“I’ll have to keep him close.”
His jaw tightened before he could hide it.
“You’re not going to kiss him.”
She blinked. The edge in his voice should have deterred her, but it only made her want to laugh.
“What if he tries?” Nin shot back.
“He’s not your fiancé,” Cedric said gruffly. “Remember that.”
“That’s true,” she said with a weary sigh. “And to be clear, I don’t want to kiss him. But I don’t know what else I’m meant to do when he gets… physical.”
Cedric’s grip over her arm stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“It’s your responsibility to remind him he’s not to touch you in that way,” he said. “Especially in public.”
In the empty hall, the change in his stride became impossible to ignore—longer, staccato steps bordering on frustration. Themirrors that hung on the walls reflected his stony expression, but she didn’t miss the twitch in his frown.
Perhaps he did care.
She studied him from the corner of her eye, her grin stretching. “Are you… Jealous again, Captain?”
“No,” he said too quickly. Cedric snapped his head forward. “Refrain from suggesting it ever again.”
Cedric kept his attention fixed ahead, and something fluttered in Nin’s stomach—an emotion she hadn’t expected. For a moment, the burn of humiliation disappeared.
It was silly to admit, but a small part of her was curiously pleased.
She shook the thought away and said nothing more.
Chapter fourteen
Nin would have preferred to lock herself in the princess’s chambers for a decade than face any noble again.
To her chagrin, the next morning, she was forced to stand with half the court in the gardens with Cedric at her side. An immense board stretched across the lawn, its smooth pattern of black and white squares lustrous in the sunlight. Servants dressed in elaborate costumes stood upon the spaces as the pieces—some in black, others in white—each painted with garish makeup. Their cheeks were an exaggerated rosy red, their brows painted dark with sharp edges, and their stiff postures mimicked the figurines of a chess set.
A herald stood in the center and signaled the start of the match.
On one side, a visiting duke from Ehrenmark commanded the black pieces. Opposite him, a count from Rodrigue’s country directed the white. Ambassador Otto stood a step behind the duke, leaning close to murmur occasional advice, while Rodrigue lingered near the count’s side of the board, arms folded as he studied the opening moves.
Nin fanned herself from the sidelines, despite the pleasant, spring breeze tickling her curls. The action helped occupy her mind from the knots tightening in her stomach. She prayed no one would mention the disaster of her performance the night before.
Nin sweat through her silk gown despite the perfect weather. Lucille selected a seafoam green dress for her to wear that afternoon, adorned with pink roses on the hem and sleeves, and matching ribbons cascading down the stomacher. As a final touch, a lacy choker with a huge pink bow nestled against her throat. It itched with every swallow, strangling her like a dog collar.
It was her least favorite fashion choice. Nin refrained from scratching, lest her expression betray her discomfort.
“Are you savvy on the game’s particulars?” Cedric murmured beside her. “Because Princess Marianne knows just enough to understand the gist of it.”
“I do, actually,” she said mildly as the duke moved a pawn forward.
“You do?”
Nin glanced at his surprised expression with a tug of her lips.
“Is that so surprising?” she asked.
He ignored the question. “Where did you learn?”
