I stare openly at the girl pointing at the king.
She’s quite small, dainty, even. It’s probable her dress makes up half her bulk, and yet the accusing finger she directs at the king carries the force of a far larger person.
The king shuts his eyes and inhales deeply. “What are you doing here, Tilly?”
He calls her by her given name? Who is this? Her red hair, style of dress, and heavy face paint all suggest she’s Ilanthren, so what in the stars’ names is she doing here?
Wait. My eyes glance over her again.
Could this be a lover?
I concentrate on not biting my lip. Mother had taught me long ago not to expect monogamy from any match I made; such expectations were a recipe for heartbreak, she said. No, it was better to produce an heir or two, let my husband roam, and enjoy the ensuing peace. Still, Mother hadn’t said to expect a paramour to barge her way into my bedchamber the very morning after my arrival.
The girl plants her hands on her hips. “You said I’d be home before she came,” she says to the king.
He yawns. “I said you might be home if you took care to leave on schedule rather than accepting every invitation that comes your way and losing track of time.”
“Oh, but the parties, Soren,” the girl says, twirling about. “The Ilanthrens throw the best ones. How could I resist?”
I stiffen as she turns to me, eyes sparkling.
“Do you like parties?” she asks. “We shall have the best time if you do. Well, by that I mean it would be fun if you do, but it’s all right if you don’t—”
The king cuts her off with a stern, “Manners, Tilly.”
“Oh,” the girl says, blushing deeply enough to make me feel sorry for her. Lowering her head, she curtsies to me.
“Princess Serah,” the king says, waving a hand toward the girl, “meet my sister, Lady Tilanthia.”
His sister. A knot in my chest unwinds itself at the word. The interaction is suddenly rendered strange but perfectly benign.
Then again, why should I care if the king had a lover before me? I’m sure I shouldn’t. This isn’t a love match, after all.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Tilanthia,” I say, inclining my head.
When she looks up, she’s positively beaming.
“I have been dying to meet you,” she says. Flouncing over to the bed, she flops down beside me and takes my hand. “Ever since Soren told me about you I knew we were going to be friends.”
I blink at her. What could he have possibly said about me other than I can draw water?
“Tilly,” the king growls.
She flaps her other hand at him and scootches closer. “So do you like parties?”
Up close, I realize how rash my worry was. Lady Tilanthia can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. The face paint is lending her several years.
The king tilts his head straight back so that he might lean it on the headboard. Even so, one of his horns scrapes the wood. “Tilly, you cannot burst into someone’s bedchamber and demand to know if they like parties, especially first thing in the morning.”
“But we’ve been introduced now,” she says, spotting my cat friend for the first time. She reaches out to stroke him, and though he doesn’t look overly eager, he doesn’t complain either. “And it’s hardly first thing in the morning anymore.”
“She hasn’t even eaten breakfast yet,” the king grouses.
“You mean that you haven’t eaten breakfast,” his sister says. She gives me a long-suffering look. “I do hope you can whip him into shape, Serah.”
My mouth twitches with a smile at the king’s exasperated sigh.
Perhaps I’m taken up with the spirit of the moment, or perhaps this little sister has made me think of my own, loosening my tongue. Whatever it is, something possesses me to say in a grave tone, “I hope so as well.”
The king actually looks tempted to laugh.
Someone knocks at the outer door this time. The king lets out a long moan.
“Must the whole kingdom come visit?” he demands.
“It’s probably that breakfast you were whining about,” Lady Tilanthia says, and standing, she bustles to the door and opens it.
What waits on the threshold isn’t breakfast.
It’s Minister Abely.