Thanks to a wide eyed, yet helpful servant, Alia found a place to clean up and was advised of the quickest route through the Palace halls that would get her to the small ballroom. The murmur of party-goers and the twang of a musical instrument let her know she was close to her destination. Taking three deep breaths she sought calm. Her heartbeat slowing. She could only pray her hair was okay. She was ready. She could do this. Pretend to be a bridal candidate. How hard could it be?
She’d slip into the ballroom, stick to the periphery, stay in the background and wait for Baron Regal Soutner to make an appearance at one of the gatherings. Once she set eyes on him, she’d be able to start making plans. A decade was a long time. It didn’t sound as if Regal had changed his manipulative deadly ways, but just what were his weak points these days? That was what she needed to discover and exploit.
Steps away from the small ballroom, the two footmen positioned on either side of the entrance looked a little askance at her appearance. Her hair couldn’t be that bad, could it? And her outfit surely wasn’t that different or risqué.
Taking one more deep breath Alia stepped into the crowded ballroom, hoping to get lost in the crowd. Thankfully a musician was currently playing, most eyes, especially the female ones appeared to be fixated upon him. Excellent. Three steps to the side and she could melt into the background. The entertainer had a good voice… which sounded strangely familiar.
Oh, no. She could finally hear the words to the song. Something about quivering arrows, quavering hearts and quickened blood. Gods, no, have mercy, not one of his self-proclaimed alliterative masterpieces. Of all the musicians in the Realm… why did it have to be him?
Alia needed a shadow to dive into and she needed it now. Except her luck didn’t lean that way, as the roving bard took several steps backwards, towards the entrance, and swung about abruptly, piercing green eyes lifting, settling upon Alia, his next words freezing in his throat. His fingers falling away from the strings. Silence falling like the moment after an earthshaking thunderclap.
“Alia?” Lush dark lashes blinked twice in surprise. Emerald green eyes suddenly glittering with smugness. “You followed me? Oh, Alia, I’m so sorry, but it’s too late, my affections are no longer inclined in your direction. You came all this way for nothing.” The musician’s sensual lips pursed into a practised moue of pity and superiority. “You must be devasted.”
“Cadell, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.” And her, damn it. “I had no idea you were engaged to entertain at the Palace.”
“Then… then why are you here?”
Every set of eyes in the small ballroom and the overflow room were now fixated upon Alia. Every ear perked to catch her response. There would be no hiding, no observing from the shadows. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to vie for the hand of the Prince.”
“Which would be me.” The timbre of the voice deep, confident and also… familiar.
Alia spun around, her gaze travelling up a few inches. He might have cut his hair, and dressed in a formal uniform, wearing a royal blue sash, rows of medals glinting across his heart, but she knew that face, those grey eyes too well. Although the haughty expression was new. Talac.
Prince Talac?
Cruddy hell, their plan to hunt down Regal, destroy him and abscond with Levi had just been obliterated into dust before they could even commence. Peri would be devastated. Except Talac wasn’t calling for the servants to escort Alia away. Or loudly denouncing her as an imposter. No, he was holding out an arm, a taunting challenging gleam in his eyes. “Lady Gloomenthrall. Shall we?”
Alia grabbed onto him tightly, probably leaving bruises. She had questions. So many questions. But for now, they would have to wait. Entering the party on the arm of the Prince should have been a good thing. He was endorsing Alia’s right to be there. Declaring her officially a bridal candidate. Except every eye was now appraising her with ruthless judgement. Every bridal candidate and their family staring and glaring Alia’s way. Talac might have ratified her reason for being present, but he had also just painted a bright red and white target on her… the games had commenced.
Hah, good luck to them all. They would not find Alia Gloomenthrall easy prey.
Chapter Twenty
Perri finally remembered how to breathe. Sucking in air greedily. Her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Captain Talac is the… Prince?” Her knees shaking as she curtsied. Following yet again a half second behind everyone else in the room.
“Prince Zariffe Talac Bausum Vallas – the fourteenth, in fact.” Brandth returned informatively. Rising from a bow, casting a look Perri’s way. “I can help you work on that curtesy later, if you’d like?”
“No one cares about me or my lame curtsey.” Perri hissed under her breath, anger at Brandth thankfully chasing away the fear that had blossomed upon recognising Talac. Wait. Sitting, she studied the crowd. Strange, there was no recognition in anyone’s gaze as it settled upon Talac… the Prince. “They don’t know who he is. How is that possible? He travelled with you on your visits to all these families, correct?”
“Under the guise of Captain of my Guard, yes. Nothing more than a servant in the eyes of the aristos, and therefore beneath their notice.”
“Gods… but what if something had happened to him?”
“We’ve been set upon by the occasional bandit brigands but they tend to focus on the brash idiot wearing the silks, satins and family rings.” Brandth lifted his right hand, wiggling it about, gemstones catching the light.
“I…” Perri wasn’t sure what to say. Did that mean Brandth was… brave and selfless? That didn’t jibe with his indolent pretty boy exterior and glib mouth. Then she recalled the secret Alia had shared with her, Talac, the Prince, acted as a master spy for the King. Oh. Did that mean Brandth was likewise a master spy? He had all but stated out loud that he wore a costume.
Darnation. Recalling all the conversations she’d overheard him have with her kin. How Brandth never shared anything personal. And by making her kin feel that all the attention was on them, he’d quite easily drawn forth information regarding their everyday lives … which included the workings of the Keep and their father’s habits. Oh, my. Not that they had anything to hide.
But it was galling for Perri to think she might have been… wrong about Brandth De’Luca. Not that this possible new information regarding his character and motivations made him any less annoying.
Perri’s attention shifting to the Dowager-Queen, who was smiling up at her grandson as he bestowed a dutiful kiss upon her cheek, waving him towards the large seat sitting vacant on her left. Thankfully he remembered Alia was standing only a few feet away from him, in the very centre of the room. A haughty grey gaze sweeping over those seated closest to the Dowager-Queen, the majority bridal candidates with at least one intimate companion sitting beside them. The Prince’s intimidating gaze coming to a halt upon a middle-aged florid faced man, dressed in a light blue satin outfit that was too tight over his large belly. His sparse hair swept forward over his forehead to create the illusion he still had lustrous hair. An endeavour that was nothing but a dismal failure.
A royal dark eyebrow rose ever so barely and the florid faced man flushed an even deeper pink, rising to his feet, bowing deeply and hurriedly backing away. Perri releasing a deep sigh of relief as Alia took the vacated chair instead of making a fuss and trying to retreat to the edges of the room.
Lady Cecelia clapped her hands, calling for quiet. The crowd immediately hushing. With a small but satisfied smile on her lips, Cecelia glanced at her grandson now seated beside her. “Let me make some introductions, this is a get to know everyone gathering, after all. And if we don’t start soon, we’ll miss luncheon.” A light rebuke for her tardy grandson, who did nothing but lean back in his seat, saying nothing, his expression giving no indication that he felt any guilt for keeping everyone waiting.
“Prince Zariffe, may I present to you…” Cecelia’s eyes travelled over the candidates, as if she were trying to decide where to start and had no intention of playing favourites. Her gaze finally zeroing in on the young woman attired in a bold orange ensemble immediately seated in the coveted position on the other side of Cecelia.
