“Yes, but looks must be braved first.”
Aria released a puff of laughter.
Then her traitorous mind dangled before her the thought of the most handsome man she’d seen recently—her first view of Baron as she left the carriage, his tawny hair tangled in sunlight,his green eyes bright as the orchard leaves behind him. The faint smile crossing his face as they locked eyes.
Her father squinted, and Aria suddenly feared he’d been speaking while her mind wandered. Thankfully, if he had, he didn’t wait for a response before continuing.
“Very well, then.” The king waved a hand, dangling casually from the arm of his throne. “If looks have been ignored, tell me his other virtues.”
A most refreshing cup of tea. Manners in excess. Enough diligence to maintain a stunning orchard.
It took Aria’s foggy mind far too long to focus on therightyoung man.
“Lord Kendall is skilled at ...” She couldn’t mention the music. It would only remind her father of the queen. “At bowing.”
Inwardly, Aria groaned as her day-brain failed her again.
Speaking nonsense. Mark.
Her father’s pointed stare questioned her capability, so Aria rushed to add, “Many women of court find his eyes quite dreamy.”
Other women? Wake up, Aria!
“I see.” The king nodded slowly, his good humor fading into the familiar mask he wore whenever conducting difficult royal business. “Aria, speak honestly. Did you choose your suitor on a whim?”
“Perhaps I was not as careful in my consideration as I might have been. However—”
Her father cut her off with a sharp sigh. He straightened on his throne, looking out at the room’s towering stained-glass windows.
“A royal,” he said with slow deliberateness, “can never be reckless. Action by whim, without consideration, leads to mistakes. If the Crown is seen to make mistakes, all authority is lost. Do you understand?”
Aria heard those mistakes in her mind, tallied by a quill that slept as infrequently as she did.
“Yes, Father,” she said quietly.
He allowed the silence to lengthen before he said, “Your visit to Northglen. Was it considered, or was it by whim?”
All at once, Aria returned to that mountainside, the frigid wind bearing down on her neck, spreading goose bumps. As if her tongue had fallen asleep, she struggled to manage a single word. “What?”
“Hiring a mercenary guard, paying them from the royal treasury—did you think I would never discover? Do you think medaft, Aria? I’ve been waiting for you to admit the matter yourself, but it seems you foolishly thought you could keep the secret forever.”
The king’s dark eyes pierced her, and she shrank against her throne.
“Father, I . . .”
What could she say? Her own body refused to allow her to speak of her curse.
“Once I’d tracked them down, your guards had quite a story about peace negotiations, which they swear ended favorably with a signed, sealed letter, yet I’ve seen no hint of it.”
Aria had burned it, the way she’d once burned a quill and parchment, hoping fire could erase her mistakes. Widow Morton gave her signature to peace with one hand yet wielded an assassin’s knife with the other.
“I did go to discuss peace.” Aria sagged in relief as her voice came free. As long as she avoided addressing the curse, it seemed she could still speak of that night. “I sought to mend the relationship between our families, to avoid a possible rebellion, and Widow Morton assured me—”
Her father swore, leaning away. “Aria, that woman declaredopen hostilities against the Crown. You entered herhome, alone, unaided—”
“I had guards.”
“Paid mercenaries who could just as easily have been paid by her!” The king’s voice rose. “In eighteen years of tutoring, have you learned nothing? You could have been killed! You could have been retained as a hostage against me. Did you notthink?”
