Pelun was still glowering. The King was drinking steadily and regarding Tor with narrowed eyes, as though he were trying to figure out why Tor was really here. Tor somehow didn’t think it would be very convincing to claim that he’d conceived a passion for Pelun and come here to court him. Pelun could certainly put the lie to that if he mentioned that Tor hadn’t recognized him.
No, better to stick with wanting to get to know the realm better and then have the courtship unfold naturally. The first couple days would be the most awkward, but it would improve from there. Surely.
Staring down at his glass of water, Tor reflected wryly that it could scarcely get any worse.
It looked like Forex could probably stay and drink for hours, and the more he drank, the more loquacious he became. Forex still had some resentment towards Bessar—and Alossa, though Bavil always tried to swiftly turn that aside, and Forex would peer at Tor and seem to remember who he was talking to.
It was true that the rulers of Bessar before Gornexi’s parents had invaded Tond and killed Forex’s parents and precipitated the war. But Forex hadn’t been content with anything except taking over the entire realm in retaliation, and that had pulled Filon and then Vayrin in as the neighboring countries, and before they knew it, the realms had been at war.
If Tor hadn’t been aware already, he was definitely well informed by the end of the first dinner that Forex believed Tond and Bessar should have been combined into one realm that he ruled.
The Fealty of the people of Bessar had passed to Gornexi’s parents during the war, and when Tor’s mother had finally been able to negotiate for peace, she’d refused to punish the new rulers for something they hadn’t done.
Apparently, Forex hadn’t gotten over that.
He also had feelings about the fact that Vayrin had managed to marry into Gornexi’s family before Tond had made the attempt. But it must have been a good five years since Gornexi had married Somila, and Larexa would have been, what, fifteen or sixteen? Tor squinted. He couldn’t entirely remember, but he was pretty sure she’d still been Lara then and hadn’t yet Manifested.
Tor didn’t know about Bessar, but he wouldn’t have been anxious to marry his heir to anyone from Tond at that point—though they were all supposed to be preserving the peace and intermarrying to show how they’d put the past behind them.
Tor would prefer to avoid all of the intrigue.
It was probably not more than an hour before they were finally all able to go join Larexa, but it felt like a lot longer.
She’d been reading when they arrived in the well-appointed sitting room, but she set her book aside and rose to her feet when they entered. Tor offered her a bow, and the King instructed her to play something to entertain them.
“Prince Torex, you can turn the pages for her.”
“I can play something from memory,” Larexa offered, “so that Prince Torex need not be put to work.”
“Nonsense!” the King snapped at the same time that Tor said, “I’d be happy to be of service.”
Larexa bowed to their combined efforts and went to sit behind the pianoforte, where Tor joined her. She rifled through the options and then placed one in front.
“I don’t really need the music,” she told him softly.
“Good,” he whispered back. “Because I don’t read it.”
She turned laughing eyes to his. “Really?”
“I didn’t have the patience for it,” he admitted with a grin. “There were so many more interesting things to do. Our tutors agreed that I didn’t possess any natural talent, and I might have been rather more talented at avoiding lessons. Eventually, they gave up.”
“Larexa!”
She began to play at her father’s sharp call, and Tor could tell immediately that she was an accomplished musician. She didn’t so much as glance at the music, and she carried on their conversation as though what her fingers were doing wasn’t important at all.
“But do you not find it a disadvantage in situations like these?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Many are skilled enough to play without music—though not, I think, quite as skilled as you.” She smiled at the compliment. “No one likes to blame a prince, so if there is faltering in the playing, they always take the blame. And if I confess my shortcoming, then the player in question will kindly prompt me when it’s time to turn the page, and no one need ever know the truth.”
She let out a soft laugh, low and musical. “I see that you’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve made it this far without learning to read music. I’m committed to my course,” he agreed staunchly.
“If you would like to maintain the illusion, you may turn the page now.”
Tor did so, and the music continued.
Looking about the room, Tor observed that everyone had sat about as far away from anyone else as it was possible to get. The King, drinking again, was seated by the fire. (He should clearly have a servant follow him around with a decanter.)
