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I laughed, a blush creeping up my neck. I suppose someone used to this sort of attention wouldn’t feel so giddy over such a simple gesture, but I couldn’t help but be thrilled by it. Beric was just bitter and unsociable—these people, as he called them, were lovely.

“Don’t corrupt this child with your filth,” Faline warned.

“It’s okay, Faline,” I said, grinning. “Let him earn his tip.”

The bard gave me a seductive smile that nearly sent me hiding behind Eliza. I most certainly was not used to that sort of attention. And yet, it felt easy. Fun. Perhaps because I didn’t know him and had no expectations of this becoming anything but beautiful music.

“Any requests, my darling knight?” he asked, lifting his lute.

I glanced over to where I knew Beric was lurking—I could sense his stern presence, even without pinpointing his exact location. “Only if you’ll allow me to sing with you,” I said.

Sunny’s expression softened into an admiring grin—less show, more genuine. “I would be honored, my lady. What shall it be?”

“‘Greensleeves.’”

“A fitting choice.” He whistled at his group, who gracefully ended the song they’d been playing at a suitable spot. “‘Greensleeves’ for our exquisite knight.”

They began to play, and Sunny took my hand, welcoming me onto the platform with the rest of the band, sitting me right beside them. And we sang.

I don’t know that our voices blended quite as well as mine had with Beric’s. His voice meeting mine had been special somehow, almost—No, stop thinking of him, Cali. Lose yourself to the music. In the people who appreciate you. Sunny was talented and charismatic, and the energy he and his band were bringing to the room was raising my excitement with every note.

All too soon, it was over. There was a soothing silence as the vibration of the lute rang out its final note, just a breath of bliss before the applause erupted. I winced, startled and blushing at the praise. I had never known nobles to be so raucous, but perhaps things were freer here at court.

I clapped and laughed, too, my heart soaring from the exhilarating fun of it.

“Can we do another?” I asked, hopeful as I looked at Sunny.

“Whatever my lady wants, she gets,” he said, winking at me. And he counted the band off for something even livelier.

See, Beric? I didn’t need a dance partner to endear myself to the people—and this was far more fun. But trumpets soon interrupted the beginning of the next song, announcing the arrival of the king, and anticipation and fear washed over me.

I turned to Sunny, quickly. “Oh,” I whispered, “your tip. Faline has my money.”

He kissed my hand, again, this time a farewell. “Just bring that beautiful voice of yours back to court.”

I nodded, but the closest courtesan halted me before I could step away, fixing the lay of my hair.

“Thank you, miss,” I said.

She had a bruise peeking out from above her dress, and quickly shifted her shawl over it as I noticed. She gave me a quick smile. “Olive, my lady.”

“Cali,” I corrected, squeezing her hand. Now that I knew her name, I would find her later and heal her. “I hope to see you again.”

Faline shooed me impatiently from the platform. Eliza checked my outfit, giving me a reassuring nod. “Showtime.”

By the time we’d made it through the sea of bowing nobles, Deus Rex was seated in his highbacked chair. He wore what looked like a giant deer skull on his head, the antlers intact and reaching heavenward. A silken black veil was attached where the skull ended at the bottom, shielding his face and hair from being seen. Keeping him from being identified.

This was how I was accustomed to seeing him depicted in songs I’d heard and paintings I’d seen. In this form, he was beautiful. As eldritch as he should have seemed in these trappings, it was strange how normal this macabre mask felt compared to the man himself … how much less terrifying he looked when those angry ancient eyes were concealed.

Beric stood beside the throne, stern and miserable as he surveyed the room. I took a steeling breath. I would not let him affect what the king thought of me.

“Ah, here is our muse,” the king said, sitting up a little straighter as I approached.

I dipped into a curtsy, forcing a smile. “Your Majesty.”

“Better,” he commended, and I knew he meant my curtsy, though I was relieved that no one else did. “We had our doubts, but you do clean up beautifully. Does she not, Lord Beric?”

Beric looked at the king, then me, as if he was embarrassed by the question and hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond. I would have felt bad for him if he wasn’t standing between me and my job security. It wasn’t as if it was a hard question. And most nobles lie to keep up the appearance that they are polite and charming. How hard was it to simply agree with the king?