“I left my robes at the palace,” Carver joked.
The sixteen-year-old laughed, then his eyes went to Amryn. They widened a little before he pasted on his most charming smile. “You must be Amryn. I’m Keene.”
Amryn might have been a little overwhelmed by the unexpected—and exuberant—crowd, but she smiled as she took Keene’s offered hand. “Carver’s told me a lot about you.”
“Don’t believe a word of it.” Keene paused. “Unless of course it was all good, then please believe every word.”
She chuckled.
Carver rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hold back his smile, especially as he turned his youngest siblings—now tucked under his arms—toward Amryn. “Fowler, Wren, this is my wife, Amryn.” He met her eyes, tightening his hold on his brother and sister. “Amryn, this is Fowler and Wren.”
Fowler, with awe in his voice, said, “I’ve never seen hair as red as yours.”
Color touched Amryn’s cheeks. “Oh, um . . . thank you?”
“It’s really pretty,” Wren said at once.
Fowler’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t say it wasn’t! I just said I’d never seen hair that red.”
Keene laughed softly and ruffled Fowler’s hair. “Smooth, little brother.”
The smaller boy kicked at his older brother’s shin, but because he didn’t move out from under Carver’s arm, his boot didn’t get close to landing.
That’s when their mother appeared beside them. “Can you allpleasenot act like crazed animals in front of Amryn? She’s going to think the worst of us.”
Cregon already had his arm around his wife, but he released her so he could wave for Fowler and Wren to join him. They left Carver to embrace their father, almost as heartily as they’d hugged Carver.
Alora’s eyes settled on him. Unshed tears made them shine in the sunlight, but her bright smile was unstoppable. “Carver.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. She always smelled like her kitchen—warm and sweet with a hint of spice.
His throat closed up at the familiar scent.
“My sweet boy,” his mother whispered, squeezing him tightly. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“I’m not sure I believe you just yet.” She pulled back to study his face, as if assuring herself he was truly standing before her. Then she patted his cheek—and instantly grimaced. “You need to shave.”
He chuckled at the familiar critique before easing away. He scooped Amryn’s hand into his own, noting the slight tremble running through her as they faced his mother. He squeezed her chilled fingers. “Mother, this is Amryn,” he said, unmistakable pride filling him as he added, “My wife.”
Amryn inclined her head, her tone respectful as she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vincetti.”
“Oh, no need for any formalities, dear.” His mother embraced Amryn, perhaps slightly less tightly—but no less lovingly—than she’d just hugged him. “You can call me Alora. Or Mother, if you prefer—Saints know a dozen others do.” When she drew back, she was smiling widely. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Cregon told me a little about you, of course, but I can’t wait to get to know you myself. You’re welcome in this home, always.” She brightened. “In fact, why don’t you stay here with us?”
Carver sighed. “Mother, we’re staying at the palace. The emperor wants—”
“Don’t mention the emperor to me,” Alora said with a scowl, planting her hands on her rounded hips. “That man refused to let me attend my own son’s wedding.”
Ford coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Alora twisted to face him. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Ford Gallo?”
Ford—wisely—chose to hug her. “Not at all, Mother Vincetti.”
Cregon stood with Wren tucked under his arm, his free hand resting on Fowler’s head. He was smiling as he said, “She still hasn’t responded to the emperor’s apology.”
“He sent me aletter,” Alora snapped. “And it was obviously written by Hector. Why should I forgive him so easily when he can’t even be bothered to speak to me himself?”
“Heisthe emperor,” Keene pointed out, long arms crossed over his chest. “He’s a littlebusy, I think.”
