Chapter Seven
Analleia
King Zaricor had spared no expense for this year’s Paravellian Balls.
Wine poured from the fountains where servants filled glasses.
Artists painted, molded clay, swung from the ceilings.
A man with a talking parrot wandered through the crowd, the bird whistling at attendees and cawing several crude statements that caused a blush to creep up more than one noblewoman’s cheeks.
I crossed the threshold into the massive ballroom where couples waltzed across the shiny floor, the music swelling past seven stories of balconies and up to the ceiling where the acoustics bounced off the walls.
I forged a path through the crowd, anticipation building within me the closer I got.
A break in the crowd revealed the dais, and I stopped.
Staring. My fingers clenched the glass of punch in my hands tight enough to shatter it.
I didn’t remember much of the man.
I remembered he gave a speech. That he refused to fraternize with the lower classes. That he cared for nothing except himself and his own pleasures.
One could not call King Zaricor a small man.
A life of privilege and years spent signing papers behind a desk had left him almost too large for his throne.
He lounged there, brown hair combed back over his skin, tanned from sitting in the royal gardens, four servants at his beck and call as diplomats and royals waited in line to greet him and pay their respects to the king.
The weight of the dagger concealed beneath my skirts hung heavy at my side, calling to me.
It would be quick. So quick. A part in the crowd.
A sleight of hand. A knife to the throat.
My years of training in the tower kicked in.
Kill him now.
My consciousness screamed within me, urging me to give in. I took a step forward. A couple moved aside. A path opened up. My breaths turned ragged, my lungs heaving as I reached for the dagger.
“Not yet, Analleia.”
Desmond’s voice was quiet, his hand firmly planted on my arm, barring me from what I wanted. From what I’d come here to do. From what I’d sworn to take.
I watched the king a few moments longer, taking note of Queen Cadaren sitting at his side, her bright red hair curled away from her face, her extravagant dress looking like it weighed more than thirty pounds.
To everyone else they were a regal couple gracing their thrones, but to me they were nothing more than vile serpents ruling from a throne built on the blood of innocent lives.
A shaky breath escaped my lips as I turned my gaze from them.
“Anything useful?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing to speak of.”
I nodded. I’d been unsuccessful as well, sitting with several noblewomen for dinner but learning nothing of value. I’d mentioned Richard Athello’s name, but none had recognized it, and so I’d passed it off as the name of a distant cousin I wasn’t even sure was still alive.
“I’m going down into the gambling dens, to see what kind of gossip I can uncover.”
A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. “You mean so you can lose your tie and jacket for a few hours?”
Desmond ignored my dig, releasing my arm.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” His eyes darted toward the far end of the ballroom where guests lounged on sofas laid out in little circles. “That’s one of Zaricor’s sons. He’s been talking to the Haskelle diplomat for a while, no doubt trying to come to an agreement about the river passage.”
I lifted an eyebrow, drifting away from Desmond. “We couldn’t have that now, could we?”
If King Zaricor wanted the special privileges of the Teyre River, I would make sure it was the last thing he would get.
I pasted on my most mischievous smile and sauntered over to the blue satin couch where the two men sat talking.
My fake smile stiffened when I saw which prince was entertaining him.
Prince Valeris.
I swallowed, memories of a haughty child at my victorious chess match at the last balls filling my mind.
Even after five years I recognized him immediately.
Except he was older now. His once-red hair had transformed into a singed dark auburn like burnt mahogany.
It swept over his forehead, just above green eyes that glittered with manipulation.
I swallowed. He was not a scraggly teenager any longer, and he looked nothing like his father.
As I drew closer, I observed his body language.
That the interest in his face did not reflect that on his body.
He wanted something from the man, and he would do whatever he could to get it.
I took a deep breath, trying to detach from the memories and reminding myself that after destroying this alliance I wouldn’t ever have to be in his presence again.