Lavinia shot her brother a cheeky look as she responded. “Well, maybe you’ll have one soon.”
“Lavinia.” Prince Ormond’s voice was sharp. He looked more scandalized than embarrassed at his sister’s allusion to their potential marriage. But Jocelyn’s cheeks were heating, and she returned her attention to her soup.
Prince Ormond took charge of the conversation then, talking politely of the trade agreement being renegotiated between their kingdoms. Jocelyn supposed it was a count in his favor that he took it for granted that she would be educated and intelligent enough to share in the conversation, but it wasn’t exactly a romantic topic.
Not that she wanted him to be romantic, she reminded herself hastily. The very thought of Prince Ormond trying to speak to her of romance was unsettling to say the least. How would she feel if he put an arm around her to comfort her, or touched her cheek with his thumb, as Kincaid had done more than once? An unpleasant jolt went through her at the thought, and she knew it was more horror than embarrassment. But she was thinking about Kincaid again. She needed to stop doing that.
She looked up at Prince Ormond, surreptitiously observing him as they chatted. He was handsome, she admitted to herself. Very much so. Kincaid’s description had been right on target. Tall and fair and swoon worthy, in his way. At least, she might have thought so if her mind hadn’t been filled with auburn hair and warm brown eyes. Unfortunately, from what she had seen so far, she thought her own speculative description had also been apt. Old and boring and serious.
She supposed old was a bit unfair. At twenty-six, he was nine years older than her—eight, she realized, remembering again with a start that it was her birthday—but he seemed youthful and strong. But he was certainly serious. And emotionless. She returned her attention to her food with an internal sigh. She was practiced at presenting an unemotional front to the world. She had become very good at it. But the idea of returning to that persona was anything but appealing.
Once the food was finished, King Malcolm rose from his seat to address the assembled guests. He spoke at length, welcoming Jocelyn formally and acknowledging her birthday as an event to be celebrated. It was embarrassing, but inevitable, and Jocelyn bore the scrutiny gracefully.
She hadn’t previously been able to see anyone seated on the king’s other side on the long table, but with the king on his feet, she had a clearer view. Glancing down the table’s length, her attention was caught by a face that was darker than the others. Someone from the South Lands. It must be the Balenan diplomat who her maids claimed could explain to her why the freedmen were the problem in Kyona. She narrowed her eyes. He was seated only a few seats down from the queen, in a position of high honor. What were the Valorian royals thinking, welcoming him here?
When King Malcolm finished speaking, the gala began in earnest. The tables were cleared and pushed against the wall with impressive speed, only to be restocked with an array of food as impressive as the feast they had just consumed. Guests who were not invited for the meal began to arrive in droves, and soon the room felt crowded, large as it was.
“Thank you,” breathed a voice at Jocelyn’s side, and she turned in some amusement to see Lavinia hovering there, an expression of rapture on her face.
“For what?”
“For being a royal guest of sufficient importance that my parents think I should be here for this.” Jocelyn raised a questioning eyebrow, and Lavinia grimaced. “They think I’m too young to be at galas. Usually I have to retire after the meal.”
The words tickled something in Jocelyn’s memory, even as she smiled sympathetically. “Well, I’m happy to help.”
“My brother usually sneaks me some pastries when Mother isn’t watching,” Lavinia confided. “But tonight I’m actually in the room, and I intend to gorge on them until I’m sick.”
Jocelyn couldn’t help but laugh at Lavinia’s grin. Privately she thought there was no surer way for the enthusiastic princess to solidify her parents’ opinion that she was too young for such events, but she saw no reason to rain on Lavinia’s parade. She found herself watching Ormond thoughtfully. She was surprised to hear he snuck his sister food in defiance of their mother’s restrictions. It was the sort of thing she could picture Eamon doing. Perhaps she had been hasty in her assessment of Ormond.
He looked up from his conversation and caught her gaze. The next moment he was striding across the floor to her, and she realized with a rush of nerves that the musicians were striking up for the first dance.
Ormond claimed her hand with polite formality, and the next thing she knew he was sweeping her across the floor. The ten or so seconds before other couples began to join them felt like the longest of Jocelyn’s life, but soon the room was filled with swirling couples, and she felt slightly less conspicuous.
Ormond danced skillfully, but his steps were too studied, too correct for grace. He held Jocelyn with his arms stiffly in the correct position, and she was glad for the distance between their bodies. She wondered how Kincaid would dance, sure her reflections in that situation would be quite different. She barely restrained a groan. He may as well be in the room for how much he was intruding on her thoughts.
At first they danced in silence, and Jocelyn was surprised when Ormond was the one to break it.
“I don’t believe I’ve wished you happy birthday yet.”
“Thank you,” she said politely.
“You are very poised for your eighteen years.”
Jocelyn smiled uncomfortably at the compliment and its unintentional reminder of the gulf in their ages. Could she really marry this man? Could she build a life here, at his side? Princess Sarai had done it, and many other princesses before and since. But Jocelyn felt cold all over at the idea of committing herself to such a bloodless alliance.
She snuck a curious look up at Ormond’s face, wishing she could read his thoughts. What did he want? Did he have misgivings of his own about the idea of shackling himself to a stranger for life?
He looked down into her face suddenly, and she looked away, uncomfortable to be caught looking. Her eyes fell on the Balenan man she had seen earlier. He was in a corner, talking with some other men his age, looking on at the dancers with disinterest.
“Who’s that?” she asked, tilting her head in the man’s direction. “Is he Balenan?”
Ormond followed her gaze. “You mean Lord Randall. Yes, he’s from Balenol. He’s a guest of my parents.”
“Is it unusual to receive guests from Balenol?” Jocelyn asked hesitantly.
“It is,” Ormond acknowledged. His tone showed he was aware of the awkwardness of the topic. “Although perhaps not quite as unusual as it is in Kyona. Lord Randall is a senior member of the Balenan court, and he has spent time with us here before.”
“I wonder what he wants,” said Jocelyn, narrowing her eyes as she watched him. Her power leaked out unintentionally, and Prince Ormond stiffened slightly.
“I’m not sure what reason you would have to wonder about it,” he said, a hint of reproach in his voice. “I find him to be a man of great good sense.”
Jocelyn raised her eyebrows. “Have you spoken with him a great deal, then?”
“Naturally,” said Ormond. “He has been most helpful in advising us as to the best approach to take regarding the aggression of the freedmen.”
Jocelyn stopped short, right there on the dance floor. “The aggression of the freedmen?” she repeated blankly. Her tone grew dangerous. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean no disrespect to your kingdom, Jocelyn,” said Ormond, his strong arms compelling her to move again, as the dance required. “All kingdoms have their areas of conflict and discontent. Our own northern region is called the North Wilds with good reason. There are lots of—”
“I know all about the North Wilds,” she interrupted shortly. “I don’t want to talk about that. I want to know why you think the freedmen are being aggressive, and why you think there’s any need for Valoria to take a stance on the mat
ter at all.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest Valoria would interfere,” Ormond assured her quickly. “I referred only to our approach to those embittered freedmen who attempt to cross our border.”
“But this is nonsense,” said Jocelyn, flicking a shoulder impatiently. Ormond’s hands were uncomfortably tight given the dull ache still present in all of her muscles, and it was doing nothing to improve her mood. “This whole idea of freedmen trying to cross the border is ridiculous. Have any tried to do so?”
Ormond hesitated for a moment. “Not yet,” he admitted. “But Lord Randall assures us it’s only a matter of time before—”
“And you trust this Lord Randall?”
Ormond frowned slightly as she cut him off again, but he seemed surprised by the question.
“Of course. Implicitly.”
She stared up into his eyes, confused as much as irritated. Ormond’s expression softened.
“I can understand you feeling some prejudice against him, Jocelyn,” he said. “Your country’s history with Balenol is not exactly pleasant. And I’ll admit that the first time Lord Randall came to us, I suspected him of having dishonest intentions. But that was before I spent time speaking with him. Having done so, I cannot doubt his sincerity. He wishes to see harmony restored between your kingdoms, and he is anxious to help Kyona address the threat the freedmen are posing. He said he feels some sense of responsibility, since it was from Balenol that the freedmen came.”
“Does he?” said Jocelyn darkly. Whatever Ormond said, she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she would trust a word coming from the Balenan nobleman’s mouth, if he was spreading such tales. She was surprised and a little disdainful to find Ormond so easily led. Not a good quality in a crown prince. Eamon wouldn’t be so gullible.
“He does,” Ormond affirmed, bizarrely eager to further Lord Randall’s cause. “And I gather his time in Kyona has been very fruitful. I know you’ve been away, but he said the Kyonan royal family have been very receptive to his attempts to restore harmony.”
“He’s been in Kyona?” Jocelyn asked, stunned. “Speaking with my family?”
Ormond nodded. “He’s only just returned, and I believe he means to go back almost immediately. He said Prince Eamon has been most enthusiastic to work with him to contain the freedmen.”
“Contain them?” Jocelyn asked ominously.
“Contain the threat,” Ormond amended hastily.
Jocelyn didn’t respond, her mind reeling. How long had she been gone from home, and what in the kingdom had been happening in her absence? She didn’t believe for a moment that Eamon would be won over by this nobleman like Ormond apparently had been.
She hesitated. Could Eamon have been taken in, blinded by his feelings for Lucy, and predisposed to think well of any Balenan as a result? But no, surely not. He knew as well as Jocelyn how grim their history with Balenol was. Eamon was no fool, and he would see through anyone talking about containing the freedmen in a heartbeat.
But she suddenly remembered that her parents were apparently not in Kynton, and she was uneasy. She didn’t like the sound of Lord Randall returning to Kyona imminently. Some kind of trouble was brewing.
“You look troubled, Jocelyn,” said Ormond, not unkindly. “You should speak with Lord Randall yourself. I’m sure he will set your mind at ease.”
“If you’ll introduce me, I’ll do just that,” said Jocelyn tightly, as the dance drew to a close.
Ormond obligingly led her over, and made the necessary introductions.
“Your Highness,” said Lord Randall, his tone pleasant and polite. “I am honored to meet you.”
Jocelyn inclined her head, her brow slightly furrowed. She was expecting duplicity and oiliness, but he certainly seemed sincere. She realized what she was thinking and gave herself a mental shake. He hadn’t yet said anything of substance from which she could draw a conclusion about his sincerity.
“I was sorry to miss you, Princess, when I was recently in Kyona,” Lord Randall continued. “Your brother received me most graciously. He is an excellent young man.”
Jocelyn opened her mouth, then closed it. She felt extremely off-kilter. She had been determined to mistrust this man, and yet she found herself warming to him. He was even very handsome, she admitted to herself. His nose was crooked, but the poor man couldn’t help that. Up close, she realized he was younger than she had expected. Probably not much above forty. His coloring and features were familiar, reminding her of her beloved Aunt Scarlett. Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to him in spite of herself.
“Yes,” she said, dazed. “Eamon is a wonderful brother.” Dimly she registered that Lord Randall had made no mention of her parents. Had they already been in Alezae by the time he reached Kynton? But it didn’t matter. She simply couldn’t suspect Lord Randall of intending Eamon any harm. She wasn’t sure why it was, but somehow he simply reeked of trustworthiness.
The thought sparked something in her mind, but she couldn’t grasp it, too distracted by the conversation.
“You must be very proud of him,” Lord Randall was continuing, and she warmed to him a little more. After Kincaid’s most unfair prejudice against her brother, it was heartening to have someone recognize Eamon’s worth. Ormond was right. Lord Randal was a man of great good sense.
“He is young to have so much responsibility on his shoulders, but he is handling the discontent of the freedmen very maturely.”
Jocelyn’s eyes snapped up, feeling like she was coming out of a daze.
“Their discontent?” she said. “If they’re discontented, it’s only because of the sudden unfounded prejudice against them.” In her agitation, she felt her control slip, and power swirled out from her, potent and uncultivated.
Lord Randall stilled, and for the briefest of moments Jocelyn caught a strange glitter in his eyes. She swallowed nervously, trying to read his expression. It was only a second before he pushed on smoothly.
“It does you credit, Princess, that you wish to think well of all your father’s subjects. Alas that I should be the one to disillusion you.”
Jocelyn felt rooted to the spot, barely able to follow the nobleman’s smooth words. And it wasn’t the fact that Lord Randall had clearly been unaffected by her power that troubled her. The fleeting look she had witnessed was imprinted in her mind, and she couldn’t doubt its meaning. Somehow, impossibly, the Balenan had sensed her power.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jocelyn’s mind reeled at the realization. How was such a thing possible? Only people with mountain blood in them, or descendants of Kyona’s royal house, had the capacity to sense magic. And it was surely impossible that this Balenan man from across the seas could fit either category.
The slip had put Jocelyn’s senses on high alert, and she found herself speaking in tight syllables, monitoring for any power that might make it past her defenses. She searched Lord Randall’s eyes as he kept talking, looking for any sign that he was sensing something. Now she was looking closely, she realized with a jolt that the strange glitter was still present in his eyes. In fact, there was something very strange about them, something that she couldn’t articulate, but that made her stomach coil sickeningly when she looked into them for too long. How had she not noticed it before?
She glanced at Ormond beside her. He was smiling comfortably, nodding along with Lord Randall’s speech. Again she couldn’t name it, but there was something about the look on Ormond’s face that made her uneasy. Jocelyn returned her focus to Lord Randall, ignoring his words and trying to focus on whatever essence it was that had set her teeth on edge. There was definitely something, something not quite right. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She responded mechanically to the nobleman’s conversation, her face tight with the concentration of keeping her power locked away, giving him no more cause for suspicion. It was as she tested the air around her for any leakage that she felt it. Power, seeping into the space between them. As soon as she identified
it, it was unmistakable. But it wasn’t coming from her. She stared at the Balenan, and it was all she could do to keep her mouth from hanging open.
He had power? He had magic? Surely it was impossible.
But it wasn’t impossible. It was happening, and it was happening right in front of her. She didn’t think she would have identified it if she hadn’t been through such a rigorous process of learning to recognize, harness, and manipulate her own power. But now she had no doubt.
Had she really thought this man trustworthy only a few minutes ago? With his glittering eyes and his smooth words hiding a strange power, he seemed like a wolf in a thin disguise. But as she tested the power flowing from him in a smooth and constant torrent she realized there was a sense of rightness about it, a sense of confidence in the man who was releasing it. It tugged at her mind, and when she didn’t think too hard, all she wanted was to give in to it, to trust him. Only, now she had named it as what it was, the essence rang false. It was not true integrity—it was the appearance of integrity.
She took a quick step back, too shaken to fully hide her shock and consternation.
“Princess Jocelyn?” Ormond’s voice was surprised and concerned. “Are you well?”
“I…” Jocelyn tore her gaze from Lord Randall with an effort. He was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes. “Actually, I’m a little overtired after my travels,” she managed. “Perhaps I should retire early after all.”
“But…” Prince Ormond protested, and she was sure he was looking for a polite way to tell her she couldn’t run out on her own gala.
But Jocelyn wasn’t listening. She had already turned away and was hurrying for the large intricately carved doorway. She heard Lavinia call out to her as she passed, but she didn’t stop. She needed space to think, and she wouldn’t get it in the crowded ballroom. Neither the fact that she was behaving with less than the expected decorum nor the pain shooting through her aching body at the speed of her flight slowed her down for a moment.
Legacy of the Curse Page 44