She shifted, trying not to be distracted by the very lovely sound her skirts made. She had no idea what the fabric was, but she knew the color looked a great deal like the pines near Tor Neroche and she didn’t dare touch the damned thing.
“Lovely gown,” Acair remarked.
She glanced at him then and realized he didn’t look as peaceful as she’d first supposed. “Are you plotting something?”
“Perish the thought.”
She tried a different tack. “You have a remarkable amount of self-control.”
He looked up at her with eyes that she supposed might be likened to the sea, though surely not the dark business that she was familiar with. Perhaps a bay of greenish-blue water in somesecluded spot. She wondered rather abruptly how it was that any woman still breathing managed to look away from him.
“I need him alive,” he said mildly.
“Mansourah?” she managed. “For a sparring partner?”
“He’s hardly worth the effort of drawing my sword,” he said seriously. “The only reason he’s still breathing is because I need him to keep you safe.”
“Me,” she said, wishing she sounded a bit more like she was scoffing instead of choking. “Surely not.”
“I am willing to travel in rather unsavoury circles to keep myself safe,” he said with a half shrug. “You? I wouldn’t take you within a hundred leagues of them, which leaves me relying on that fluttering faery to do what I cannot.”
She shook her head. “Whoareyou?”
He smiled briefly. “At the moment, I honestly don’t know but don’t think that uncomfortable self-examination will last long.” He looked at her, then shook his head. “Mansourah will be protection enough for the evening, but I’m already thinking on other means of assuring that you and I both see the spring.”
She would have expressed an opinion on that, but she was interrupted by Mansourah coming back inside the chamber from points unknown.
“Ready?” he asked pleasantly.
What she was ready to do was hike up her skirts and go hide behind the nearest curtain, but she supposed it was too late for that. Acair bundled her up in a cloak and herded her and her escort to the door. He held on to the wood at the level of Mansourah’s throat, his forearm preventing the prince from leaving.
“Kiss her,” he said distinctly, “and I will slay you with my bare hands.”
“I think she can decide that for herself,” Mansourah said coolly. “Let’s be away, Léirsinn, before he works himself into a state over things that are none of his affair.” He ushered her out into the passageway and pulled the door shut behind them. “Tea awaits.”
“May you choke on its bitterness!” was hurled at the other side of the door.
Mansourah smiled. “I don’t think that was directed at you.”
“I don’t think he means anything by it,” she offered. “We’re not—” She had to take a deep breath. “Well, we’re not... you know.”
“I think our friend inside has a different opinion on that,” Mansourah said, “but let’s ignore him for as long as possible. Simeon has never set a very fine table, but one can hope his cook won’t ruin tea and biscuits.”
She had her own thoughts on how easily food could be ruined, but she supposed there was no point in saying as much. She nodded, then followed Mansourah toward an evening she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to enjoy.
•••
An hour later, she was walking down a poorly lit passageway and wishing she had traded places with Acair and remained behind as the servant.
It wasn’t that Mansourah wasn’t delightful company, because he was. The man she cared quite a bit less for was Simeon of Diarmailt, a rather smallish man with beady eyes and restless hands. She didn’t suppose it was polite to wonder if he picked guests’ pockets while they were otherwise distracted, but she was a cynic when it came to men with titles—and he didn’t even still have his title, if what she’d heard was true. All she knew wasthat the palace was very shabby, which she thought spoke rather loudly either of a family fallen on hard times or a master of that family who couldn’t manage his funds properly.A lesser relation of a once powerful, magical housewas how Acair had described him back at the inn, which she supposed had been a rather kind thing to say.
In the end, she didn’t care who was pretending to sit on the Diarmailtian throne, presently past wishing she could make a curtsey to him and go.
“Here we are,” the king said, opening the door to what was apparently his private solar. “After you, Lady Léirsinn.”
She entered in front of Mansourah and their host, looked as usual for all possible exits, then realized the solar wasn’t as empty as it could have been. She came to a teetering halt, causing the men behind her to stop abruptly. She supposed that was a boon given that it drew the attention of her two companions who made every effort to assure themselves that she wasn’t unwell.
She wasn’t unwell; she was terrified.
