“What about you and your friends?”
“It’s complicated.”
He nodded, mouth drooping as he stared down into the pool.
“You’ll see the dynamics firsthand when—” She cut herself off, unsure if she should presume he’d join them, unsure he’d want to stay with this new knowledge dumped in his lap. If he wanted to return home, he could. They’d... reset his memories. George fought a frown as she considered having to mindmold this man. She supposed she deserved it for abducting him in the first place. “The viceroys and their families live all across the land, of course.”
Hildy cleared her throat before jumping in, giving George a break, “Every spring, the viceroys have to go to the capital for the Great Assembly. They’re forced to attend. For four weeks, everyone has to stay within the palace doing whatever weird shit the king thinks up.”
Isahn’s brows pleated.
George sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to see, but you’ll see if...” She froze on the same thought again. “We call it ‘blackmail season.’”
“Oh.”
Hildy continued, “He uses the power of his loyal retainers and his wards to... make people do dehumanizing things. During the Great Assembly, he likes to blur the lines between roles because, whether enslaved or noble, everyone answers to Gasparo. After, usually, their minds are wiped of that time, except for key points he wants them to remember.”
George spun a large amethyst ring on her right hand. The rotation relaxed her. “Some of the viceroys embrace it, but many find it bizarre and distasteful.”
“Do you think my uncle will be at this Great Assembly? Is it soon?”
“I think it’s likely. My father brings in spies and his other ‘friends’ constantly. He has to collect his fodder. And he’s been up to something these past few years. We’re trying to figure out what.”
“Before you... do the thing?” he checked, his gaze floating around from George to Hildy to Greta, who hummed to herself while she rubbed her belly.
“Yes. We can’t act until we have a firm grasp on his current undertaking. He’s been pulling in spies from each kingdom—”
“Even Karova?” Isahn asked.
“I think so,” George replied. “Ean, my—my assistant—learns what he can and reports back.”
“Adda helps too,” Hildy offered, “and Wynnie.”
Catching sight of Isahn’s unfocused gaze, George’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
His head snapped up, and he turned to face her, almost lifting his legs up to the bench, then freezing and pressing his thighs together. His lips quirked. “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m sorry, too, for everyone who’s living their life under King Gasparo’s thumb.”
Hildy’s face was neutral aside from the lightest lift to the corner of her mouth.
“My uncle is one of your father’s spies.”
“Or one of hisfriends,” Hil said.
“It appears they have a relationship of some sort. That being said, what would you like to do?” George asked, fully recognizing how risky it was to ask him this in front of an audience and without speaking with her friends. But Hildy caught her gaze and dipped her chin. “Would you like to join the cause?”
Isahn rolled his neck, pausing halfway through to look up at the skylights. “Peros may not be out to kill me and his sister like we thought. Maybe he still is; I don’t know. But I do know I want to help. I want to figure out what Peros is doing and stop him. And if it helps right other wrongs in the process, all the better.”
WhenGeorgewalkedintothetricliniumthat evening, she found her friends deep in conversation with the earl. Hildy lay between Dunstan and Burke on the right-handlectus, grinning and waving her over.
Whatever she’d missed had clearly been enough for everyone to determine Isahn was who he said he was. Maybe Hildy spread word of her trust while George was getting dressed. Perhaps they didn’t trust him in full, but enough to relax and enjoy the meal.
Isahn’s face lit up when he saw her, and she hoped it was a genuine reaction, not just a man hoping to stay in his captor’s good graces. When he patted the empty spot beside him on the central seat, she fought a smile and crossed the room, her flowy white dress whispering in her wake.
She’d dressed up a bit more than usual, but she was the fucking princess. They’d assume she’d done it to make a point to the earl.
And she had... but a different one than they were likely to suspect.
Her sleevelessstoladipped into a low V before falling in pleats and waves to the floor, and she’d accessorized with a golden belt, a few rings, and a pair of large gold earrings, bejeweled with turquoise and dangling past her jaw. George also made the last-minute decision to leave her still-damp hair unbound and falling down her back. She regretted it. It was soaking her dress, uncomfortably so.
