“No, they’re not high-status enough to get an invitation.”
His tone was perfectly bland, but a muscle ticced in his jaw. Angry on his friends’ behalf?
“We dined with them first because they’re easygoing and wouldn’t care if you made a blunder,” he continued.
“Thanks for your confidence.”
“When we attend the hunt tomorrow,” he went on as if I hadn’t said anything, “you’ll meet more of the Court. Most of them will attend the ball.”
Translation: don’t screw up at the hunt.
“That reminds me…” I fidgeted with the edge of the scroll. “Amatien said something to me after dinner. I wanted to ask you about it.”
“I told you Amatien’s a gossip,” he said lightly, though his shoulders stiffened. “You shouldn’t believe what he says.”
“He said you used to be betrothed and had gotten your knighthood in some horrible way.”
Valen’s jaw tightened, and I wondered if I should have kept my mouth shut.
“I tried to pretend I knew what he was talking about.” I leaned against the table, changed my mind, and straightened. “Because you probably would have told that stuff to your real lover, right? So maybe…” I sighed. “Look, I don’t care, but I need to know the basics for the next time someone brings it up.”
There. That was a logical argument, right? I needed to know for our cover story, not just to satisfy my curiosity.
Valen said nothing, eyes on the scroll. His entire body looked rigid. The obvious discomfort made him seem more… human.
“I suppose you have a point,” he said finally.
Then silence. Was he going to tell me? Or was he hastily thinking up a story? I was letting my guard slip around him, and I had to stop. The caring gestures and personal conversations didn’t change that he was a lying fey.
“I was betrothed to a woman named Aurea.” He faced me, but his gaze didn’t quite meet mine. “She’s the daughter of a knight. We broke it off after seven months, and as far as anyone knows, we just discovered we weren’t suited for matrimony. Personalities clashed. It happens often enough.”
“But what really happened?” I asked, sensing a lot more to that story.
“That’s not your concern.”
The words lashed out like a whip, and I tried not to flinch.
Valen sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “If someone asks, just tell them you think you’re a better match for me than she was.”
“Yeah, sure.”
A traitorous knight and a conniving thief: we were perfectly matched.
“As for how I got knighted…”
He abruptly walked to the window and stared out at the garden. My legs tensed. Had the intruder returned?
“I was a child at the time,” he said. “My mother was a baker. The palace commissioned her to make a cake for the queen’s anniversary. She was thrilled.”
Oh. Valen wasn’t actually looking out the window. He just wanted to keep his back to me so I couldn’t see his expression.
“The assassins came the night before.” His voice was low, tone detached, like he was telling a story about somebody else. “Enemies of the queen. They wanted to poison the cake and threatened us—my mother, brother, and me—to go along with it.”
He fell into silence again, and I didn’t push him. My fingers felt suddenly cold.
“I knew they’d kill us anyway.” He folded his arms behind his back. “So I attacked first.”
“But you were just a kid.”
