Page 167 of Prize for the King
Nasturtia looks at my hair, nodding slowly. Her eyes are still wide. “It does have a beautiful shine, you’re right. I’d love to try that. But dear, I don’t think my husband will be eager to go. He’s rather put out with the, ah, Agnidari ruling Farneer situation. And to be honest, I expected you to be miserable! Are you truly well?”
Her eyes glitter with concern, and I take her hand in gratitude. “I am, thank you. My husband dotes on me. He is a good, decent man. Not in his manners or speech, not always. But he has a good heart and a loving soul.”
Nasturtia smiles uncertainly, her eyes flicking to the side just as Magnar’s warm hand settles on my thigh under the table.
“Ah, he seems to want your attention.”
I smile at her. “Excuse me.”
When I turn to Magnar, he gives me a tight, restrained smile. “Loving soul, dear? I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”
“Of course I do,” I say with a mock scowl. “How is it going on your end?”
“I confessed I hold that princeling from Serilla in my dungeon in Roharra, and my neighbor lost his tongue,” Magnar says with a bland smile, his voice carrying. A few people turn with shocked gasps.
“But what was I supposed to do?” he continues with a shrug. “The man did try to steal my wife from me. What kind of husband would I be if Ihadn’tdragged him naked behind my horse, hm? Oh, he sanglike the sweetest bird and spilled all his secrets.”
There are hushed exclamations of horror and excited muttering all down the table. I pat Magnar’s hand on my thigh. “Why don’t I introduce you to Queen Nasturtia of Trista? She was my mother’s dear friend.”
Magnar inclines his head and looks at Nasturtia with a polite smile. He’s taller than everyone at the table and has a clear view without having to crane his neck.
“It is an honor to meet you, Queen Nasturtia,” he says, pressing his palm to his chest in a small bow. He smiles without showing his teeth. “I hope you’re having a pleasant evening. Call me Magnar, please.”
“My pleasure, Magnar,” she manages to say, sounding faint, her eyes wide.
“I must say, Trista is a beautiful country, but not as beautiful as its queen,” he continues, voice low and polite, just bordering on seductive. “If I can ever be of service to you, my lady, just say the word. My wife’s friends are my friends.”
She stutters out a thanks, and when Magnar turns away, his neighbor interested in conversation again, she gapes at me, seeming utterly baffled.
“That’sthe Tyrant?” she asks. “But they say… They say…”
I smile indulgently and shake my head. “Theyare wrong, Nasturtia. As I told you—he is a great man.”
The feast consists of five courses. Magnar’s manners are impeccable, and I don’t think anyone notices him glancing at my utensil choices before every course. He speaks bluntly a few more times, then becomes perfectly charming and agreeable until he has everyone at the table confused. People crane their necks to steal glances at him, and those who sit close enough to hear his conversation relay everything to those sitting farther.
He has them all befuddled and completely ensnared. Just like me months ago, the kings and queens of the Eleven have a hard time confronting their expectations with reality.
After dinner, men go to their parlor while queens walk together to our room for cakes and liqueurs. Nasturtia winds my arm through hers and leads me quickly, her eyes bright and excited.
“Oh, Caliane, you’ll have to tell us everything. And I mean—everything. Remember, we are all married women.”
I frown in confusion, but then I understand as I remember the pout on my maid’s face when I told her to leave the bathroom. It seems human women itch with curiosity.
We settle down on cream armchairs, each of us presented with a selection of cakes and tiny glasses of sweet, alcoholic concoctions. All of the queens are here save for Rynda, the queen of Cassia, who Nasturtia informs me is abed waiting for her seventh child to be born.
The six queens turn to me as soon as the serving staff move away to stand demurely by the confection table. Nasturtia gives me an encouraging smile, then introduces me to every other queen. Some of them I remember, but not others, especially the young Queen Molly, who married Xander, the king of Lovar only a year ago. When all introductions are made, the oldest queen, Susan of Amber Port, takes out a pouch of tobacco and a smoking pipe that looks like it’s made of bone.
“Sidonius says you have three Agnidari lovers in addition to a husband,” she says with a small smirk, filling her pipe. “I call a bluff, unless we’ve been vastly misinformed about their physiques.”
I laugh in surprise, and the other queens fidget, their skirts rustling. Young Molly blushes to the tips of her red hair, but no one calls out the old queen for her improper question. I sit back, folding my hands in my lap.
“My, my, if my governess were here, she would have beenappalled.”
Susan scoffs. “I’m too old to be cowed by servants. You’ll grow out of it, too. Now, if you won’t regale us with the details, I’ll be personally offended. I hate boring small talk. They always yap about children, knitting, one ball or another. Boring! Please, tell us at least if they are as well-endowed as the legends say. I’ll be vastly disappointed if they aren’t.”
All queens watch me with wide, curious eyes, and I smile, slowly raising my arm. I tap the crease of my elbow and the knuckles of my fist, then turn my forearm this way and that. Molly frowns, not understanding, but the older queens press their hands to their mouths in shock, and Susan cackles.
“That’s the largest of them, mind you,” I say quickly. “The others are more like… Hm.”
