“And the people of Varantia? Are they content?”
Vesena hesitated a fraction before answering. “They are. But tensions grow, as they do everywhere.”
Evelyne nodded, and took a slow sip of her tea before setting the cup down. “And what of you, Vesena? Tell me, where do you come from?”
Vesena did not falter, though her fingers briefly tightened around the edge of her napkin. “I was born in Varantia, though not in the capital. My family served the royal household for generations, but my upbringing was among the lesser courts. It was an honor, of course. But more than that, it was an expectation.”
“Your family—are they still in Varantia?”
“Yes, my lady. They remain in service to the court, though our paths do not often cross,” Vesena replied smoothly.
After a pause, she asked, “Why did you agree to serve me?”
Vesena’s expression didn’t waver. “Because I was trained for this.”
Evelyne’s fingers stilled over her cup. Two women molded by circumstance, shaped into roles neither had truly chosen. She would be watching Vesena closely. And Vesena, she suspected, would be watching her just as intently.
“You know why I ask these things, don’t you?”
“I do, milady,” Vesena replied, her tone smooth and measured. “You wish to understand the world you are walking into.”
“I do not enjoy being unprepared.”
“Nor should you.”
Evelyne studied her for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. Vesena sat so still it might have looked like passivity to someone else, but Evelyne could see it. It was indeed training. Evelyne wondered if, from Vesena’s side of the table, she appeared the same way: composed, deliberate. She doubted it. Her own composure was a mask of small, human gestures meant to distract from what lay beneath. Vesena’s stillness, by contrast, seemed absolute.
“You speak carefully, Vesena. Have you always been this way?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I have learned that words, once spoken, cannot be taken back.”
Evelyne chuckled, shaking her head. “Clever. And yet, I wonder, if I asked you something truly difficult, would you answer me honestly?”
Vesena met her gaze squarely, dark eyes calm and sharp beneath the shade of the pavilion’s roof. “That would depend,Your Highness,” she explained, voice smooth and without apology, “on whether you wish for honesty or comfort.”
“I’ve never had much use for comfort.”
Vesena inclined her head. “Then you will always have honesty from me.”
A breeze stirred the air between them. Leaves rustled softly, and somewhere beyond the hedge, a bird trilled a phrase it had likely repeated a thousand times before.
Out of the corner of her eye, Evelyne spotted Isildeth, still standing at a respectable distance, her expression neutral. But Evelyne knew better. Isildeth didn’t miss things. She simply filed them away for later.
“I like you,” Evelyne admitted turning her attention back to Vesena. “You are honest. I appreciate that.”
Her eyes widened slightly before she lowered her head. “That is very kind of you, Your Highness.”
“It is not kindness,” Evelyne corrected. “It is simply the truth. I value a good atmosphere. If we are to spend much time together, I prefer we do not make it miserable.”
“Then I will do my best to make it enjoyable, milady.”
Evelyne broke off another piece of pastry, though she didn’t eat it this time.
“You’ve told me about the Emperor and Empress,” she mused lightly. “And about the prince. But no man lives in a palace alone. Who… surrounds him?”
Vesena’s gaze shifted, not to Evelyne, but to the garden itself. Her eyes flicked across the rose trellis, lingered a beat too long on the archway, then swept the path where the servants had vanished.
“At court,” Vesena began, voice measured, “the prince is rarely without company. His sister, Princess Lysandra, is much beloved—spirited and charming. Captain Gareth of theVarantian army is close as well. He has stood at the prince’s side since they were both too young for titles.”
