Talon’s gaze wandered again to Des, watching her effortlessly converse with some lesser Athelstani landowner.
Janus would have been lost amongst this sea, yet her other half seemed right at home. Having fun, even.
Janus had made no mention of another personality, another side. Did she even know?
Finding an empty spot at the bar, Talon bounced a leg as he studied the head table of Altanese chieftains. He’d never understood Altanbern’s ancient ruling system.
Every fifty years, the three clans traded the crown. Chief Heras of the Gaevral clan wore the tiara today. A cefran woman, her dark brown skin and large, iron-colored irises set her apart from the two middle-aged human men across from her. The Kahn chief wore a bright yellowkilt, while the Esseg chief’s barrel chest was wrapped in a dark green tweed, making them easily distinguishable.
Heras continuously tugged at her red tweed wrap or smoothed her white gown. She gazed with intensity at someone across the room.
Des.
Talon tapped his glass, thinking. Some had looked at Des with interest, others with judgment, and more with lust. But this stare was something new.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.” A man spoke in Altanese beside Talon, and he started, turning to face him.
A blind man could have discerned this young man was Heras’ son; their resemblance was striking. Black curls framed his light brown skin, their tips pulled into a ponytail. Brightest of all were his eyes, the shade of golden ingots.
“It’s my first ball.” Talon sat up, giving the man his full attention. “Quite the crowd, eh? I’m overwhelmed.”
“You speak Altanese? I’m surprised. We have to use Imperial for most guests.” His voice shifted, employing Imperial, though, to Talon’s surprise, he spoke without an accent. “I see my mother’s caught your eye.”
“She’s striking,” Talon said with admiration.
“She is.” The man agreed. “Enjoy the festivities. They come only once a decade, after all.
He studied Talon intently before stepping away from the bar and tucking his hands in his pocket. Interesting sense of fashion, this one. His loose shirt had several buttons purposely undone, kept in place only by his red sash.
“I didn’t catch your name. . .?” Talon inquired, though he knew full well who he spoke to.
“Felsin.” The man answered, mouth pulling into a grin. “Nice to meet you, Talon.” Grabbing a mug of ale from the counter, the man sauntered away.
Talon blinked, opening his mouth to respond before snapping it shut. He had not mentioned his name.
* **
The Kahn Chief grabbed Des’s hand and shook it vigorously. His breath smelled of honeyed ale, and his teeth were crooked, but his grin seemed genuine. “Pleasure to meet you, of course. Welcome to Altanbern.”
“Your country is beautiful. I could gaze over the mountains all day.” Des smiled back at him as he released her hand.
The Kahn Chief gently steered her to the table where the final chief of the three clans waited. Des readied her false sincerity and smiled at the Royal Chief, but hesitated when she examined Heras’s face.
Something hid in those iron eyes, but Des could not quite place it. Was that curiosity? Hatred? An untoward gaze of dismissal? It could have been any of the three or none.
Royal Chief Heras forced a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Princess Janus. You’re quite young, aren’t you? Much younger than the other noble heirs.”
“I am,” Des confirmed, scanning the woman’s face. “Avalon has been kind enough to show me the ropes.”
“Has she? How fortunate for you.” Heras’ mouth tautened. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you.” She bowed. “I hope you enjoy your first Badulf-Esseg.”
“Thank you,” Des said slowly, curtsying. She walked away, distracted, trying to parse what Heras had been thinking.
A wall of a man blocked her path. “And who might you be? Had you come to Altanbern before, I’m sure I would have remembered.”
Des looked up into the face of a strikingly handsome man, red curls tousled loosely around scarlet eyes. Red tweed wrapped from his shoulder to waist—another of the Gaevral clan.
“Janus.” Des began.
