“Yes.”
“And you…” He set a gentle hand to my cheek, and I went deathly still. He had never struck me before, but I’d seen the flex of his hand, as if it yearned to. I knew how his soft voice could boom, how easily he could order me locked away for a week. “Are you happy?”
I paused at the strange question. “I am. How could I not be?”
“Precisely. The gown, the feast—it’s all more than you deserve.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His gaze locked onto someone across the room, and it was as if a bolt struck him. He took me by the wrist and hauled me off the dais. “I don’t imagine you think often of a king’s duty, do you?”
“Not often, Your Majesty.” My feet could hardly move fastenough to keep up with him as he wove us through the crowd. “But I have thought of it.”
“And what do you think?” The music rose. A swell of strings and a drum like a heartbeat filled my ears. Bodies pressed toward the center of the room, where the next dance was to begin. “Ofduty.Do you think it is achieved by carving out pieces of yourself or by growing, collecting, so that you are equipped to do what is needed when it is time?”
“Your Majesty, I don’t know what you mean. Both, perhaps?”
We came to a sudden halt before a wall of gold-armored soldiers. Six of them. All were broad and unmoving, with flowering vines carved into their breastplates, their vambraces. “Theodore Ariti,” Nemea barked.
“Hello, Nemea,” came a disgruntled voice from behind the soldiers. I recognized it, smoky and deep. The guards parted and there stood the man from the lookout. He was even more striking now, clothed in a beautiful deep green coat and wearing a perfect scowl. Tucked into his dark waving hair sat a golden crown of woven laurel. That scowl slipped toward me, and his eyes widened.
I averted my gaze quickly, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, and sank into a low curtsy before the king of Varya.
My legs shook as I rose.
I knew King Theodore to be twenty-seven—a year older than I was—and ever since he had taken the throne seven years ago, Nemea had not ceased in his obsessive complaining. The “boy-king,” as he still called him, was too haughty, too good, too loved, too honorable to be a ruler that Nemea could ever respect.
“I’ve brought the bride to meet you.” Nemea’s voice came sharp and cold. “This is Lady Imogen Nel, my ward. She and I were just speaking of kingly duty. She’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter while you take her for a turn around the dance floor.”
King Theodore’s scowl lingered on me for a heartbeat before he gave Nemea a beleaguered look. “Very well, Nemea. It’s kingly duty that she’s eager to discuss? If the dance is long enough, we can muse over just how thoroughly you lack it.”
I gaped at his lack of fear. He did not bother to tend to Nemea’s fragility the way the court did—the wayIdid. Before Nemea could even form a retort, King Theodore extended his hand and, mortified, I set mine within it. His calluses scratched, but his touch was warm, gentle. My mind rattled as I remembered our interaction on the lookout. I’d been emotional. I’d been disparaging and impolite. As King Theodore led me away, Nemea’s meaningfulgaze sank into me like a blade. What he wanted me to do was clear. Charm. Mollify.
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice small. “I didn’t know who you were. I would never have been so familiar—”
“Where is your fiancé, Lady Imogen?” he asked, ignoring my apology completely.
“I—” I swallowed, trying to strengthen my voice. “I’m not sure. Perhaps the captain is hiding away with cold feet, preparing to beg His Majesty to be released from our engagement.”
“Is the captain an idiot as well as a murderer?”
His words struck me, and I did not know if I should feel flattered or shamed. Silent and tense, we found our spot on the dance floor. His gaze pressed down on me, but I kept my eyes on the wall above him, on the disembodied Siren wing that hung upon it.
A lilting, plucky tune filled the air. The thought of dancing an unending reel with him forced a stilted smile to my face. I spoke above the music, trying anew for exuberance. “I’m honored by your presence, Your Majesty. I know you traveled a long way.” He set a hand to my waist, and the quick steps began.
“I couldn’t miss an opportunity to gape at Seraf’s horrors, now could I?” he said, watching me keenly. I bit into my tongue. “I know your handmaid, Agatha.” He nodded to her across the room, where she stood glowering at the sea of people, holding a goblet in her fist. “I was surprised to see her here of all places.”
His disdain forherewas clear in the harsh way the word slipped through his teeth. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.” It was hard to imagine Agatha having a life before she had come into mine. “And how do you know her?”
“She was my governess—for a time.”
“She was mine as well.” She must have been in Varya immediatelybefore she’d come to Seraf. “And would she scold you for dipping below the bottom line with your quill, like she did me?”
“No,” he answered, with perfect austerity. “I never dipped below the line.”
“Oh.” I found myself missing the kindness, the warmth, that I’d seen in him earlier. “I see.”
The steps of the dance were quick and twisting. I slid under King Theodore’s arm, hopped and spun, and could barely breathe for the way my dress clamped as tightly as a fist around my ribs. I stepped back in front of him and set my hand in his, but his fingers wouldn’t curl over my palm to hold it. He stopped us midstep.
