“Excuse me,” I say. Leandros has entered the room, and since he doesn’t consider me a consolation prize after failing to wed my sister, I turn my back on Orrin without the slightest bit of guilt.
In fact, I have to physically shake off that last conversation. Charity. Orphans. The devils wasted good looks on such a man.
I put on a smile for Leandros and his companions.
“Lady Stathos!”
“Leandros.”
He’s quite dashing today, dressed in a teal waistcoat and brown boots. The color really makes his hair shine. He’s flanked by two other men. His friends who fended off the courtiers while we were out in the orchards, I believe.
“Alessandra,” he amends, since I used his given name. “Lovely to see you.”
A not-so-subtle elbow jabs into Leandros’s side, and he remembers that we are not alone. “Right. These are my friends, and they are desperate to make your acquaintance. Meet Petros.” He points to a tall fellow with a generous helping of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Somehow, the imperfections only make him more handsome. “And Rhouben.” Rhouben wears the boldest and most vibrant clothing I’ve ever seen. He mixes bright blues and greens together in such a daring way, looking as fine as any peacock. I think he might do it to make up for the plainness of his features.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
Each takes my hand in turn and offers a kiss atop my glove.
“At last,” Rhouben says, when he drops my hand. “I’ve been dying to meet the only person at court who dresses better than I do.”
“I would argue,” I say, “but I would only do it to be polite.”
He laughs. “And honest on top of it all. You are a rare treasure.”
“Careful now,” Petros says. “You’re an engaged man, Rhouben. Hands off.”
“Congratulations,” I offer to the first man. “Who is the lucky lady?”
Rhouben grimaces. “Melita Xenakis.”
“I haven’t met her yet. Is she here?”
Petros looks over his shoulder. “Yes, she’s the one looking distastefully at Rhouben’s coat.”
I find Melita immediately. Perfect blond ringlets rest over her shoulders, covering a blue brocade. In fact, I now note, all the ladies are wearing blue. Which I wore yesterday. I smile in satisfaction. As if sensing my stare, Melita’s gaze catches mine. Her features change into a hideous scowl, as though I committed some crime by looking at her. Or by speaking with her betrothed.
“In that case, you have my condolences,” I say. “She’s awfully protective of you, isn’t she?”
Petros slaps his friend on the back and laughs. “You don’t know the half of it. She’s like a leech, sticking to Rhouben’s arm everywhere he goes. And, oh, you’ll love this! His father didn’t even tell him about the betrothal until it was already done.”
Rhouben groans at the memory.
I struggle not to laugh. “And what of you, Petros? Are you courting anyone?”
“Not anymore,” he says sadly. “I’d had my eye on Estevan Banis, but at the king’s ball, he danced three times in a row with Lord Osias.”
“Men can be so fickle,” I offer.
“Indeed.”
“And you, Leandros?” I ask, including him in the conversation.
“I am completely unattached, so you needn’t worry.” He gives me a devilish grin.
“Alas, I am now spoken for,” I say. “The king requested permission to court me just last night!”
Rhouben and Petros offer their congratulations, but Leandros looks appropriately put out. As the conversation continues, I let my eyes catch on the new noblemen entering the great hall. I offer them bright smiles, which is all it takes to get them to come join in on the conversation. Our group of four quickly grows to ten. All the young men are eager to ask me questions: Which functions will I be attending? Is my dance card all full for the next ball? Why haven’t I graced the court with my presence before now?
I haven’t mentioned that the king is courting me since I told Leandros and his friends. The new men don’t need to know, especially since I need them for this little show I’m putting on for the king.
A herald calls something, but it can’t be heard over our chatter in the corner. But out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the Shadow King enters the great hall. In fact, I’ve been waiting for it. Those seated at the table who spot him rise to show respect.
Kallias doesn’t sit right away. He makes those at the table remain standing as his eyes do a sweep around the room. Though I’m not watching him outright, I can feel the moment they land on me. It’s as if a current of heat zaps through the air.
At the next thing Petros says, I laugh a little louder than needed.
See? I want to shout. Most men find me beautiful. Most men find me irresistible.
“Lady Stathos.” The words aren’t shouted, but they resonate through the room as much as if they had been. The men around me quiet instantly and turn to bow to their sovereign.
“Yes, my king?” I ask.
“Have you already told everyone our news?”
“No, sire.”
He holds out an arm in my direction while addressing the room. “I’m courting Lady Stathos.” His gaze flits meaningfully to the next table over, where his councilors are seated.
The men around me suddenly step backward as though caught doing something naughty. All save Leandros, Petros, and Rhouben, who don’t seem to care at all that the king has just publicly claimed me as his.
They were his friends. He cast them aside. Why should they care if they irritate him?
Lord Ikaros Vasco, the head of the council, rises and holds up his glass of wine. “To a happy courtship!”
Those around the room raise their glasses in turn and repeat the words. Vasco keeps his eyes on mine while he sips from his cup.
I’m watching you, that look says.
I offer a sincere smile in response before inclining my head to the room of congratulators.
Then I let my eyes rest back on the king. I cannot tell by his features if he’s reacting at all to seeing me surrounded by men, but perhaps his declaration is reaction enough. He verbally claimed me. Or was that for the benefit of the council alone? It is them, after all, whom he needs to convince of our betrothal.
The king is wearing a violet waistcoat, I realize then. Somehow, we’ve managed to match our clothing yet again. It’s as if we are trying to look like a united front.
As if I were always meant to be his queen.
Kallias lifts a finger and gestures to the seat at his right. A servant leaps from his place at the wall and rushes to pull out the chair. Carefully. Oh so carefully with his proximity to the king.
That’s when I notice that two empty chairs rest to the left and right of the king. No one is permitted to sit within two seats of him.
Except me.
The spot to his immediate right is presented to me, and the hall goes quiet as one after the other, the nobles notice that chair—the one right next to the king—being held open.
I tug at my gloves, making sure they’re secure, before I excuse myself from my circle of admirers and cross the distance to Kallias.
Once I’m seated, I keep my hands in my lap, careful not to bump anything or touch a certain someone. We’re much closer than the law’s five feet, but if Kallias is permitting it, I’m not about to complain. Besides, the most delicious scent of lavender and mint and musk fills my senses at the close proximity. The Shadow King smells delicious.