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The Night of the Baron’s Ball

TAMAL

About One Year Prior

Watching a king and a prince compete for a woman destined for a sailor was unexpectedly entertaining.

Perhaps destined wasn’t the right word. Regardless, the very thought that those insufferable Rathmor shits were playing a game they were entirely unaware of pleased him immensely.

Tamal had read the room the moment Asharin Rathmor stepped through the ballroom doors. Colsar was already obsessed, though he fought it with everything he had. Sevrin didn’t fight at all. He simply waited. Neither of them realized they had already lost.

Tamal understood the appeal. Maybe it was the dress, the laugh, those beautiful brea⁠—

She might be your sister.

Right. Best not dwell on it.

Regardless, he had every intention of fucking those thoughts right out of his head.

If everyone would kindly leave him the fuck alone.

Kasrev fell into step without being invited. "Your Highness. Your father expects a full report by morning."

"He will have one."

"The princess." Kasrev lowered his voice. "Her eyes. The mark. The implications for the Alarnan bond⁠—"

Tamal resisted the urge to throw him into the nearest fountain.

"I was there. I am aware of what her eyes mean."

"Your sister was not in attendance tonight. Her absence was noted."

Tamal stopped.

He turned and looked at Kasrev with the expression he reserved for conversations he had finished. "My sister's whereabouts are her own concern."

"Your father does not⁠—"

"Tell him what he needs to hear." He straightened his cuffs. "You are good at that."

He left Kasrev on the steps.

The carriage wound through the gates of Rathmor Palace before turning toward the royal guest wing. Tamal would have preferred the capital. Rathmor had never held much appeal.

But tonight there was unfinished business waiting for him.

Even so, his thoughts turned to Asharin. She had arrived late and the room had changed when she walked in, that recalibration of attention that happened when something unexpected came through a door. He had watched Colsar's face first. Controlled fury. Possessiveness dressed as composure. The man had the range of a locked room.

Then he had looked at her.

She had taken a pastry off a passing tray and eaten it with the ease of someone proving a point and he had laughed before he could stop himself.

Perfumed posturing was the term Eravic Vaelor used to describe royals like the ones in that room. Tamal had always found Vaelor insufferable and correct in equal measure.

They had said Yaforins at the same time. He still wasn’t sure why that had affected him more than the dance. He did not examine it. He looked out the window instead.

A shame Yvara was so unpleasant. She seemed like an entertaining bedmate.