Page 28 of The Fae Kings' Bargain

Unease began to tremble through her as she followed the long path around. It wasn’t a status thing. Even if she hadn’t been named a lady, it wouldn’t be a slight to be considered a royal servant. The highest placed of those held more prestige than a mere tailor’s daughter. No, it was the abrupt shift. Shehadcompleted the breeding contract, hadn’t she?

It felt like a different lifetime at this point.

After a seeming eternity of being shuffled from servant to servant, Ria finally ended up in front of Feref. He entered the small sitting room where she’d been sent to wait, a neutral expression hiding his feelings on the matter. But even so, there was a stiffness to his demeanor that hinted at unhappiness or disapproval.

“Ah, Ria.” He gestured toward the door behind him. “I’ve had a place prepared for you amongst the higher-ranked chambermaids. If you’ll follow me?”

She froze. “The chambermaids?”

A hint of a sneer appeared, then was gone. “You should go unnoticed there.”

Ria had the uneasy feeling that it wasn’t just the Centoi whom Feref hoped would forget her, but she had no cause to argue. For all she knew, Toren or Mehl had ordered this very location. So she swallowed the sick feeling rising up her throat, nodded, and followed the kings’ servant toward yet another room.

An abrupt change of circumstances—that appeared to be her new norm.

Chapter13

Invitations

By the time they resumed their places at their thrones, Mehl’s tension had grown to nearly unbearable levels, a contrast to Toren’s apparent calm. An illusion, of course, one that Mehl’s husband had long perfected. But here, Toren was the High King in his element, even his immense well of power attuned to his role.

Not so for Mehl. He held his hands in loose fists in his lap, but he kept scraping the fingers of his right hand against the base of his palm out of the instinctive urge to grasp his sword. The one propped on the weapons’ rack in his room, more decoration than anything else these days. He’d been king for a century, but not protecting Toren was simply unnatural.

Two guards opened the doors to the otherwise empty throne room, allowing the Centoi entry. A handful of warriors, unarmed, entered first and quickly spread to the side to admit a woman in purple livery with a richly dressed man following close behind. The pair halted, and the woman trilled out a few notes on her horn. Mehl struggled not to wince at the ridiculously loud display.

She bowed low until the jaunty feather on her cap brushed the floor. “Greetings, Your Majesties. If I may beg your indulgence, please allow me to announce my king’s own messenger?”

Good gods, had King Ryenil sent an actual bard to introduce an envoy? She had the drama for it. But if Toren found the pretentious formality odd, there was no sign of it on his face as he gave his assent. Mehl only nodded, lest his voice give away his amusement.

“Thank you, Your Majesties,” the herald answered, though she hadn’t yet straightened from her bow. She had the muscle control of a warrior. “Then I present to you His Grace Lord Ormero Abret Naiess Hayl, Duke of Aony and Earl of Woifen, who is here under the auspices of King Ryenil Breren the Mighty, Sovereign of the Kingdom of Centoi.”

For the first time since they’d sat down, Mehl sensed the rise of Toren’s magic, but it wasn’t out of control—yet. Nor did Toren appear disturbed as he regarded the herald. “We receive Lord Aony in peace. Stand and give him passage forward.”

At Toren’s command, the woman straightened with impressive ease. Mehl eyed the corded muscles of her calves beneath her tights as she stepped aside. There was something to her grace that reminded him of more than a simple herald, a careful fluidity reminiscent of the spies he’d trained beside in his youth. Assassin or added bodyguard?

Hopefully, they would have no cause to know.

“Thank you for the welcome, Your Majesties,” Lord Aony proclaimed, the booming cheer in his voice setting Mehl even more on edge.

“Of course,” Toren replied. To most, he likely sounded bored, but Mehl caught a hint of the strain beneath the calm. “We are pleased to greet an envoy of King Ryenil. Do you bring a message from your sovereign this day?”

Lord Aony gave a quick bow. “An invitation, Your Majesty. An honor that could only be delivered by one of my high status.”

“Is that so?” Toren flicked his fingers. “Do tell.”

Mehl never would have dared such a casual response, but although Lord Aony flushed slightly, he made no complaint. “King Ryenil Breren the Mighty, Sovereign of the Kingdom of Centoi requests the presence of High King Toren Eyamiri and King Mehl Eyamiri, Sovereigns of the Kingdom of Llyalia, at the marriage of his daughter Princess Lora in three months’ time.”

Mehl’s fingers ceased their glide against his palm. A wedding invitation? That was all?

“I had not heard that Princess Lora was affianced,” Toren said politely.

A hint of smugness flickered on Lord Aony’s face. “Had you not? I thought this a mere formality since Her Highness is to wed your brother. Perhaps his message was delayed.”

Everyone in that room, down to the scribe tucked into the corner taking notes, knew exactly why Toren hadn’t heard that Prince Ber was wedding Princess Lora, but not even Lord Aony dared say it. A good thing, too. Toren’s expression hadn’t changed, but his energy had. Mehl formed a mental connection at once, and the rush of power was strong enough that he had to hold back a wince.

“I am certain you are correct,” Toren replied, his words chillingly precise. “If you would leave the formal invitation with my chamberlain, we will give it due consideration. A guard will escort you to Feref now, and he will see that you have lodging for the night if you so require it.”

“That is very kind of you, Your Majesty.” Lord Aony’s gaze darted briefly to the sunlit window. “Especially since it is not yet dark.”

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