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“He’s patrolling along the Rift. It’s his usual assignment.” She sighed. “My hand aches from satisfying myself.”

Oh. This wasn’t the kind of conversation I was accustomed to having at dinner. Not that there was any sign of food. Musicians played stringed instruments in a gallery above the hall. Courtiers continued to stream into the cavernous space. Ladies in colorful gowns mingled with knights in evening clothes. On the other side of the room, a woman’s laughter lifted above the crowd. There was no sign of King Laurent.

Laurent.

He wasn’t at all what I’d expected, and not just because he’d told me to address him informally. He was handsome, yes, but he was so much more than that. He was…magnetic. Impossible to ignore. He was tall and lean, but there was an air of strength about him. His dark hair was almost black, and his eyes were the most arresting shade of silver. They’d darkened when he lifted Elissa’s necklace from my bodice. I was hardly experienced when it came to male desire, but only a blind woman would have missed the lust in his eyes.

“You must be nervous,” Rowena murmured.

I pulled my gaze from the crowd and found her watching me with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. Because I was in Nor Doru as a thrall, I thought with a sinking feeling. It wasn’t like I’d forgotten. But at the same time, my encounter with Laurent had left me confused about just what he wanted from me.

“You’re here as my guest,” he’d said in that low, raspy voice that stroked over my skin.

Was I? Because that wasn’t what Rolund said before he sent me over the Rift.

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and Rowena and I both turned as a young man approached our table. I recognized him as the brother I’d seen emerging from the royal chambers when Varick escorted me to my room.

His cheeks were flushed as he pulled out the chair next to mine. He flashed me an apologetic look. “Tibern told me to sit here.”

On the other side of me, Lady Rowena chuckled. “It’s the human table.” Her light-brown eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry, Brother, you’re welcome to sit with us.”

His cheeks grew redder as he shuffled his chair closer to the table. He wasn’t quite as young as I’d first thought. Early twenties, maybe. With his dark curls and thickly lashed blue eyes, he was attractive in a boyish, affable way. Despite our closeness in age, something about him made me want to take him under my wing.

“It’s good to meet someone else from Sithistra,” I said.

He smiled. “The Lord favors you, Your Highness.”

“He favors us all, Brother.”

“Please, call me Jordan. Jordan of Twyl.”

Rowena clapped her hands together. “Ooh, you’re not from Sithistra at all. You’re from Wesyfedd!”

He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Born and raised. Although, I try my best to tone down the accent.”

Now that I’d heard more of his lilting speech, there was no question he came from the small, independent kingdom nestled between Nor Doru and the Thicket. If it could truly be called a “kingdom.” The people of Wesyfedd elected a new leader once every ten years. Although the Wesyfeddans called him “chieftan,” people in the north and south gave him the disparaging title “the bandit king” since so many men in the territory made a living through smuggling and highway robbery. The current chieftan was Rhys the Fair, who was rumored to steal hearts as well as wallets.

A servant approached. She placed goblets of wine before Rowena and Jordan. Then she curtsied to me and set a third goblet on the table. “From the king, Princess.”

“Thank you.”

She waited. “He said you should drink the whole thing, Your Highness.”

Another order disguised as pleasantry. On either side of me, Rowena and Jordan seemed to hold their breath. Just as I had no choice about my gown or necklace, I had no choice about this.

My hand was thankfully steady as I lifted the goblet and sipped. It was blood-wine, but spiced with something I didn’t recognize. The taste was pleasant, the blood human. It hit my tongue like nectar and filled my stomach with a tingling warmth. I drained the goblet with no difficulty and immediately craved more. Still, it was irritating to be instructed this way—and to be monitored like a child. My face burned as I handed the servant the empty goblet.

She disappeared into the crowd.

Jordan picked up his wine and took a hearty gulp. The musicians switched to a fast, upbeat tune. The crowd cheered. Several couples moved into the center of the hall and began dancing. The rest of the courtiers formed a wide circle around them and clapped to the music. Servants wove among them, distributing wine.

No, blood-wine. I couldn’t afford to forget where I was.

The feeling of being watched crept over me. I looked up, and my gaze collided with Lord Varick’s. He leaned against a wall near the studded, arched doors, his arms folded over his broad chest. My face grew hotter. It was bad enough that Rowena and Jordan had seen me humbled. Knowing Varick had witnessed it made me wish the floor would open under my chair and swallow me. He’d probably enjoyed the spectacle.

I lifted my chin.

His expression remained inscrutable. He’d shed his armor, but he looked no less intimidating in black trousers and a black jacket. Black boots rose to his knees and hugged his calves. Even the hilt of the dagger at his hip was a matte black. The only colorful thing about him was his hair, which was the color of honey under the light of hundreds of candles hoisted high in the chandeliers.

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