He didn’t know whether no one had seen fit to warn him, or if he’d scratched the unfortunate event from his memory, but the next night, they were to have a ball.

The ballroom was decked out in its most sumptuous decor. The orchestra was in the galley, the fires roared, and the tables were piled high with truffle-drenched roasts and sculpted delicacies. Drinks were ladled from an ice-carved swan the size of a horse. By the time the King arrived, his guests were gorged and giddy, sweeping around the dance floor with some abandon.

Xandrie was at the very center of the melee.

Rhey tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She had come to the Palace in a guard uniform too large for her frame. For the most part, she’d trained with Vincent in a dun tunic that did nothing to show the curves and contours of her frame. When she fought, she’d been resplendent in her armor, which, true, didn’t hide much, and he’d seen her with nothing at all, too, but tonight, she had slid into a hip-hugging, curve-caressing slice of crimson silk that rippled as she moved, but clung to her thighs and ass in ways that made his heartbeat land squarely in his groin.

Vincent twirled Xandrie around the dance floor; how easy she looked in his arms. Rhey choked back the jealousy, determined not to embarrass himself in front of the entire assembly; the woman was his, he knew it, Vincent knew it, the whole damn palace knew it after he’d made her scream his name. He turned his attentions to his partner, a lovely woman who had been struck dumb the minute he’d taken her hand. When the tune ended, he returned her to her seat, then took the hand of his next, designated partner. He grinned when he saw who it was.

“I would dance with my King.”

Elza.

The old friends took their places, Rhey signaled the orchestra, and the two of them thrilled the room with a dance they’d invented when they were children.

Though he couldn’t see Xandrie, he could smell her light and lively scent. As he turned Demelza through a simple box step, he caught a glimpse of that column of lustrous red silk, this time in Nathos’ grip. He had to laugh. The man was about as elegant as a workhorse, but at least, he’d been a good sport. He normally stayed on his seat.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

He nodded at Xandrie and Nathos, just as the man trod on the hem of his partner’s gown.

“Go, rescue her,” Elza rolled her eyes.

Rhey practically ran, incapable of staying away another second. He tapped Nathos on the shoulder. “May I?”

The Elder looked as if he’d just won some windfall at the card table. He couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Red becomes you,” Rhey said. He bent close and whispered in her ear. “But you should wear gold.”

She smiled, knowing how much he liked his gold, after spending so many nights in his den now.

But that was it; he just liked it. The only thing he was obsessed with these days was her.

He felt her falter. Surely he hadn’t done a Nathos and trodden on her hem? She sagged in his arms. He relaxed his hold on her, confused by her limp body. Her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed. Her knees gave way and she was slumped in his arms, entirely unable to support herself.

“Andera?” he bellowed.

The orchestra ground to a halt and the dance floor was clear of guests in seconds.

“Get me the head mage, now. Tell her we will need a compound of willow bark and oak-burned brandy.”

Vincent was at his side. “You suspect poisoning?”

Rhey bent close and inhaled her breath. “I don’t suspect it. I know it. That smell of rotting fruit?” He lifted Xandrie into his arms and stormed towards the doors. “You’ll find who did this, Vincent. Find them before I do.”

Because if he got his hands on them, they’d wish they’d never been born.

Andera, their best mage, rushed to Rhey’s private chambers to administer the antidote to a recumbent Xandrie. Rhey had to hold her head back, while the solution was trickled into her slack mouth.

“If you’d been but a moment longer, Sire, the lady would not merely be blue in the lips. She’d be laid out on a slab, colder than ice.” Andera pressed a vial into Rhey’s hand. “Three drops, every hour on the hour and no visitors. She needs rest.”

The mage left Rhey’s chambers. Never in a thousand suns or a million moons had he imagined Xandrie would be on his bed, gold piled high about them, but on the brink of death, rather than ecstasy. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. He could not bear to think of her being cold. The shoulder strap of her dress slipped. He took it gently and returned it to that magical dip where her clavicle met her neck. He wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything, to press his lips to the sweet hollow, but instead he rocked her and wished her back to health.

“Red becomes you, but you will wear gold. Every day from this day forth. I don’t give a damn about this tournament - I’d renounce the throne if that’s what it takes. I just want you.”

He spent a fitful night, administering the antidote Andera had left him and checking Xandrie’s pulse. Little by little the color returned to her cheeks, her breathing deepened, and she shifted from her drugged state to plain sleep.

There was a light tap at the door and Vincent let himself in.

“Have you found him?” Rhey growled.

Vincent approached the King’s four-poster bed. “I have my suspicions, but this is a capital offense. We don’t want the wrong person to lose their head. I tread with caution, but I will bring the perpetrator to justice.”

Rhey wanted to blast Vincent from one side of his lair to the other, but he was merely the messenger and, in any case, he was right. It wouldn’t do to part someone from their head then find they deserved to have kept it. He grumbled and shifted his weight, so that Xandrie was balanced on his chest, rather than his shoulder.

Xandrie stirred.

Rhey loosened his hold on her, propping her on the bank of pillows he’d arranged behind them.

Xandrie licked her lips. “My mouth tastes like some spiky rodent has crawled inside it and died.”

That made him crack a smile; if she could jest, she wasn’t quite on her deathbed anymore. She slept most of a day, and no army could have chased him from her side.