“Not hungry, I guess.” He picked at his food but didn’t eat.
More startling, unsettling than missing an opportunity to marry Charday was the lack of regret for not having thought of it. Shouldn’t he be hating himself? Instead, he felt…a littlerelieved? He glanced at the woman he did marry. No regrets there at all.
He tried to envision eating a quiet, casual dinner with Charday, and he didn’t see it. She would attend a banquet or a ball every night if she could. She would have been bored to death at the Museum of Alien Horticulture. She wouldn’t have cared about the hospital dedication either. Nor would she have been understanding when his duties took him away for long stretches, leaving her to her own devices.
Yet, Kismet, a stranger to the planet and their ways, had coped.
I don’t want to marry Charday!Maybe he never really did.
But Kismet? He would do it all over again.
“I am glad I m-married you.” His words slurred a bit.
Her smile seemed to light up the room. His vision blurred from the spirits, but for the first time, he saw her with blinders off, unfettered from dysfunctional attachments. Somehow, he had stumbled into the right decision.
“I’m glad I married you, too,” she said.
He regarded her with unsteady steadiness. How glad? Glad enough to go the distance? Maybe make it permanent? Did he want that?
Yes.
Or was this sudden attachment a result of the fermented spirits?
No.I am falling into…fondness with her.
Her eyebrows arched, and he realized he might be staring. He dropped his gaze to the table. Her plate was empty, her glass full—the opposite of his. “Did you get enough to eat?” he asked.
“More than enough.”
He picked up his empty goblet.I should have eaten more, drunk less.“I overdid it a little,” he admitted and set the goblet down.
“A little,” she agreed.
“I don’t normally overindulge. I ap-apologize.” He hiccupped.
“Apology accepted. Maybe you should retire to your room while you can still walk.”
“Walking is not the problem,” he said. His mouth would be the problem. He pushed away from the table, and, when he stood up, the room started to spin. He needed to leave before the delayed effects of the liquor kicked in and he said something he regretted.
Kaldoran spirits imbibed in large enough quantities acted like a truth serum. There was no telling what he might reveal. He shouldn’t have drunk so much, but he’d needed to blow off steam. He was fed up with his father controlling his life. Duty, duty, duty. What about his happiness…his heart?
“Stop interfering in my life!” he muttered.
“What?”
Hekkel!He’d said that aloud? That was exactly the sort of thing he was afraid of. “Not you,” he said. “My father.” He paused. “Again, I’m sorry for my behavior tonight.” He listed toward the exit, disgusted with himself. He’d been angry at his father for attempting to keep him and Kismet apart—and now he’d ruined their dinner by drinking too much.
“Let me help you.” She wrapped an arm around his waist.
He could still move under his own steam—not in a straight line, but he could get to his bedchamber. “You don’t need to do that. But I like—”Having you touch me.He slipped his arm around her waist, and they staggered down the hall.
Lewen appeared. “May I be of assistance?”
“No, thank you, Lewen. I’ve got it covered,” she answered before he could reply.
“I guess she’s got it covered.” He grinned at the butler.
“Very well, Your Highness.”
