“Ah, I suppose looks are important to you young people. What about Prince Felix? He’s young and attractive, and Felida’s spymaster’s guild makes them a desirable ally.”
The prince was fairly tolerable—he was at least one of the few men present who seemed to view her as a person, rather than a trophy—but he was barely out of his teen years. With his long, graceful limbs and narrow shoulders, he reminded her of a stray kitten left to survive in the streets.
“He’s practically a maypole.”
Alfred’s jaw worked back and forth. “Prince Jacques?”
“His face reminds me of a dumpling.”
Her objections kept coming, one after another:
“Too pale. He looks like he’s never seen the sun.”
“He’s as red as the comb of a rooster.”
“He can’t even stand straight.”
With each excuse, Alfred’s face became redder and redder. They made their way through the entire room before finally coming to Prince Shea of Cabriole. Lizzie was fatigued, and she wanted nothing more than to be allowed to retire to her room and escape. She bit back a sigh as she offered her hand to Shea in greeting.
“Good evening, Princess Eliza.” Shea gave her fingers a gentle squeeze that seemed at odds with his broad shoulders and rigid posture. His red uniform jacket was a stark contrast to the opulent dress of most of the crowd, though the decorations on the front and epaulets on his shoulders marked him as some sort of high-ranking officer. A black eyepatch covered his right eye, but his left, warm and dark, studied her with something akin to compassion. “I hope you’ve been having a pleasant time?”
“It’s been an evening.”
A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and Lizzie decided it was almost worth the scolding she knew she would receive later about her lack of decorum.
Truth be told, she didn’t much care about decorum.
“I’m sure it has.” With one last squeeze, Shea let her fingers fall. He turned his attention to Alfred. “I can’t help but notice that your guest list is missing your neighbors to the south.”
Alfred shifted back onto his heels and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sure if Prince Frederick wanted to be here, he would have.”
A ball of lead formed in the pit of Lizzie’s stomach, pulling it down to her toes.
She ignored it, focusing instead on the wall of ice around her heart.
Shea clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head thoughtfully. “And I’m sure you would never have neglected to inform him of this little gathering?”
“Of course not.” A muscle underneath Alfred’s left eye twitched. “What are you getting at, Cabriole?”
“I just wanted to confirm that all the proper parties had been notified.” He smiled at Lizzie. “But it seems that everyone who is supposed to be here tonight is present.”
“Of course they are. I invited everyone who I deemed relevant to the question at hand.”
“I’m sure you did.”
The conversation dwindled after that. Alfred insisted upon asking pointed questions about Cabriole’s recent war and the state of their economy, while Shea remained tightlipped about all but the most surface details. Lizzie kept a loose hold on her father’s arm, but mentally distanced herself from the conversation.
It’s a pity. Of all the guests here, Shea is the one man that I could perhaps stand to be in the same room with for more than a quarter of an hour. But he’s mentioned their peace treaty and his betrothal at least twice now, which means it’s still in place. Strange that he’s here, of all places, though perhaps he’sjust present to see what Father is up to. I suppose it’s good to know if your ally is ready and willing to break binding, legal agreements without real cause.
She curtsied mechanically as they took their leave, still puzzling over Shea’s behavior in her mind.
“Well?” Alfred asked once they were a few steps away. “Is it Cabriole?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was asking.
Even after all that, he still believes that an engagement between Shea and I is possible.
She thought for a moment. “Too procedural.”
