Page 48 of The Twisted Throne

Shit.

Stopping before the table, James locked eyes briefly with his father before bowing low. Ahnna did the same, titters that she’d not curtsied filling the air behind them. His father’s expression was bland, but James felt the irritation over William’s absence seething from him. Alexandra’s tight-pressed lips suggested that she’d borne the brunt of his ire.

His father rose to his feet, Alexandra silently rising next to him. “We welcome you, Princess Ahnna, and hope that you will come to regard our home as your own.”

“I hope for this as well, Your Grace,” Ahnna responded. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

His father inclined his head and then sat, James’s cue to escort Ahnna to her seat. As he pushed the chair beneath her, he inhaled, struck by the scent of her. Sea salt and jungle, petrichor and lightning, as if the scents of Ithicana were part of her. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, eyes fixed on the woven braids of her hair, the light from the chandeliers above turning strands of it amber and walnut and gold. Like the forests of Cardiff in the fall.

Remembering himself, he moved to her right, jostling the table as he sat, wine and water nearly sloshing over the rims of their respective glasses. Though he kept his eyes forward, James could feel Alexandra’s irritation at his error, could sense the nobility watching every facial expression. He prayed they’d blame his endless conflict with the queen for the tension and not suspect anything untoward in his feelings for the princess next to him.

His father recovered the moment, turning to Ahnna, his elbow resting on the table and yet another of his strange mixed drinks in his free hand. “Lady Ahnna. Might I say, you are positively radiant this evening. A true beauty.”

A faint blush colored Ahnna’s cheeks, her lips parting to speak, but his father added, “It pleases me that you’ve chosen to wear traditional Ithicanian attire. Most of the ass-kissers who come into my court dress in the latest Harendellian fashions, not seeming to understand how tremendously dull that makes them. Like being stuck in a world cast in a thousand shades of gray when all I dream of is color.”

“Your Grace’s metaphor would be more apt if I were notwearing gray myself,” Ahnna responded, and his father grinned, his infamous charm out in full force as he said, “And yet my point stands, for you are the only one in this room not leaping to claim me the greatest poet of my generation. You are a breath of fresh air, Ahnna. Truly, Ithicana’s loss is our gain.”

“You should not disparage guests who wear our fashion, husband,” Alexandra murmured, sipping from her glass. “They do it as a sign of respect for the culture and morals of our great nation, and while that may not be of any great entertainment, we must acknowledge the courtesy.”

He’d warned Ahnna this would come, but James still found himself holding his breath to see how Ahnna would respond. Waiting for the same irreverence she always delivered upon him. However, Ahnna said, “It is not my intention to show a lack of courtesy or to disrespect Harendell, Your Grace. Quite the opposite. You invited me to Harendell as part of a greater alliance with Ithicana, and my intention is to represent with total honesty what both I and my homeland bring to this alliance. To present myself in any other way would be misrepresentation, and I do not wish to begin my life in Harendell with dishonesty.”

It was impossible not to respect her words even as James felt his guilt surge about his own dishonesty.

“If these are your goals, I applaud you in your success in achieving them,” Alexandra said, then took a small mouthful of her wine.

Ahnna gave the slightest nod, and James winced internally, for the queen’s words were no compliment. Ahnna was out of her depth, every one of his warnings having fallen on deaf ears, and he wanted to scream,Go home before they destroy you!

Instead, he took a mouthful of wine.

God help him, he hated being at court. Hated how attributes were weaknesses to be exploited, every person in this roomgrasping and reaching formore more morewith no care for what was right. Not an ounce of real morality in the lot of them, himself included, for no one was more at odds with Ahnna than he was.

“Your sentiments are admirable, Ahnna,” his father said. “And appreciated, for the actions of the Veliants left a sour taste in my mouth. It is good to see that you have risen above rather than been drawn down to their level.”

Don’t bite,James silently screamed, but a genuine smile warmed Ahnna’s face. “Exactly this, Your Grace. I wish to represent Ithicana’s intentions without deception.”

“I assume those intentions are not to invade?” When Ahnna went still, his father laughed and gave her a wink. “I jest. Which is likely in poor taste, for I know the wounds Maridrina inflicted on Ithicana are far from healed. War takes such a toll, especially on the people who can least afford it.”

Ahnna’s voice caught as though she’d been about to confirm, but instead, she reached for her water glass, sipping at it before she said, “My people are strong and resilient, and war is no stranger to Ithicana, for every nation, north and south, has brought violence to our shores.”

His father’s eyes gleamed; he was clearly pleased to discover that Ahnna was not entirely oblivious to the game he played. “Crossing blades in battle one hour only to exchange coins in trade in the next?”

Ahnna lifted one shoulder. “If we did not trade with nations who have attacked us, the bridge would be empty.”

“Of course.” His father took a mouthful of his drink. “Though I can’t imagine how it must have felt to invite the Maridrinians back to Southwatch after everything they’d done. To do business with those who’d slaughtered Ithicanian children, rather than seek revenge against them.”

His father was playing on Ahnna’s emotions to dig and dig and dig, and though James knew this was the way of politics, he still hated watching it happen.

Ahnna was quiet, then she said, “Silas Veliant was the villain, not the Maridrinian people.”

“Silas, yes. But also his daughter.” Another sip of the drink. Another smile. “Lara. We were led to believe that Silas’s invasion plans were delivered to him by Ithicana’s own queen.” Not giving Ahnna a chance to respond, his father added, “I can’t imagine how it must feel to have to bend the knee to the woman who stabbed you in the back. You invited her into your home, treated her like family, and the entire time, she conspired against you. That is a great deal to be asked to forgive.”

His father’s real interest was in whether the act of forgiveness was unforgivable. Whether in forgiving his wife, Aren had created a divide with his sister that could be deepened and widened for Harendell’s benefit.

The muscles in Ahnna’s jaw tensed, and then she said, “Lara killed Silas in the battle for Eranahl, a death I witnessed with my own eyes. She is loyal to my brother and to Ithicana. Carries the heir to Ithicana—my future niece or nephew.”

“That you’ve forgiven Lara speaks to your character,” his father responded, deliberately interpreting what she’d said as absolution. “I would not have been able to do so.”

Ahnna leaned fractionally closer to his father, seeming to drink in the words, little knowing that he was only validating whatJameshad told him about her strained relationship with Lara.

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