But I had no time left to give my maybe-aunt-maybe-sister. The dark-haired woman—the queen—had reached me. And here I could see clearly what had been obscured by the angle and my own foolish excitement. The queen’s stomach swelled with child.
“My wife, Queen Anais,” my father said. He reclined on the throne, but I saw the attention he paid to the interaction. But my mother had prepared me.
I dropped into a bow, not quite as deep as I had for the king himself. Rank was everything here, my mother had said. My actions must reflect that deference. The highest level of respect for the king, then his queen, and then others in order of rank.
A bejeweled hand appeared beneath my face. I touched my fingers lightly to the underside and kissed the air above it, just as my mother and I had practiced.
“Your Grace,” she said.
My posture faltered on my way back up.
Me. She was greeting me.
I responded to her proffered hand by instinct drilled into me by my mother until it was second nature. But the duke I was supposed to be greeting had not appeared…
“And my daughter,” the king said. “Lady Margeaux.”
The auburn-haired beauty was before me now, her footsteps silent.
My mother had drilled the order of the fae peerages into my head. As an outsider, I was to bow to everyone. But the fae queen had greeted me as ‘Your Grace,’ which meant—Iwas the duke my father referred to? And the other woman, the one with the auburn hair, was a lady, so she should bow to me.
Not bow, curtsy.
“Brother.”
She was waiting for me to bow. My mother made a sound behind me.
“Lady sister,” I said, hoping it was correct.
My sister—Margeaux—bowed her head as she dropped into an elegant curtsey that matched the rest of her beauty. I took her hand, holding it a little longer than I had the queen’s. A sister. For my entire life, it had just been my mother and me. And now, I had a father, a stepmother, a sister, and another sibling soon to come.
The heart pounding in my chest was leaning toward excitement. Until my sister lifted her gaze to mine.
She may be my sister, but there was little resemblance between us. She was beautiful, and my mother assured me I was very handsome, but while I favored my father, I now knew Margeaux must take after her mother. I wondered how the late queen had died. Was it a comfort to Margeaux to look in the mirror and see her mother’s lovely green eyes staring back?—
My heart leaped into my throat. Margeaux’s eyes were lovely. Like the rest of her. But hate shone in them as she stared down at me.
I recoiled, then tried to still the impulse, worried about giving offense. But Margeaux was already retreating back to her chair. Lady Margeaux, not princess. That made no sense at all.
The fae queen loitered at the foot of the dais, watching me carefully. I had not introduced my family, I realized. Propriety, I remembered. Propriety is everything in the court at Balar Shan.
I turned, careful not to put my back to the king, and motioned my mother forward.
“My mother, Iravena,” I said. I wished she had a title. If I truly was a duke—my mind still reeled at that—then surely she must have a title as well. She was my mother, after all.
The king made no pretense of casualness now. He leaned forward, bracing an elbow on each knee, appraising my mother with obvious interest.
His thumb traced the edge of his jaw, the thick beard, and then his lower lip. A warning sounded in the recesses of my mind.
“I remember you well, Iravena,” the king said slowly. “You have done what my first queen could not. You have borne me a son.”
The words hung in the air. I did not look around, but I felt the collective inhale of the courtiers. I’d been so focused on understanding the interactions with my new family that I had nearly forgotten their existence. But their attention was apparent now. This moment was important, even though I could not understand why.
“Your son will do you proud, Your Majesty,” my mother said. Her hand was in mine as she curtsied. Was she trembling?
“My love, you forgot to introduce our little prince,” the fae queen trilled from the foot of the dais.
My mother rose but kept her head down. The king’s eyes flared with annoyance, but then that was gone, and a wide, magnanimous smile took over his face. Queen Anais preenedwhen he turned it on her, lifting her chin and flicking her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. She caressed her rounded stomach.
