“Do you know why Queen Vespaire has sent him?” I asked, pretending everything was as it should be. That the tension knotting my stomach was simply the result of nerves.
“Are you all right, Charlie? You don’t look well.” Max frowned, scrutinizing me.
But it wouldn’t have mattered what my answer had been, because the moment Max moved, just the barest amount, I found myself standing in front of the congregation of men who’d just moments earlier been contemplating the view of the gardens. It was hard to imagine that this particular group had any appreciation for flowers or statues or ornate fountains. I imagined they’d much prefer armories and taverns and brothels.
There were five of them in all, I counted quickly, trying to appraise the situation . . . to evaluate my uneasy feelings. Not one of them appeared to have washed or changed after their long journey, and their worn riding pants and coats were still covered in dust and grime from the road. Beneath their clothing, their skin was equally weathered and sunbaked.
Four of the men stepped forward as Max and I approached, aware of my presence at once. And all four of them dropped low before me.
“Niko Bartolo,” Max said, his voice slipping into a cadence far more formal than his usual bantering tone. “I give you Charlaina di Heyse. Queen of Ludania.”
The fifth man, standing just behind the others, eased forward then, bending as if to follow the lead of his men at the very moment his eyes lifted to mine. Eyes so amber they were very nearly molten. Eyes that both unsettled and comforted me, and found their way straight to my core, piercing me like a steel-tipped arrow. I stood frozen on wobbly legs, mutely acknowledging that he was the reason my skin itched. He was the cause of the ache in my gut. This perfect stranger who now held my gaze.
My grip on Max’s arm tightened, and I immediately hoped he hadn’t noticed, although I was certain he must have. Yet if this ambassador—this Niko Bartolo—felt even a fraction of what I was feeling, he gave no indication. He dropped into a flawlessly executed bow just as his men had done, until I found myself staring—wordlessly—at the golden halo of his hair.
Inside, my stomach twisted.
Or was it something else that roiled, straining to be noticed?
Max tugged at my arm, reminding me that five men were at my feet, waiting for permission to rise.
“It—it’s a pleasure.” My voice barely registered, but it was all I could manage.
Niko stood once more, doing everything the way he should. It was I who was faltering. I who struggled to understand my uncertain reaction.
He held out his hand to me and I stared at it, my mind struggling to unravel each simple action. Beside me, I felt Max nudge me, slight but perceptible. Just enough to get me moving again.
It was strange to watch my hand settle into this stranger’s, almost as if it were someone else’s hand I watched. Niko lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing the back of them reverently. “Your Majesty,” he intoned, his voice perfectly calm. Perfectly innocent. And then he lowered his voice, and made a sound, an almost indistinguishable gravelly noise that came up from the back of his throat.
Except that it wasn’t just a noise. It was a word, spoken in a foreign tongue, one I’d never heard before. Yet I understood its meaning.
“You,” he’d said.
I jerked back and watched him through wide eyes, trying to tamp down my curiosity but failing miserably. The longer I stood beside him, the more conflicted I felt. The more intrigued as well.
You? Was that really what he’d said? What could he have meant by that?
I pulled my hand away, suddenly anxious to have it back. Away from his grip.
Xander interrupted then, making an exuberant entrance as he and Aron came tumbling through the open doors, wrestling and shoving each other. They seemed not to notice it wasn’t just the two of them in the enormous dining hall.
“Get off me, you wag!” Aron grunted as Xander caught him in a headlock and pulled him all the way down so he was very nearly kissing the floor.
Officially, Aron held no title or official role in my administration, but he was invaluable to me all the same. Maybe what I’d really needed was another friendly face around as I adjusted to my new position.
It was Xander, however, who’d taken Aron under his wing, making it his task to teach Aron the finer points of combat and weaponry.
And horseplay, it seemed.
Beside me, Max’s breathy chuckle drew my attention away from the golden-eyed ambassador. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine Max jumping into the rambunctious fray of flying elbows and knees.
“Admit that I won,” Xander insisted, laughter clear in his voice. “Tell me I’m a superior marksman.”
Neither boy was even aware of the audience they’d drawn. At least until Angelina giggled from her seat at the table.
Simultaneously, I watched both of their heads snap up. And almost equally synchronized, each of them jerked to attention as Xander released Aron from his grip.
Xander, as usual, was the first to recover, standing tall and handsome and looking unruffled, as if they’d just strolled in casually to join our assemblage. As if they hadn’t forgotten it was dinnertime altogether.
Aron’s eyes, however, were still sparkling with recalcitrance, his gaze directed solely at Xander. “It was his fault,” he muttered, shoving Xander with his shoulder in a last-ditch effort to win whatever quarrel they’d been having.
Xander ignored the dig from Aron as he dropped his head and uttered, “Your Majesty.”