Page 37 of Kingdom of Feathers

Chapter Eight

Wren frowned down at her plate, aware that she was fidgeting, but unable to stop herself. The meal had already gone for an eternity, and there was still a dessert course to come. The late afternoon welcome banquet had turned into an early dinner, as had been inevitable given the Entolian party’s late arrival.

Rude, she called it.

The worst of it was, in furthering his intention to palm King Basil off on her, Wren’s father had arranged for the visiting king to be seated next to her at the long table. Of course she’d made no conversation, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if the visiting king had just ignored his silent companion, as most people did. But instead, he’d been uncomfortably focused on her for the entire meal.

Even now, she was acutely aware of his gaze, seeming to weigh her as she ate. Unable to resist any longer, she looked up quickly, hoping to throw him off balance by catching him staring.

She was disappointed. In their short acquaintance, she’d already gotten the sense that the Entolian king wasn’t someone who was easily thrown off balance. The trouble was, he wasn’t staring at her rudely, such that he would be embarrassed by her sudden attention. He was just…looking at her. When she met his eye, he gave her a polite smile, and suddenly his steady regard seemed like the most natural courtesy, instead of the unnerving spectacle it really was.

Wren tried to remember the last time someone outside her intimate circle had held her gaze like that, and she came up blank. Fleetingly, she wished for her voice, to deliver some witty quip that would discompose him.

It was a foolish thought. Not only was it as impossible as ever for her to use her voice, no witty quips sprang to mind. She was too unsettled by King Basil’s bizarre failure to find her unsettling.

At least he hadn’t tried to press her into uncomfortably one-sided conversation.

When the meal at last drew to a close, King Lloyd rose to his feet. All the Mistrans present at the dinner mirrored the gesture. After the briefest of pauses, King Basil did the same, and as soon as their king was no longer seated, the rest of the Entolian delegation hastened to their feet as well. Shooting a surreptitious look at King Basil, Wren saw that he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a look of calm expectancy on his face as he watched the Mistran king.

Instead of listening to her father’s carefully worded welcome, Wren found herself watching the young king as avidly as he’d been watching her. She wondered what he was thinking—she was usually good at reading people, but his reactions were so unexpected, she felt all at sea. Unable to make headway on assessing what was happening within, she focused instead on what she could see on the outside.

He was considerably taller than she was, and although his frame still held the litheness of youth, she could see strength in his broad chest, and in the lean muscles of his arms. His skin was much paler than hers, like most Entolians, but its tan showed that he spent a fair amount of time in the sun. His hair, on the lighter end of brown, was cut just above his ears, although its length was still enough to show a tendency to waviness. His unnervingly sharp eyes were hazel, and were at present fixed unblinkingly on Wren’s father.

If King Basil felt her gaze, he gave no sign of it. But when a slight frown settled on his forehead, Wren thought she’d better pay a bit less attention to King Basil’s muscular frame, and a bit more attention to what was happening.

“I imagine you are all tired after your travels,” her father was saying commandingly. “I trust your rest will be comfortable, and I look forward to opening discussions tomorrow.”

The frown between King Basil’s brows was more pronounced now. He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, seeming to think better of it. Wren had no doubt he was swallowing what he’d wished to say, and the look of frustration on his face was so familiar, she felt a tiny shoot of fellow feeling. She squashed it immediately. He wasn’t like her—for one thing, he was under no true compulsion not to speak his mind. For another, she reminded herself, Entolia was the enemy. And as its head, King Basil represented everything she and her family had suffered. Were still suffering.

The room began to empty—it hadn’t been a large group, as King Lloyd had decided that the Entolians’ visit didn’t merit a full court banquet—but King Basil remained in position. His retinue copied him, and Wren noticed them looking between the two kings a little nervously. Her attention caught, she made no move to leave herself. What were they concerned about?

“Your Majesty,” King Basil said calmly, once most of the Mistran diners had left. “I appreciate your consideration, but it’s early yet. I’m not especially tired from my journey, and I was hoping to speak with you tonight.”

King Lloyd raised his eyebrow in an expression that was coldly polite at best. It was possible King Basil couldn’t read it, but Wren recognized the offense on her father’s face.

“Your eagerness is admirable, King Basil. But we will have time enough to discuss our intentions.”

Wren could see that King Basil wasn’t satisfied with this answer, but after a moment of obvious struggle, he held his peace. With a swift bow to King Lloyd, and an inclined head in the queen’s and princess’s directions, he strode from the room. His companions followed him, several of them looking around them nervously, as if expecting to be attacked. Wren caught one man, a nobleman who looked to be in his thirties, watching her curiously. When he saw that she’d noticed, he colored slightly and dipped his head, clearly eager to avoid locking eyes with her.

Nowthatbehavior was familiar. King Basil’s, on the other hand, was unsettlingly unpredictable. Her eyes rested on the Entolian, wondering how his first impression of her compared with her reaction to him. As if he could sense her thoughts, the young king paused in the doorway, glancing back. For a moment their eyes met, a slight frown creasing King Basil’s forehead. His eyes were again uncomfortably searching as they studied Wren’s face, and she was the first to turn away.

“Well.” The gruff voice of the general pulled Wren’s thoughts from the departing Entolians. “It seems we’d be foolish to hope that this new king has come, cap in hand, to humbly ask our forgiveness for his father’s aggression.”

A glance around showed Wren that the Entolians had been the last to leave. No one remained with the royal family except the general, her father’s steward, and the various servants already beginning to clear the table.

“Hardly,” said King Lloyd, his expression dark. “Did you hear his comment when he first arrived? And then again after the meal. He seems to think he can order my time how he pleases.”

Wren frowned. Little as she wanted to agree with the Entolian king about anything, her father’s attitude didn’t seem reasonable. With no courtiers to sneer at her, she pulled out her slate.

I thought you intended to negotiate with him.

Her father’s scowl grew as she thrust the slate under his nose, but his eyes skated over the words in spite of himself. “Of course I do,” he said impatiently. “But not at all hours of the night.”

Wren glanced pointedly out the window, where the sun had barely sunk below the horizon, then gave her father a look. He ignored it.

“I don’t want him to think that just because he’s come to us, he can set the terms of our discussions,” he said to the general.

The older man nodded curtly. “I agree, Your Majesty. He’s little more than a child. And from what I can see, he brought no advisors with substantial experience. However much he thinks he understands of military matters, he must defer to you as an established and experienced monarch.”

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