“Hi.” She presses a springy black curl behind her rounded ear. “I’m dying to go to Luce. Yuri promised to take me when he has time. Hopefully this winter, although, it’s always soanimated in West Sheva.” She twists her lips to the side. “And not the good sort of animation. Anyway, I won’t bore you with our regional troubles?—”
“Please do.”
She blinks.
“Tell me of your regional troubles. Maybe I can help? Or put in a word with someone who can.”
She sighs. “There’s a horrid family of sleigh makers—the Volkovs. They’re half-bloods like me but full-blooded lunatics. Anyway, they’re the reason the previous governor stepped down.”
The name sounds familiar. I try to recall where I heard it, and then it clicks: Bohdan Zaslofsky’s cousins! “I’ll have a word about them with my mate and see what we can do.”
“Mate…” Her skin, the color of the night sky in Luce, makes her glittery irises stand out like emeralds. “The concept is so romantic. We have this very famous Glacin author, Countess Zubrowa. I don’t know if you’ve ever read her novels, but?—”
“I’m reading a book from her now. She’s Izolda’s favorite,” I say with a smile.
“She’s my favorite, too! I was so disappointed when Ilya told me she wasn’t coming to the Jubilee. I’d filled a trunk with all my novels in the hopes of getting them signed. Anyway, she writes about mates all the time. Even though Yuri and I don’t share a mental bond, I love him so fiercely that it feels like he’s mine.” She stares at her husband-to-be with such adoration that I find myself thumbing the skin over my heart.
How unconvincing my sham relationship must appear to someone truly in love. I bet she doesn’t believe we’re mates, and that’s why she’s bringing up the magical bond. I keep expecting her to challenge it, but all she ends up saying on the matter is that Konstantin and I make a beautiful couple before launching a thousand and one questions about Luce my way.
Speaking of home unravels some of the irritation knotted around my breastbone. It also tears down my caution, because, if Yuri is anything like his wife-to-be, then he’s wonderful, which makes Ilya wonderful—and not ill-intentioned—by association.
By the time supper is announced, I’ve decided that Tiana is my newest favorite Glacin and that I’ll make a trip to West Sheva to visit her and the Volkovs the instant I return from Luce.
As we make our way toward the dining table, Yuri holds me back to impart that he wants to take her to Luce for her birthday this spring—a secret, which he asks me to keep.
I mimic zipping up my lips, before leaning over to murmur, “Once you’ve decided on dates, let me know, and I can take you around, show you all my favorite haunts.”
“That’s much too kind. Truly. Much too much,” Yuri bumbles as though he cannot believe the Princess of Luce would spare a moment on someone of his political status.
I jerk when fingers clasp the indent of my waist, sinking into the gathered black silk.
“My generous wife,” Konstantin says amiably.
“—to-be,” I add, with just as much false cordiality.
Yuri bows before heading toward Tiana, who has her head thrown back and is laughing at something Ilya has just said.
“Making friends, I see.”
I turn in his hold and reach up, smoothing his upturned collar even though it doesn’t require any smoothing. “Is that a problem?”
He frowns.
“Who would’ve thought my lack of maturity and manners didn’t disgustall?”
Konstantin regards me with such intensity that I worry he’ll spot the open wound his censure inflicted on my ego and stamp it with his thumb to cow me.
“Shall we get to our seats?” I ask, before rolling onto my toes and brushing a murmur over his jeweled lobe. “The faster we dine, the faster you’re rid of me, Vizosh.”
When my heels click back into the floor, his lids are spasming again, and his fingers, pulsating against my waist. I smile; he doesn’t. I wait for his mouth to shape the words, “Get out.” Wait for the weight of his hand to vanish. But he neither commands me to depart nor releases me.
As we finally make our way toward the table, I clock eyes with Sofiya. The intrigue sparking there makes me realize our faux-pas. Glacins may not be familiar with mating bonds, but she is, and our whispering aside has surely given our charade away. I find myself wondering why I even care.
My bicep tingles then, as though to remind me of Konstantin’s bargain. The one that will fritter away if I divulge our scheme.
Though I’m forced to sit at his side, I get Ilya as my other neighbor, which is nice. What is less nice is that Sofiya and her father sit directly across from us. I grip my wine goblet and take a swig, hoping the alcohol will make the supper a little more tolerable.
One of the attendants beelines over, holding a platter upon which are aligned four glasses filled with crimson liquid. I square my shoulders as one waiter removes my presentation plate and cutlery so that the other can set the glasses in front of me.
