by Sera Trevor
“Who?”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “The king and myself, of course.” She linked her right arm with Jasen’s and grabbed her parasol with her left. “Now come on. There’s no sense in dawdling.”
They made their way downstairs, where all of the consorts were gathering. He saw Polina and her entourage. She was dressed a light green, which matched her current complexion. She looked like she was going to be sick and was leaning heavily on Lalan and Banithar.
When all of the consorts arrived, they began migrating toward the main palace. Lady Isalei and the other mentors led the way. As soon as they went outside, all of the consorts opened their parasols, like a field of wildflowers blooming all at once. The sun was shining brightly, but it was still early enough that the heat of the day wasn’t bearing down on them. The consorts were strutting with courtly grace, but they couldn’t help but talk excitedly with one another. The mix of all those hopeful conversations sounded like the hum of a hive of very well-mannered bees.
With everyone dressed so gaily and in such a good mood, Jasen’s nervousness eased. He still wasn’t looking forward to the suitors’ arrival, but it was hard to feel gloomy. He glanced at Risyda, who smiled at him. It seemed as if her sour mood had melted a bit as well.
They arrived at the front gates of the main palace and arranged themselves along the path to the great doors. A coterie of guards was there to meet them, all in formal uniform meant more for spectacle than practicality. Jasen caught sight of Larely, who winked at him. Jasen grinned back. Further along down the path were a group of servants, also in fancy attire. One footman was particularly fancy—he would be receiving the lords and ladies and formally announcing them. Servants handed out baskets of flower petals to all of the consorts—they were supposed to throw them at the feet of the arriving suitors.
“How are we supposed to hold onto our parasols and throw these petals at the same time?” Jason asked Risyda.
“Awkwardly.”
It was another half an hour before the first suitor of the day arrived. The consorts gave a cheer as his carriage pulled up to the path. One of the footmen opened the carriage door, and a moment later a lord emerged. He didn’t look much older than the consorts, but he was significantly heavier than most and had a very red face. The footman handed a scroll to the fancy royal footman.
The footman cleared his throat. “Presenting Willix, Duke of Symes in the kingdom of Banmor.”
The Duke of Symes made an awkward bow to the consorts and made his way down the walkway. Most of the consorts held their little baskets in the same hand with which they held their parasols, leaving their free hand to strew the petals. However, some of them with more elaborate parasols had to put them down. Jasen noticed that Polina wasn’t even trying. She was holding on to her parasol with both hands and holding very still, as if any attempt at movement would cause her to fall over. He couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.
After the duke had passed them by, Risyda leaned over to whisper to Jasen. “He came into his title last year. By all accounts he should be a prime prize—he’s a duke, after all—but Banmor is so barren and boring, and the poor duke is so sweaty and awkward, that no one accepted his proposal, and I know for a fact he made at least three. Poor fellow—I think he’d make a nice enough husband, but I can’t say I blame the ones who turned him down. I danced with him once and his hands were so sweaty that he left my dress damp. Imagine what bedding him would be like.”
Jasen blinked at her. “Do you know that much about all of the suitors?”
“Of course. Well, the ones who were here last year, at any rate, although I have been keeping my ears pricked for information about our new arrivals. The gossip is the only thing that makes this whole charade bearable!”
Jasen laughed a little, but he felt his nervousness return. The gossip had been bad enough when it was just the consorts, but with the arrival of the suitors, everyone would be on high alert for scandals. He knew he was already a popular subject for conversation—he’d just have to make sure he did as little as possible to stoke that interest any higher.
After the duke’s entrance, the suitors began to arrive in a steady stream. Most of them had made the journey from their home kingdoms some time ago and had been staying with one of the noble families of the Draelands before taking up lodgings just outside of the city. There was a mix of returning suitors and ones fresh to the Court.
Watching all of the suitors parade in front of them was interesting for a little while, but after about an hour, Jasen got bored, even with Risyda’s entertaining commentary. He could tell he wasn’t the only one. The day had begun to heat up, but the strain of holding up their parasols began to get tiresome, so many of them folded them up and were thus unprotected. Several took out their fans, and Jasen cursed himself for not bringing his the one time it would have been useful. Even though the servants continued to refill their flower petal baskets with new petals, they all seemed as wilted as the consorts who threw them.
Another hour passed, and just when Jasen thought he was about to drop from the heat and the tedium, he was invigorated—although he would have much preferred the boredom to the shock he got. A familiar carriage had arrived, although he couldn’t quite place it at first. It all became clear when the door opened and the lord inside stepped out.
“Presenting Bertio, Lord of Cheny in the kingdom of Genyon.”
And sure enough, it was him. A little older and a great deal fancier, but the same Bertio he remembered from all those years ago. Well, four years ago, at any rate.
When he got over the shock, he snapped open his parasol and held it in front of him like a shield. Risyda gave him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?” she said, a little louder than Jasen thought necessary.
He shushed her. “I know him,” he said in a terse whisper.
Risyda raised an eyebrow. “Is he an enemy of yours?”
“Worse. He’s my ex-lover.”
Risyda’s eyes widened. “That’s not good.”
Jasen stayed hidden under the parasol until he heard Bertio’s footsteps fade. He took a quick peek to make sure he was gone, but of course at that exact moment, Bertio turned around. Their gazes met for the briefest moment before Jasen ducked behind his parasol again.
“What’s he doing?” Jasen asked Risyda. “Is he still looking this way?”
“No, he’s moving forward again.”
“Do you think he saw me?”
“What was there to see? You only peeked for a second!”
Jasen twisted a finger around a lock of his hair. “I tend to stand out,” he said rather grimly. He glanced at the other consorts, who were staring at him and Risyda. Banither in particular seemed to take particular interest. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said even more quietly. Risyda nodded in agreement.
The rest of the procession was a blur. At last at around noon, they were all given leave to go. The consorts ambled back to the East Wing, as worn out as any mudball player might be after a game. And to think they still had the ball this evening.
Their usual luncheon was not held in order to give the consorts time to rest and recuperate. Instead, trays of food awaited each of them in their room. Rotheld helped Jasen out of his morning outfit and left quickly, for which Jasen was grateful. He needed a moment to think. He sponged himself off before putting on the mercifully comfortable leisure outfit that Rotheld had left for him—a shirt made of light linen and some loose pantaloons, as well as a robe. Jasen was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to leave his room wearing such casual clothing, but he didn’t really care. After wolfing down his food, he headed for Risyda’s room.
She opened the door before he could even knock and pulled him inside. She was dressed the same as him, with her hair loose over her shoulders. “Tell me everything,” she said. “And quickly. My maid is going to be back soon to do my hair—it’s going to take the rest of the afternoon.”
“He was my first lover. We met when his family came
to visit Queen Urga for the annual Hog Festival. We were both sixteen and very bored. So we made our own entertainment.”
“Did things end badly?”
“No, he just left for home and we never saw each other again. I have seen his parents and his brother on occasion, but that’s just the thing—he shouldn’t be here! His brother is the heir. When his parents decided to pass along the title, it went to him.” Although traditions differed from kingdom to kingdom, most noble families in the Allied Realms had a path of succession in which the title holding nobility, when they reached a certain age, could pass along their titles to the younger generation and enter retirement, if they wished. “And his brother is married! The only way he could have gotten the title is if both his brother and his wife were dead, and I certainly would have gotten word if that had happened. Unless it was very recent—but if that’s the case, he should be in mourning, not looking for a spouse!” Jasen collapse dramatically onto Risyda’s sofa. “I’m supposed to be a virgin! If he says anything, I’m finished.”
Risyda sat down beside him. “It’s less than ideal, but I don’t think it’s quite the disaster you think it is. If there isn’t any bad blood between you, why would he make trouble for you?”
“He might not do it on purpose.”
“So talk to him. Tell him you’d appreciate his discretion. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
The panic in Jasen’s chest eased. Maybe she was right. Bertio was a decent person—at least, he was when they were sixteen. While they had had fun together, it had become clear by the second week that Bertio’s favorite subjects of conversation were himself and money, so he wasn’t exactly heartbroken to see him leave. But he wasn’t a bad person. Surely four years hadn’t changed him too much.
Jasen made his way back to his room. He was about to lie down to take a nap when there was a knock on the door. Jasen winced—who could it be? He opened the door and was greeted by a servant carrying a note. Jasen thanked him and took the note to his room. His heart raced as he sat down at his vanity—had Bertio discovered him already? But then he noticed with relief that the wax seal was Rilvor’s. His racing heart skipped into more of a flutter. He quickly broke the seal and began to read.
My dearest Jasen,
I have no doubt that this morning was a strain for you, but please spare a thought for your poor Rilvor, who must be king almost without pause for the next month. As you read this, I am no doubt listening to many important people sing my praises, which I am sure is satisfying for many people, but alas, I find myself to be a tedious subject of conversation. But I believe our guests will be pleased with themselves, for their flattery will seem to have made me happy. They do not know that my smile is for you, imagining you as you read this—in bed, perhaps? Am I too forward to imagine you there? Forgive me if I am.
As I must be king tonight, I will perhaps not have as much time to devote to you as I wish. In fact, I am quite sure of it, as I long to devote all of my time to you, to the exclusion of all others. Alas, that is not a luxury I can afford. Please forgive the king for his divided attention, and remember that I remain always, in my heart—
Your Rilvor.
Jasen didn’t have to look in the mirror to know his face had turned bright red. In fact, his face wasn’t the only area blood was rushing to. He contemplated getting into bed and embodying Rilvor’s vision, but he was interrupted by another knock on the door.
He was greeted by another servant, this one holding a pair of shoes. He bowed. “Your shoes, my lord.”
Jasen blinked at him. “My shoes?”
The servant furrowed his brow. “Yes, my lord. These are yours, aren’t they?”
Jasen examined them. They were indeed his—in fact, they were the pair he had planned to wear to the ball. “Yes, there are mine, but what are you doing with them?”
“I was told you had sent them to be polished. Have I made a mistake, my lord? It wasn’t me who took them!”
He hadn’t, but the poor servant looked miserable, as if he were afraid Jasen would start shouting at him. Perhaps Rotheld had done it. “It’s fine,” Jasen said, accepting the shoes. “Thank you. They look very shiny.”
The servant gave him a relieved bow and left. Jasen put the shoes away and lay down for a nap, although it wasn’t for as long as he would have liked. All too soon, Rotheld arrived, and they began the tedious process of getting dressed. It was the most challenging outfit Jasen had yet to wear. His clothes were a mixture of gold and deep emerald green, studded with jewels and so tight that he didn’t know how he was expected to walk, much less dance. Jasen had managed to convince Rotheld to let him wear his hair down ever since he told him that the king preferred it that way, but Rotheld was determined to make even that uncomfortable, weaving sparkling ribbons through it so that there were flashes of gold whenever he moved his head. On his fingers, he wore rings that were probably each worth more than his estate in Grumhul.
Still, for as much that Jasen complained, he couldn’t deny that the effect was impressive. He looked every inch the consummate consort. Staring at his reflection, he could almost believe that he was worthy of a king. He slipped into his shoes last—the jewels twinkled like stars. He hadn’t wore this pair before, since they were rather showy. While he had gotten much better with his balance, these seemed especially tricky.
He made his way downstairs to join the mass of consorts waiting to make their way to the ballroom. While the energy in the morning had been giddy, everyone seemed a bit more sober now. After all, this was what they had been working towards for months—in fact, for years, in most of their cases. Of course, the somber mood could also be due to the uncomfortable outfits. It was hard to be giddy when half your concentration was on staying upright.
They moved toward the palace ballroom en masse, with Lady Isalei leading them. The sun had set, but the dragon lights shone especially bright, making them all glitter and shine. Jasen had to admit that it felt special. At long last, he felt like he belonged.
The ballroom was dazzling. They had all been several times to practice dancing and Jasen had always been impressed with its grandeur, but it was nothing in comparison to how it was now. The decorations were dragon themed, gorgeous and polished and impossibly grand. There was a stage erected in the front of the room, on which sat the throne. Rilvor would not make his entrance until later. Jasen felt a little bit of his new found confidence wane, especially since they were now all under the gaze of the suitors, who had already arrived and were milling about. They all stopped speaking with the consorts entered.
The herald arrived to announce the consorts each by name, just as he had announced the suitors earlier in the day. Jasen had known about this, of course—they had practiced it many times, and he hadn’t been especially nervous about it. But the situation had changed—he realized there would be no hiding from Bertio. He bit his lip so hard that it almost drew blood. Risyda was right—he should just talk to him. Not that he had much of a choice, anyway.
After the introductions were over, the musicians began to play, and the suitors and consorts at last began to mingle. Jasen stuck by Risyda, who was especially tall tonight with her big shoes and enormous hair.
“You can’t hide behind me all night,” she pointed out as she grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing servant. She handed one to Jasen. “Drink this. It will help. Then go find him and get it over with.”
Jasen did as he was told and immediately regretted it as his nervous stomach rebelled. “But what can I say with everyone here? What if someone overhears—”
They were interrupted when a stunning blonde woman approached them. “Lady Risyda,” she said. Her voice was deep and rich—everything about her was rich, really. She was dripping with jewels. “I was hoping you would be here again this year.”
And then something extraordinary happened. Risyda blushed. “Good evening, Lady Wesor,” she said in a voice that Jasen had never heard before. She actually sounded…shy. “May I present to you Lord Ja
sen.”
Lady Wesor took his hand and kissed it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You are all anyone could talk about this afternoon.”
Jasen had no idea what to say to that, so he drank some more champagne. Lady Wesor turned to Risyda once more. “I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of giving me your first dance? Or are you going to make me chase you all night again?”
Risyda took a moment to reply. “Yes, of course,” she said. She took Lady Wesor’s hand and they were off to the dance floor. Risyda shot Jasen an apologetic look over her shoulder.
And so Jasen was left defenseless. Jasen scanned the room. Sure enough, he was attracting attention already, although no one approached him yet. He felt something like a deer amongst wolves who were still forming the best plan of attack.
He retreated to the refreshment table and took another glass of champagne. The queasy feeling continued, but it made a little of the panic recede. He looked to the throne, willing the king to arrive. Not that it mattered, he reminded himself sourly. As sweet as Rilvor’s note had been, he’d all but said that Jasen would be on his own for much of the night.
No sooner than he had finished his second glass of champagne, he was approached by a rotund gentleman in a powdered wig. Jasen recognized him as the sweaty duke from Banmor. Before Jasen quite knew what was happening, the man took his hand and kissed it. “Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I was overwhelmed by your beauty and had no choice but to present myself to you. I am the Duke of Symes. Would it be unforgivably impertinent if I asked for the honor of a dance?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,” a familiar voice interrupted, and Jasen was abruptly confronted with the very man he had been attempting to avoid. Bertio put a hand on Jasen’s shoulder. “I’m afraid Lord Jasen has already promised his first dance to me. We’re old friends, you see.” He gave the duke a charming smile.
“My apologies,” the duke said to Bertio before turning back to Jasen. “I wouldn’t imagine asking you to break a promise, but I do hope you think of me later this evening.”