But before they could slip away, a voice from the crowd said, “Where have you been hiding, Amron? People will think you’re not happy for me.”
Amron froze. Behind him, Liana peered around to see the unwelcome interruption. Amril blocked their path, flanked by a couple of young men. He’d drunk a lot that evening, and yet he stood firm, his eyes glinting with a mischief awfully akin to malice.
“I’m thrilled for you,” Amron said. “But now you must excuse me, I have some urgent business at the palace.”
“Urgent?” Amril stepped around his brother, his eyes finding Liana hiding in Amron’s shadow. “Oh, I see now. You need to pinher down before she comes to her senses.”
Amron didn’t swallow the bait, didn’t mention what Liana had told him. He just said, “We need to go.”
Amril ignored him. “What do we have here?” He gripped Liana’s arm and pulled her into the light. “Quite exquisite. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“Amril, please,” Amron said. “I need to talk to her.”
“You don’t want my brother.” Amril’s hand slid around Liana’s waist. She’d never met him before: By the time Amron had found her, his brother was dead, his memory consecrated by his untimely demise, distilled into an image of a golden prince. The real Amril was as attractive as the story claimed: slightly taller than Amron, bulkier, flamboyant. His demeanor, though, oozed something small and mean, unfit for a prince. “Amron is a cold, dour fish. Come with me.”
“Amril, for gods’ sake, the garden is filled with girls. Leave this one to me.”
“The other girls are boring, I’ve had them all.” Amril caught Liana’s chin, turned her face to the light. “But this one is new and fresh and gorgeous, and I choose her.” His thumb caressed her lips. “This is my party, after all, and I get to pick first.”
“Is there a problem, Your Highness?” Lady Celandina materialized beside them, shooting a cold, hard stare at Liana.
“No, we just had a small misunderstanding,” Amril said. “I usually prefer to be more subtle and let certain things occur naturally, but this time I’m going to be perfectly clear. I want your new girl, I want her for myself, I want her for my friends, and I want her until dawn. My brother can watch, if he feels like it.”
Lady Celandina bit her lip, obviously torn between her wish to please the prince and her conscience. “Your Highness, the girl is still new. She might not be ready.”
“Are you running a whorehouse, Celandina, or a girls’ school?”
Everybody in the garden gathered around them to watch the scene. All the while, Liana balled her fists in frustration, nails biting into the soft flesh, reminding herself that pushing Amril away would make everything infinitely worse. She shot a brief glance at Amron, registering the absolute horror on his face.
Amril scanned the crowd, challenge clear in his eyes. He was just waiting for someone to stand up to him. But all the high-and-mighty young bucks avoided his gaze, too cowardly to challenge him, too selfish to defend an insignificant girl.
Lady Celandina tried to disperse the tension. A discreet wink sent her girls to the men surrounding them to draw their attention away, diluting the crowd. She offered a fresh glass to Amril. “I’ll prepare the girl if you want me to, but she’s so new I haven’t had the opportunity to teach her.” She shrugged in a mock apology. “Knowing your tastes, Your Highness, you’ll find her dull.”
“Shut up, Celandina.” Amril turned to Amron, the crown prince’s smile shockingly ugly on his handsome face. “Amron, you’re pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Amron’s voice was so quiet it barely reached Liana’s ears. “No, I’m not. I’m angry and humiliated. Well done. Now will you please let her go and get back to your friends and your girls?”
Amril pulled Liana closer. “I’ll let her go in the morning. I don’t know what you’re fussing about. There’ll still be plenty left for you to enjoy. Celandina’s girls are tougher than they look.” He bowed down to kiss her.
Suddenly, it was too much for Liana to bear: the whiff of alcohol, his hard fingers on her back. She pushed him away. He grabbed her shoulder. Then Amron was between them, pulling her back, his fist a blur aimed at his brother’s jaw. Amril’s head flew back, spit spraying out of his mouth.
Silence dropped on the garden like a lead plate.
Amron grabbed her hand. “Run!” he said.
They ran to the gate just as Amril roared with pain and one of the girls screamed. Amron pulled her out onto the street and through a maze of dark alleys. Her heart beat so hard she thought her chest would explode. The silk slippers Lady Celandina had given her were ill-suited for running on the slippery cobbles.
“Stop!” she pleaded. “Stop!”
They stopped in the shadow of a large building, leaning on the wall, catching their breath. Amron shook his right hand with a painful grimace. His knuckles were bloody. “Ouch.”
“Is it broken? May I see it?”
He let her take his hand, wincing as she inspected the bones.
“It’s fine, I think. Just bruised a bit.” She looked up. “I’m sorry I caused all that trouble for you.”
“Don’t be. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He let out a surprised chuckle. “I feel drunk, light as a feather. I should hit my brother more often.”
