“Good man.” I clapped Dorsan on the shoulder, not missing the way Cian watched us pass, like he might be thrilled to see my eyes fall from my skull.
Bastard.
At the king’s study, Dorsan opened the door, and held his genuflect until I was inside the room.
Flames of a strange emerald and blue snapped in the inglenook. In these seas, this near the Ever Kingdom, fire gleamed in strange colors. Air was different, warmer, richer, but I had few doubts if Natthaven drew closer to Klockglas the flames would burn in gold and red.
The study was draped in fine white furs, black velvet curtains, and a wide mahogany desk with crystal inkwells and silver quills.
“Ah, Prince Jonas.” Eldirard rose from behind a long desk carved to look like thick tree trunks. “Welcome. Please, sit.”
Eldirard didn’t stride, he floated. Shoulders back, spine in a straight line, I could not match the Dokkalfar king in his elegance.
When my parents made official declarations to our kingdom, Sander and I wrestled at their feet when we were small, then most ended with laughter and too much brän in taverns at the expense of the king if his people vowed not to make him do another appearance for at least two turns.
I was taught to feather step, like a thief in the shadows. Otherwise, I stalked, prowled, whatever it was, my steps were not floating.
Eldirard tossed the cloak from his shoulders, draping it over the back of a sofa, and went to a carafe of elven wine on a tray atop a small table. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thank you.” I sat in the chair nearest the fire. “I learned during the vow feast, elven wine does not settle well in myhead.”
The king laughed, low and deep in his chest. “It is quite potent.”
Eldirard took the seat across from me. The man showed most of his age in the corners of his eyes and forehead, but his face had a stern wisdom about it. Not old, but neither was he young. His body had the shape of a warrior once, but had gone trim and lean over the turns of peace.
For a long, aggravating pause, the king merely studied me over the trim of his glass as he drank.
“You seem much more at ease around Skadinia, Highness.”
“Jonas, sire. Jonas will be fine.” I matched where he placed his hand on his elven blade and rested a palm on the hilt of my own. “And yes, her company is easy to enjoy.”
“So she is complying to your ways?”
“Gods, I hope not.” I chuckled, but Eldirard didn’t smile. I cleared my throat. “What I mean is I don’t ask for compliance. I ask for sincerity; I ask for her to be her. That is the company I value—just her.”
“I wasn’t certain what to expect when I saw you again.” The king swirled his dark wine. “But to see you and my granddaughter so cordial was a surprise.”
The chair groaned when I leaned back. “Would you rather we detest each other?”
“I always prefer Skadinia to have few worries in her life. Although, I do think it will pain her for a time if this vow is recanted.”
“Recanted?”
The door to the king’s study opened again. Eldirard looked over my shoulder, face as stone. “Ah, Gerard. You’ve come to join us.”
I spun around, ice in my veins, and met the pompous glare of King Gerard. Like Eldirard, the Ljosalfar king had silken hair, but the color of roasted chestnuts. His high, bony cheeks were lifted in a stupidly pious grin.
“Prince.” Gerard tilted his head in a greeting.
What the hells was going on?
I didn’t move, didn’t look away. Never take an eye off your mark. Daj taught his sons long ago how to hold an enemy in sight, how to study them, how to mark them until weaknesses broke through the cracks.
Gerard held a sleek walking stick in his far hand—likely his dominant. He had no limp; the stick was for aesthetic or a weapon. He was confident, looked down his nose at me.
He underestimated me.
Any thought I could form on the king rolled in my head. “What is this, King Eldirard?”
