“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Trying to figure out where you’re hiding your dagger under that tight dress.”
It’s my turn to give him a wicked smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Make no mistake. I would take absolute delight in figuring it out.”
My skin heats, the hot sensation trickling down my back. I release a breath that’s dangerously close to a sigh, and Dante’s gaze darkens.
I make a point to look away, swallowing down my urge to move closer to him. And it’s a good thing I do, because the king’s glare stays on me for a moment. It’s a warning he won’t let me forget.
A rustle of movement draws my gaze to the left, where Queen Ambra lounges with a goblet in hand, one of her lovers feeding her slivers of sugared dates. She catches me looking and winks.
Beside me, Nadya clasps her hands together, her smile wide as servants begin laying out the feast. Platters piled high with honey-glazed meats, jewel-bright fruits, and spiced pastries fill the tables. Wine flowslike water, the deep-red liquid shimmering in cut-glass decanters. A golden bowl holds figs dripping with syrup, while delicate flower-shaped sweets are dusted with crushed petals. As one lovely servant fills Nadya’s glass, she rests her hand on Nadya’s shoulder, letting it linger there a moment as their eyes meet.
I reach for a goblet, taking a sip to steady myself. The wine is rich and sweet on my tongue, with a hint of something floral that lingers as I swallow.
“Is everything in Bastos this… indulgent?” I ask, half to myself.
Dante leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You have no idea.”
The brush of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I curse the heat rushing to my core. My hand trembles slightly as I place my goblet back on the table.
How am I going to get through this dinner?
A group of courtiers drifts closer, their conversation laced with laughter and teasing words. They look like they’ve had too much wine. One of them stumbles, falling halfway to the floor, pressing against me before catching herself, and causing me to lose my balance. I fall into Dante’s side, and the dampness of our sweat-glistened bodies makes our skin glide against each other’s.
His hand comes to my waist—steadying, possessive. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
“Careful,” he says softly, though there’s nothing careful about the way his thumb brushes against my hip.
I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to keep my composure. Across the room, King Silas watches us with his usual air of disapproval, his sharp gaze lingering a moment too long. I shift slightly away from Dante, though every fiber of me protests the loss of his touch.
I take that moment to glance around at the others around the table. When my eyes land on Queen Eleanor, my stomach sours. She is not dressed in the sheer fabrics the rest of us wear. Instead, she wears the usual high-collared, long-sleeved dress and her ever-present elbow-high gloves. It pains my heart, knowing she is covering her bruises. I guess theyhaven’t healed enough during the journey to fade from view.
Unless she has new bruises she acquired since leaving Podrosa. I can’t help but wonder when King Silas might have had the opportunity to mishandle her, especially since they are not traveling in the same carriage. I fight the urge to go to her, to ask her if she’s all right and comfort her. And I fight the even bigger urge to confront the king and make him see the error of his ways.
Ezra gives me a small nod from across the tent. He lifts a goblet, sniffing the liquid before sipping it. I almost laugh when he wrinkles his nose, which eases my anger for the king a bit.
The laughter grows louder as more wine is poured, the Bastosi clearly unbothered by decorum or restraint. Nearby, a musician plucks a sensual melody on a lute while a trio of dancers twists and sways to the rhythm, their jewel-toned skirts brushing the floor. I settle back onto the pillows, feeling the silk slide cool against my legs, and resist the urge to glance at Dante again. But the warmth of his presence is impossible to ignore.
“So,” Queen Ambra purrs, her voice dripping with intrigue. “Lord Dante, future Prince of Hedera. What is it like, to be a man who was hidden in the shadows, only to now stand at the center of every kingdom’s gaze?” She lifts her jeweled goblet and tilts her head, her striking, green eyes gleaming with intrigue.
Dante, to his credit, does not flinch under her gaze. He offers her a slow, polite smile. “I wouldn’t say I’m at the center of anything, Your Majesty. I’m only doing my part to ensure Hedera’s proper succession.”
“My son is truly humble,” King Silas puts in. “But there should be no doubt that he will make a fine prince.”
Dante simply nods and takes a swig of his drink.
I notice the dip of Queen Eleanor’s gaze, the way her eyes lower with sadness.
Queen Eosla hums thoughtfully, leaning back against her wife with an easy elegance. “A dutiful son,” she muses, brushing a lock of turquois hair behind her ear.
“But not all dutiful sons bring honor to their realms,” Queen Ambraputs in, tracing a fingertip languidly over her wife’s collarbone. “It was only decades ago when my father broke ties with Tsar Pisarus, which most certainly had my grandfather rolling in his grave.” She shifts her gaze to me, clearly seeing my confusion. “When my grandfather was King of Bastos, he had sworn allegiance to Dulcamar. But that was before the Age of War.”
I can understand the shift in alliances. My own father made an enemy of the sirens of Messanya, but when my brother inherited the throne, he took great strides to mend their ties.
“And so it goes in times not embraced by peace,” Queen Eosla says, tracing lazy circles on her wife’s hand. “If the tides shift, we must shift with them.”
