Jasen woke up just before dawn, with Rotheld arriving shortly after. He brought a small meal for Jasen, but Jasen was too nervous to eat. They didn’t say much as Rotheld got Jasen ready—they had already extensively discussed his wardrobe for this day. For his morning outfit, he would wear a beige frock coat with delicate flowers embroidered on the skirt. He also wore a blue boutonniere to signal that his interest lay with men entirely. Those who favored women wore red flowers, and those who had interest in both wore purple. The purpose of the first outfit of the day was to entice, not dazzle—that effect was saved for the ball. Rotheld handed him a pale blue parasol—the consorts would be expected to spend much of the morning waiting for all of the suitors to arrive and thus required protection from the heat. Jasen thought that maybe wearing lighter clothes would be more useful, but he had long since passed trying to apply logic to fashion.

When Rotheld determined his appearance passed muster, Jasen made his way to Risyda’s room. Her lady’s maid was still working on her hair when Jasen entered, weaving violets into her dark curls, which hung loose over her shoulders. Like Jasen’s frock coat, her dress was also embroidered with flowers, although it was a soft yellow instead. Her purple corsage stood out against such muted colors. She also wore a gold necklace with a sunflower pendant.

If only her expression were as sunny as her outfit. She barely managed a smile when she saw Jasen in the doorway. Her maid curtsied and left them. “What’s the matter?” Jasen asked when she was gone. “You look so dour.”

She patted her hair as she gazed at her reflection, her expression still grim. “I’m just not particularly excited about getting up on the auction block.”

Jasen was pretty sure she wasn’t serious, but he still felt himself go a little pale. “There’s an auction block?”

At that, she laughed. She stood up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Only a metaphorical one. I’m sorry. Don’t let my sourness make you nervous. Today will go well, I’m sure of it.” She took a step back to examine him. “You look marvelous.”

“You do, too.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m passable, certainly. But I doubt anyone is going to notice me if I’m standing next to you.”

She’d meant it as a compliment, but it only served to make him feel more nervous. “Won’t they all be in for a shock when they realize this is an elaborate disguise and that I’m only a backward country boy after all?”

“So what if they do? You’ve already won over the only two people who matter.”

“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 Jasen.”

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.”

Jasen gave him a vague nod. When he had left, Jasen faced Bertio with reluctance. He was even more dashing than he was when they had first met. His wavy brown hair was cut roguishly short, and brown eyes were as pretty as Jasen remembered. “Hello, Bertio. Or Lord Cheny now, I suppose.”

“Yes, but I will always be Bertio to you, I hope.” He presented his hand to Jasen. “Shall we?”

Jasen took it. What else could he do?

Once they reached the dance floor, Jasen felt a surge of gratitude for all of the lessons he had so hated. His body moved with the music almost automatically. It was too bad the conversation was not as easy. They danced in silence for a minute or so before Bertio broke the silence. “‘Oh Bertio, how good it is to see you!’ ” he said in a fairly good imitation of Jasen’s voice. “Good to see you too, Jasen,” he continued, switching back to his own voice. “It’s been ages. Did you get those letters I sent you? ‘Oh yes, I’m so sorry for not replying, but you know how it is in hog breeding season.’” He grinned. “You can jump in any time. Having to do both ends of the conversation is rather tiring.

Jasen couldn’t help but smile. Bertio was pompous, but he could also be fun. “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you.”

“And I you. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Did your brother die?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Jasen cringed. That wasn’t a very sensitive way to put it.

But Bertio just laughed. “To the point, as usual. No, he’s alive.” There was something in his tone of voice that made Jasen think he wasn’t altogether pleased with that fact.

“Then how are you Lord Cheny?”

The barest hint of a grimace passed over Bertio’s face. “It’s a long story. And how are you a consort?”

“Also a long story. You go first.”

Bertio sighed. “My brother was called by a dragon.”

Jasen cocked his head. “What do you mean? Surely he hasn’t abandoned his wife to become a draed?”

“No, nothing like that. She was called too, it seems.”

“Called to do what?”

“To renounce his title, give away all his money, and live in communion with nature. It has something to do with how there is a great reckoning coming, and the nobles must be prepared to be judged for their indulgent way, and so on.” Bertio rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe a word of it. I think he was simply tired of trying to live up to Mother’s standards, but if she was so concerned about keeping up appearances, then she shouldn’t have let Father pass along the title. Now it’s up to me, which is why I’m here to find a consort.”

Jasen frowned. If his brother had given away all their money, how could Bertio afford to be here? He decided it would be rude to ask, so he said nothing.

“And now it’s your turn. I thought the vetting process for consorts was rather extensive, and we both know you aren’t exactly qualified.”

Bertio’s voice had been low, but Jasen couldn’t help but look around and see if anyone had heard him.

Bertio leaned in close to his ear. “Don’t look so nervous,” he said in an amused whisper. “I can be discreet, if you remember.”

Jasen leaned away. He didn’t want think about the things that they’d done together which required the discretion in the first place. “If you must know, my father won a place for me in a bet.”

Bertio laughed. “That seems about right. It seems he hasn’t changed.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

The song ended. “It was nice catching up,” Jasen said after they had bowed to one another. He turned to leave, but Bertio caught him by the hand.

“Surely you aren’t so eager to dance with the Duke of Symes?” he said. “Dance with me again. You owe it to me after you ignored all my letters.”

“You didn’t send that many,” Jasen said with a scowl. “And I did reply.”

“Only once.”

Jasen considered him. He had thought that the way they had drifted apart had been mutual, but had he been wrong? “All right,” Jasen conceded. “One more dance.”

The music started up again. “So,” Bertio began, “I hear that you might be our next king consort.”

Jasen wasn’t sure what to say. “You would have to ask the king. It’s his decision.”

“But does it seem to be the direction things are headed?”

“I really can’t say.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both. Gossip is already spreading like wildfire. I don’t want to add more fuel to it.”

“Oh, come on. You can tell me. We are old friends, after all.” He had a strange glint in his eye that Jasen didn’t like.

“Really, Bertio, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The glint in his eye hardened. “I’m discreet, remember? Just tell me.” His voice now had an edge to it.

The situation was making Jasen uncomfortable. He tried to pull away, but Bertio’s grip on his hand grew tighter. Jasen stopped dancing and yanked his hand away. “I said no.”

Bertio began to scowl, but twisted his face into a more neutral position. “My apologies. I was merely curious.” He reached his hand out again. “Shall we continue?”

“I don’t think so.” He bowed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Jasen’s abrupt departure from the dance floor did garner some attention. Jasen tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to spend another moment with Bertio. He didn’t like the way that he looked at him—as if he wanted something.

The song ended. He could see the Duke of Symes ambling toward him. He pretended not to see him and headed for the refreshment table, only to be confronted with two more nobles who were both looking at him expectantly. He stopped where he was and searched the room for Risyda and found her still in the arms of that lady—they were both laughing. Jasen felt betrayed. She was supposed to hate this as much as he did!

Just when he thought he was cornered, a trumpet blasted, and the herald appeared on the stage. The music and the dancers came to a stop. The herald cleared his throat. “Presenting His Royal Highness and Lord of the Drae, King Rilvor!”

Everyone applauded as Rilvor took the stage. The musicians began to play again—this time, the national anthem of the Draelands. He was resplendent in his royal regalia—he wore a red cape so long that two footman had to carry the train. A crown decorated with golden dragons adorned his head. In his hand, he held a scepter.

Rilvor waited until the anthem was finished, smiling and waving at the guests. When the music ended, he held up a hand to quiet the applause as well. “Welcome, everyone,” he said. “It is always a pleasure to host this gathering—a time-honored tradition that has served to strengthen the ties between our realms by bringing noble families together. I am not one for long speeches, and I know you must be anxious to return to the hunt.” That last line got a few chuckles. “But I would like to leave you all with a word of advice. The bonds that are made here should not only be between families and kingdoms.” He scanned the crowd until he spotted Jasen. He smiled. “It should be between you and your spouse as well. Love is what truly unites us.”

Everyone noticed where the king was looking. Jasen tried to appear smaller, but that was impossible, what with the enormous shoes he was wearing.

Everyone applauded again and the musicians began to play. The footman removed Rilvor’s cape and he descended from the stage, making his way straight for Jasen. The crowd parted for him, and by the time he met Jasen, there was a large circle of suitors and consorts surrounding them, although at a respectable distance. Rilvor paid them no mind. He held out his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Jasen took his hand. The two of them began to dance. Jasen could feel all of the eyes still on them, but somehow when he was in Rilvor’s arms, it didn’t seem to matter.

“I thought you were going to be too busy being the king tonight,” Jasen said.

“And I will be, but surely my subjects would not be so cruel as to deny me one dance.” He leaned in. “And besides, I want to make my intentions very clear. I do not wish for anyone to waste time courting either of us.”

Jasen knew that the smile on his face must have been extremely goofy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted desperately to kiss him, but that really would be a scandal.

They glided around the dance floor. The other couples stopped gawking and began dancing as well. Not that Jasen was paying them much mind—it was impossible to think about anything other than the hand around his waist, and the look in Rilvor’s blue eyes as they gazed at each other, lost in the moment—

But something went amiss. Jasen stumbled. He wouldn’t think much of it—after all, his shoes really were uncomfortable—but then he stumbled again. Rilvor frowned at him. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Jasen said. “I’m sorry, I seem to be a bit clumsy—” But his words were abruptly cut off when he was lurched out of Rilvor’s arms by some unseen force. He stumbled and spun across the room until he crashed into the refreshment table, sending everything scattering, including the punch bowl, which upended onto his head and soaked him.

The dancers came to a halt. There were several gasps, and even a few chuckles.

Rilvor raced to his side and dropped to his knees beside Jasen. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Jasen said. “I-I’m just clumsy, I suppose…” Everyone was watching them. Jasen felt a rush of shame so strong that it brought tears to his eyes. Who could possibly think that he was a suitable match for the king now?

But there was no embarrassment in Rilvor’s expression—only concern. “Are you hurt?” He ran a hand down to his leg, and stopped when he reached his foot. A look of anger crossed his face, so intense that it took Jasen aback. He abruptly removed Jasen’s shoes and flung them away as if they were poisonous vipers. He put his arms under Jasen’s knees and shoulders and lifted him off the ground.

The crowd, which had begun to hum with murmurs, grew louder as Rilvor made his way to the exit. Lady Isalei approached them, moving rather spritely for a woman her age, catching up with him just as he reached the door. “Your Majesty, if Lord Jasen has been injured, I can send for a healer—”

“I will see to him myself,” the king said tersely.

“Yes, Your Majesty, but the guests—”

“—can entertain themselves. They will probably be grateful for my absence, as they can gossip more freely.” His voice was thick with bitterness. Jasen stared at him in wonderment. He had never seen Rilvor this angry—in fact, he hadn’t been convinced that he was capable of it.

He could tell by Lady Isalei’s expression that she was just as surprised. She curtsied. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The guards opened the door. Rilvor turned slightly so as not to bump Jasen’s head, and so Jasen got one last glimpse of the crowd. His gaze happened to land on Polina, whose face had gone as white as her dress.

Rilvor kept a brisk pace, his gaze fixed in front of him, his mouth set in a thin line.

“I’m not injured, you know,” Jasen said after awhile. “I can walk.”

“Not until I examine you,” he said.

“I know I’m on the smaller side, but surely I’m not that light. And if you throw out your back, where will that leave us?”

Rilvor’s grim expression softened a bit. Carefully, he set Jasen down. “You will let me know if you have any pain?”

“The only thing I hurt was my pride. I promise.”

“We cannot be sure of that.”

“Why?”

“Because your shoes were cursed.”