“May I introduce my cousin Suzanne?”
All eyes were already on the attractive, dusky-skinned brunette, her long lashes batting bashfully while dimples dug into her heart-shaped face.
“Hi, Suzanne!” Caelen bounded in his chair, a half-eaten slice of cornbread in his hand. “I’m Caelen, and I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Excuse my little brother,” Eldrin rushed to say in the deepest voice he could muster without squeaking. “I’m Eldrin, and we’re so glad you could accompany Lady Cassandra to our Kingdom Day Festival. After you’ve eaten, I’ll be happy to show you around.”
“That would be lovely,” Suzanne answered. She flashed a humorous grin at Cassandra.
So, she isn’t a girlfriend—merely a cousin.
Azaleen’s gaze drifted beyond the tent, snagging on a picnic table where Lark sat with her team. Chicken leg in hand, sauce dripping, she laughed so hard her eyes crinkled. An unexpected urge yanked at Azaleen’s core, and she found herself wishing she was with them instead of this stuffy crowd of nobles. Lark was free to enjoy herself, participate in the games, and eat as much as she wanted without worrying about criticism.
I wonder if she’ll enter the archery contest?
Lark had been at a few meetings and debriefings she’d had with the VERT team over the past couple of weeks, but Azaleen hadn’t talked with her directly. At least she hadn’t declared her hatred for the queen in weeks. Besides, the team had been busy running more missions—one to rescue a family near the Gulf Coast when a sinkhole swallowed their house, and others to chase away mutants or raiders threatening villages. They’d also plundered a research facility that Desmond Shaw had uncovered up in the mountains. Thinking of her served no purpose. So why did it feel so good every time she did?
“Lady Cassandra, have you met my youngest son, Bernard?” Thorne asked. One more Calder male joined Lady Marenne, her father, and grandfather. Notas handsome as Aren had been, nor as politically minded as Roderic, Bernard was a free spirit, an artist and musician, the black sheep of the Calder family, but the best of the bunch in Azaleen’s estimation.
He smiled and waved to Cassandra from down the table. “So pleased to meet you at last. Hey, the Irish step dancers are performing in a little while. Want to come with me to watch them?”
Cassandra had to snap her attention back to the Calders. “Uh, sure, if Suzanne can come too.” Following the direction Cassandra’s gaze had come from, Azaleen spotted Captain Moreau strolling by with a fresh plate piled high. Out of uniform, in his tight cotton pullover, every muscle bulged.
“Certainly!” Bernard smiled brightly and resumed eating.
“The tug of war is about to begin!” boomed the announcer. “Civilians vs. military.”
“Farmers and shopkeepers don’t equal soldiers,” Roderic muttered.
“Mama, I’m done eating,” Caelen announced. “May I go join in the games now?”
“Yes, dear, but don’t make yourself sick trying to do too much on a full stomach.”
“I won’t!” Hopping up, Caelen wiped a napkin across his mouth and cleaned at least two fingers before romping off to be a kid.
From down the table, Azaleen picked up on bits and pieces of conversation between Calders and Whitfields. “The Frosts might hold the throne, but my house builds armies to defend it.”Roderic.
“Interesting then how House Whitfield has raised five thousand recruits in but a few weeks,” Rowan answered, his head tilted thoughtfully toward Roderic.
Orielle laid a hand on Azaleen’s arm and quietly said, “Your father will straighten them out when he returns. He must be competing in the caber toss.” She scanned the grounds, searching for a man long dead. Azaleen suddenly felt drained. Politics. Posturing. Matchmaking. And now Mama, still waiting for Dad to set it all right.
She cast a wistful glance at Lark, animatedly relaying a story to Skye.Yeah, I want to be at that table.
Chapter thirty-four
Games and Hearts
“You should have seen Wes,” Diego sputtered, laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. “He jumped a meter in the air and screamed like a girl.”
Lark and Luke nearly doubled over. But Skye called Diego out. “Hey! I take offense to that comparison—screamed like a scared littleboy, you mean.”
“You’re telling that story all wrong,” Wes declared, his dark cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
Lark had finally gotten to meet Harlan’s family before he took his wife and kids to throw darts at straw dolls pinned to a board. Luke darted back and forth, competing in various contests, while the rest of them lingered at the table, eating, drinking, and trading one-up stories.
The drum and bugle corps launched into a patriotic march, and people around the park began to clap with the beat. A shirtless man sprinted the length of the field, waving a Verdancian flag lashed to a two-meter pole. Lark sipped her cider, contentedly full from roasted ears of corn, brisket, veggies, and cornbread smothered in butter and jam. There were even unfinished portions remaining on her plate, awaiting her second wind.
“Why do you do that?” Skye asked, wrinkling her nose.
