Page 18 of To Catch a Prince

Why had he bothered to accompany them at all? In most men’s cases, she would have thought the answer obvious: they wanted to spend time with Aleria. However, Pretty Man didn’t spare her sister a glance, though; his attention was entirely fixed on her. That wasn’t a compliment, given the fact that he had yet to stopglaring.

Unsure what to make of him, Talia did her best to ignore him. Thankfully, there was much to pay attention to. Talia had travelled enough over the last few months to have seen much, yet nothing compared to the castle of Telenar. It had grand halls, elegantly carved marble sculptures, and great rooms, but it was the light fixtures, the foreign piece of technology on the walls and carried by people around her that Talia couldn’t stop looking at. Telenar was decades, if not centuries in the future; more advanced than anything she’d seenbefore.

Catching her interest, Demelza explained, “Before the Rift, at the beginning of this era, people used technology every day, all around the globe - even in the poorest parts of the world. It took a while to understand their devices and set up energy sources strong enough to run them. But thanks to dragonfire, and the best scientists of the last millennium, we’vemanaged.”

“We travelled through three kingdoms to get here and I don’t think we’ve seen anything like this anywhere,” she commented, without meaning much byit.

Pretty Man chose to take offense. “So, you’ll have us share our technology with Kingdoms who’d love nothing more than to see dragons annihilated? Men who paint us as the monsters who come at night to eat theirchildren?”

She’d never suggested that but rather than pointing it out, she completely ignored him, stepping closer to the woman. “You said you were a friend of my sister’s?” sheprompted.

Demelza smiled. “Yes, I’m bound to Xandrie. You’ll hear the story from her, I’d wager, but we met back in your land, north. I sent Rhey after her when she was introuble.”

“Then,” said Aleria, gravely, “we’re in yourdebt.”

She left it at that, but Talia frowned, seeing her expression. She recognized it, as she felt it, too: there was plenty of guilt in her gaze. Guilt that she hadn’t been able to protect her sister as she ought to have. Seeing that Xandrie had done so well now should have alleviated that guilt, but ithadn’t.

Aleria had confessed her intention to concoct a sleeping spell and incapacitate the guard back then, as well as her failure to do so. Talia had tried to tell her she’d done her best, that everything had worked out fine in the end, but the shadow never left Aleria’s gaze,regardless.

She understood it. Truth was, they owed Xandrie, and not just for what had happened over the last few months. What of the last decade? Their parents had treated her horribly and neither of them had done much against it. In their little cocoon at home, it had been easy to pretend that it was just their version of normal; that they hadn’t had any choice. But over the course of the last weeks, they’d both realized how wrong they’dbeen.

They’d had a choice. A twenty-three, twenty-five and twenty-eight, they were all adults of skills and means. They could have just left. Taken Xandrie and established their own practice somewhere. Just threatening to do so might have been enough to convince their parents to act with morecompassion.

So much guilt. Talia could hardly blame Aleria, when she wasn’t able to get over her own failure,either.

“I’m leading you to your sister’s old rooms.” Demelza’s melodious voice pulled her from her dreary thoughts. “They’re close to mine, in the family wing. You may come to me should you wish anythingelse.”

“The family wing?” If she had a room in the King’s family wing, the woman was a royal,then.

Talia wasn’t surprised; she held herself like a princess ought to, and her mere presence commandeered so muchattention.

“Yes, although I can’t say I have the strongest claim to stay there. Vincent is my kin - my mother was his father’s half-sister. Vincent, however, is the King’s firstcousin.”

Ah, soPretty Manwas a prince. This, somehow, surprised her more. Despite the nickname she’d given him, he had an edge that really didn’t seem all that civilized. She would have pegged him as a military commander, not a noble. But that was, perhaps, because the last set of nobles she’d seen had been graying, with protuberant bellies and wearing more rouge than most women. The royalty of the Var certainly hadn’t looked like thesedragons.

“Everyone’s related, hm?” Talia chuckled. “So that’s why your King has sought a bride from as far away aspossible.”

“Oh, Rhey may have sought her out, but she won him fair and square. Your sister will, no doubt, share her tales. In the meantime, my office is to find you something to wear for the ball tonight. On such short notice, my dresses will have to do - they should fit, I’msure.”

Talia’s gaze took in Demelza’s slender features, as well as her generous bust and her womanly hips. They weren’t different in weight or height, but their shapes had little in common. Besides, the gown the woman wore now sported a neckline plunging right down to her navel. On her, it looked glamorous and radiant. No doubt Aleria could pull it off, but Talia would look like a child who’d played dressup.

She sighed. “I have a dress,” said she. Laya’s gown was perhaps a little common for the occasion, but at least she wouldn’t look ridiculous in it. She hadn’t bothered to unpack and repack before leaving Malek, which meant the belongings she’d brought astride her horse were those she’d brought back from Lyres. She’d had little cause for wearing her pretty dress on the road; instead, she’d stuck to her riding habits, which were, as Sir Vincent had been so kind as to point out, a little fragrantnow.

“Nonsense,” Demelza waved dismissively. “You’ll find plenty to your liking in my collection, let me assureyou.”

“Really, my dress is alright. I’m not much for fashion, in anycase.”

Again, the rude Pretty Man snorted. And she should, perhaps, have stuck to her first resolve and ignored him altogether, but this time, she turned on her heels, narrowed her eyes and put her hands on herhips.

“What?” shebarked.

Vincent lifted a brow, mildly surprised, but visibly notimpressed.

“I never met a woman who didn’t like pretty pieces ofcloths.”

“And I, a man who put ribbons in his hair, yet here weare.”

She would have guessed that she’d earned herself another glare, but Vincent chuckled - not of his own volition, that much was clear. Soon, he caught himself and remembered tofrown.

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