“Exactly. You can see it. I can see it. Yet, for some reason, Brandth still extended an invitation your way.”
“Perhaps he thinks it’s time for a change?”
“Brandth deals intimately with the King, who abhors change almost as much as the Dowager-Queen. Yet Brandth, knowing you would have almost zero chance of being approved as the future Queen of the Realm, still invited you to be a bridal candidate. Why? Which is a question for him, I suppose.”
“Yes.” Yes, go and annoy Brandth, but still Talac didn’t move.
The blaze had dried his glossy choppy chestnut mane, pushing it out of his eyes he continued to stare at Alia intently. “But still one question remains on the table, Alia Gloomenthrall, if you don’t actually believe you’ll be successful in securing a proposal from the Prince, why are you conducting this charade? Why do so… desperately wish to visit Pallene and the Golden Palace?”
Heavens, she didn’t blame him for his questions, his suspicions. But how had Talac managed with so very little information to distil everything down to the one vital part of this whole plan? She had to get to the Palace, and not just that, have a valid reason for wandering those hallowed halls and attending all the upper crust parties.
“… Who draws you there?”
Damn him, he was skirting too close to truths she had no wish to impart. “Do you know the last time I took a holiday? Why, it has to be… ten years ago, at the very least.”
“Most people head to one of the coastal cities for a reprieve.”
“Ah, but I’m more interested in architecture and libraries, and our capital is renowned for both. Plus, a lot of the goods we sell end up at the Pallene markets, it would be useful to know what kinds of markups are applied before we negotiate with any more merchants.”
“A working holiday then?”
“Yes.”
“A working holiday whilst in your spare time you intend to woo the Prince of the Realm, dazzling him with your modesty and pleasant conversational skills? Hanging off his every word? Flattering and praising him at every turn?”
“Um… er, yes.”
“Were you aware that if a candidate is deemed unsuitable at any time during the festivities – too boring, heard uttering falsities, affections discovered to be aimed elsewhere, misrepresenting herself – then she and her entourage are asked to leave immediately?”
“No. No, I was unaware of that.”
“I only mention it because I wouldn’t want you to get so distracted by the architecture, the libraries, and the retail merchants, that you forgot to… concentrate on your prime reason for being at the Palace.”
“The Prince.” Alia tried to inject some eagerness in her tone, but was worried that Talac didn’t believe a word of what she was selling.
“Exactly, the Prince.”
“You almost sound concerned on my behalf.”
“The Palace can be a challenging place for newcomers, especially those unused to intrigue and constant political manoeuvrings and shifting alliances.”
“Please, I’ve been managing my female kin for almost a decade now. You haven’t dealt with high drama and intrigue until six of your sisters and cousins set their caps on the same suitor, and you’re expected to arrange an outcome that will mean as few tears as possible and leaving everyone… relatively happy.”
“Quite.” Talac’s gaze roamed seemingly idly around the campsite perimeter. “Are you armed?”
“Always. Why?”
“I believe we’re being observed.”
Gods, where were her wits? Too focused upon feeding Talac lies and praying he would believe them, forgetting where she was. The woods. Full of predators and pitfalls. Where was the threat coming from that Talac had sensed? “Have any of the bridal candidates ever come close to winning the Prince’s favour?” Talking for the sake of talking.
“None so far.”
To their left? Yes. “Oh. Does he have a preference in poetry? Perchance I may get a leg up on the pack if I woo him with the right sonnet.” Oh, yes, she had a bead on the predator stalking them now, and it was of the two legged variety. A royal retinue with its gilt carriage would look like rich pickings indeed to any robber. How dare such low scum set up their grift in her woods.
“Do you know any poetry by heart?” Talac’s stance was relaxed, but she could see he had pinpointed their observer’s location also.
“Does - there once was a man from Lard-Rock - count?”
