attempted to close his gates on Rhen.
I’m surprised he’s here, honestly.
“Marshal Perry,” I say evenly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s not a pleasure to be here,” he says, blustering. “The invitation implied I’d be brought by force if I didn’t show up willingly. I only have so many soldiers left.”
I falter and glance at Zo, but she meets my eyes and gives a minute shake of her head. She’s no longer a part of the Royal Guard. She doesn’t know what messages Rhen sent.
“I am certain you misunderstood,” I begin.
“You are certain?” says a woman’s voice, cutting me off. Marshal Earla Vail of … oof, I can’t remember. She’s from somewhere north of here, a town near the mountains that lead into Syhl Shallow. She’s in her seventies, with thick graying hair and dark brown skin. Despite her age, she wears a sword on one hip and a dagger on another. “Much like you were certain that your father would send an army to help protect Emberfall?”
“My father’s army was not needed,” I say tightly. My heart is slamming along inside my rib cage.
“Emberfall was victorious thanks to Princess Harper alone,” says Zo, and there’s heat in her voice.
“Not without loss. Perhaps your father’s army stands ready to assist Syhl Shallow,” says another man, and enough people have begun to swarm around me that I can’t even see who’s speaking.
“Yes,” says Conrad. “Have Disi’s alliances shifted? Your crown prince has joined with those monsters over the mountain.”
“Perhaps their princess has,” says Marshal Vail, staring at me pointedly. “Karis Luran may be dead, but those soldiers from Syhl Shallow slaughtered people by the thousands—”
I suck in a breath. “I am not—”
“What kind of game is Disi playing?” says another woman. “Are you here to distract the prince while your father’s armies lend support to Syhl Shallow?”
“That’s not what’s happening,” says Zo, her voice low and tight.
“Or perhaps Princess Harper has been kept out of the negotiations,” says Marshal Perry.
“I have not been kept out of negotiations,” I snap, but I hear someone make a scoffing sound near my shoulder, and two of the Grand Marshals exchange a glance. They all begin to press closer, and I wish I could call for guards. But since I helped Grey, Rhen’s guards have made it very clear that they are sworn to him—not to me.
“Why are you not accompanied by the prince?” Marshal Perry continues.
“I … well, he … ah—”
“My lady,” Prince Rhen says smoothly from behind me, and I jump.
The people surrounding me back away so quickly that it’s like they’re being dragged.
“Your Highness,” they say. The men bow. Ladies curtsy.