“Princess Sarai.”
Notus’ gruff voice lifts the hair on the back of my neck. He is close, the entire length of my spine warmed by his body. I continue conversing with Tuleen, ignoring him completely. Eventually, he moves off, though I find it difficult to focus on anything beyond his lingering scent.
“Who was that man?” Tuleen asks.
This answer requires a drink in hand. I pluck my abandoned wineglass from the windowsill and swallow deeply. The burn is as uncomfortable as it is necessary.
“The South Wind,” I clip out. “He works for Father in safeguarding Ammara from the darkwalkers.” I sigh, lean against the pillar at my back. Tonight’s attendees mill about drowsily, like flies around a corpse.
She hesitates. “He appeared upset that you ignored him.”
Well, he’s going to have to deal with it.
After polishing off my wine, I signal to one of the servers for another drink. The full glass bolsters me with false confidence. Only then do I allow myself to search for Notus in the crowd. Too easily, I spot him. But he is not alone.
She is lovely. That is the first of my observations. A gown of liquid silver fans about her waist while a trio of ruby pins adorns her elaborately braided hair. They converse in what I imagine to be low tones, their heads bent, Notus angled toward her.
A hot wad of emotion fills my throat as his mouth curves in response to something she says. Not quite a smile, but close enough. It is so rare a sight I find it difficult to look elsewhere.
I have questions. Namely, who is this woman? How is she able to thaw his rigid features into something resembling affection? Why am I unable to do the same? I am his betrothed. Granted, it has yet to be officially announced, but that is beside the point. That he engages with another woman—unmarried, for her left hand lacks the opal rune—is a mark of humiliation and disrespect.
“Sarai?” The voice comes from behind. Oily and rich.
I donotneed this right now. But I arrange my features as I turn, my expression blossoming like a flower bathed in sun. “Good evening, Prince Balior.”
From the corner of my eye, I observe Tuleen glancing between us in curiosity. The prince carries a half-consumed glass of wine. “Can I steal you away for a moment?” His voice is low, beseeching. “There’s something I wish to discuss.”
Funny, how he is suddenly accommodating, now that his back is against the wall. “I don’t want this to be more difficult than it has to be, Prince Balior. I’ve made my decision. Again, I sincerely apologize for how poorly I’ve treated you. It was unfair, and you did not deserve—”
“Is it about my research?” Carefully, he probes my gaze. “I know I haven’t been forthcoming with you regarding my interest in the labyrinth,” he says, “but I hope you know it was not my intention to withhold information from you. I’ve found myself in another king’s realm, among people who are not my own, and I do not always know who to trust. Can you understand my concerns?”
“I can,” I reply, and I’m startled to realize I am sincere. “But it’s not that.”
“Then what is it? I don’t understand how someone can go from completely loathing a person, as you claimed to loathe the South Wind, to being in love with him, and engaged.”
Tuleen sucks in a sharp breath.
Shit.
Prince Balior stares at me expectantly. “Well?”
I don’t think anyone heard him but Tuleen, though I remain convinced that the guests regard me with cold judgment, gossiping with one another about something when my back is turned. The evening is not unfolding as planned, and I wish only for darkness and solitude.
“If you had been upfront about your interest in the labyrinth beforehand,” I say to the prince, voice lowered, “maybe I would have seen things differently.”
“But Idowish to share all that I know.” He steps closer. Tuleen stiffens beside me. “Given enough time, I believe your trust in me will be rebuilt. I ask you for another chance to prove that my intentions are noble. I wish to bind my life to yours, and I hope you wish the same.”
“Prince Balior—”
“Your father only wants what is best for you. He loves you dearly.The praise he sings of you behind closed doors? I only wish you could hear it.”
A flutter of uncertainty alights behind my sternum. How can this be true if I have never witnessed it?
“Will you reconsider?” he presses, insistent now.
I don’t know what to believe, but I say, “I will think about it.” At the very least, it will get him to leave me in peace.
“Then we will speak again soon.”
