“And you’ve brought a pet,” said Princess Ceri, looking at Rinka.
Idris went stiff while the king chuckled malevolently.
“Play nicely, children. People are watching.”
“Sister,” said Idris. “You’re looking as miserable as ever.”
“Better miserable than pathetic,” she bit back.
“Enough!” said the king. He lowered his voice. “I will not turn this occasion into yet another spectacle. Idris, I don’t know what you’re here to achieve, but I’d suggest you do it without another word to your sister.”
He turned to Ceri, his voice far gentler. “Ceri, my sweet. Remember what we’ve talked about.”
“Yes, Father,” she said, pouting her bottom lip.
Idris held up his hands in surrender and backed away.
“Very good,” said the king. He left without another word to them, heading to an elevated stand overlooking the crowd.
“I didn’t get your name,” Ceri said to Rinka once he was out of earshot. “Was it Boots? Fluffy? Miss Kitty?”
“Stop it,” hissed Idris.
“What?” asked Ceri, her face full of mocking innocence. “Surely she’s not courting you, on account of—”
“I said stop!” said Idris loudly enough that his father turned to shoot him a lethal glare. He continued, keeping his voice to a whisper. “You are twenty years old. Stop acting like a child.”
She sighed. “You never were any fun.”
The two of them exchanged barbs throughout their father’s welcome speech, and they hadn’t stopped by the time dinner arrived either. Rinka had been dressed in the first of the evening gowns Lydiach had made her: a pale mauve silk number with a chiffon overlay embroidered with delicate gold filigree.
“You must tell me the name of your seamstress,” said Ceri to Rinka after a particularly cruel exchange with Idris. “That gown is magnificent.”
Rinka suspected she was being mocked, but it was not the only compliment she received that night. She was seated across from Princess Chloe, Idris’s aunt, and not only had she been complimentary of Rinka’s attire, but she also made for delightful company in general, even more so with each glass of Wilderisen whisky.
“And then there was the time he got stuck in a dining chair,” said Princess Chloe. “He must have been five or six, and he loved to sit backwards in chairs. You know, sitting with his skinny little legs wrapped around the back, kicking and making faces through the gaps, just being a little boy. His mother, Queen Yuling—this was before she was forced to return home—told him not to a hundred times, but he always did it as soon as she left the room. Well, she had a new set of chairs brought into the music room from her home, and they had a little slot in the back where his legs would fit. He slid both in there one day and couldn’t get back out! It was the funniest thing. The carpenter was on his way by the time he got control of his magic and freed himself.”
Rinka laughed, but she didn’t quite understand the story. “Couldn’t one of you have freed him?” They all seemed to have mastery over the same magic Idris used, at least in keeping themselves clothed in flight.
“Ah, the king prefers we don’t use magic unless absolutely necessary. He’s a believer in modern technology. I would have done it anyway, but Idris wasn’t in distress. He was laughing just as hard as the rest of us.”
In return for her fine tales, Rinka shared with her the story of their escape from the pirates, which earned her the attention and admiration of most of her end of the table. By the time she was able to speak to Idris again as they watched an elf courtier play the pianoforte late that evening, she had won over much of his family.
“You seem to be quite at home,” he said to her, pulling her to the back of the room for as private as a conversation as they were allowed under the circumstances. “Aunt Chloe has already asked if she can invite you to stay with her in her town home this autumn.”
“They’re different than I expected,” said Rinka. “More…”
“Ordinary?” Idris offered.
Rinka nodded, hoping it wasn’t rude to say.
Idris smiled. “There isn’t as much of a need to put on a show when it’s mostly family around. Of course, all the usual rules still apply, especially since there are other courtiers present, but some of us care more about that than others.”
“I see,” said Rinka.
“For example,” said Idris. “I absolutely should not be thinking the things I’m thinking seeing you in that gown.”
His voice was barely a whisper. Rinka looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but they were all quite focused on the performance.
