I heard the hint in his voice and ignored it.Would I dance?Possibly.But it was less likely now that he had suggested it.I caught sight of the Haskelle diplomat loitering near the edge of the dance floor.Perfect.
“I need to secure a river passage first,” I said.
My uncle’s voice drifted after me as I walked away.“You better dance.”
I for sure wouldn’t now.
My long strides led me to the diplomat, and I extended my arms, bowing respectfully in greeting.“Lord Eyreling.It is an honor to have you here this evening.”
He turned with a chip on his shoulder and stared down his nose at me, doing a once-over as if determining whether I was worth his time.He carried himself as if the whole world should bow to him and wait upon his every desire.
A haughty smile graced his lips.“Prince Valeris.What a pleasure to see you here tonight.”
I held back my scoff.What an idiot.Where else would I be?The man acted as if it was a surprise to see me.As if I didn’t live in the palace.
“Would you like to sit for a while?”I waved over a servant passing by with another tray of desserts.“I’d love to hear how Haskelle fairs, and the pastries, I can assure you, are quite good enough to die for.”
Chapter Seven
Analleia
King Zaricor had sparedno expense for this year’s Paravellian Balls.Wine poured from the fountains where servants filled glasses.Artists painted, molded clay, swung from the ceilings.A man with a talking parrot wandered through the crowd, the bird whistling at attendees and cawing several crude statements that caused a blush to creep up more than one noblewoman’s cheeks.
I crossed the threshold into the massive ballroom where couples waltzed across the shiny floor, the music swelling past seven stories of balconies and up to the ceiling where the acoustics bounced off the walls.I forged a path through the crowd, anticipation building within me the closer I got.A break in the crowd revealed the dais, and I stopped.Staring.My fingers clenched the glass of punch in my hands tight enough to shatter it.
I didn’t remember much of the man.
I remembered he gave a speech.That he refused to fraternize with the lower classes.That he cared for nothing except himself and his own pleasures.
One could not call King Zaricor a small man.A life of privilege and years spent signing papers behind a desk had left him almost too large for his throne.He lounged there, brown hair combed back over his skin, tanned from sitting in the royal gardens, four servants at his beck and call as diplomats and royals waited in line to greet him and pay their respects to the king.The weight of the dagger concealed beneath my skirts hung heavy at my side, calling to me.It would be quick.So quick.A part in the crowd.A sleight of hand.A knife to the throat.
My years of training in the tower kicked in.
Kill him now.
My consciousness screamed within me, urging me to give in.I took a step forward.A couple moved aside.A path opened up.My breaths turned ragged, my lungs heaving as I reached for the dagger.
