Queen Valentina smiles gently before she looks back to the head of the table. Next to her is my youngest brother, Beau, who struggles to remain still in his seat. It is difficult at the tender age of three, but every disapproving look from our father settles him back in place. Beau only gets to sit so close to the king because he is so young and needs to be reminded of how to act every few minutes. He is being trained by his mother as all of us once were. Like dogs on diamond-studded leashes. Valentina only sits there because she was the last to have birthed a royal heir. She is not the current favored queen.
Queen Lairis sits on the other side of Beau, scowling every few minutes when he reaches out to play with the feathers that fan out on the skirts of her dress. If she did not want a child to play with it, then perhaps she should not have worn something so ridiculous. My mother is at her other side taking the brunt of Lairis’s long-winded tales.
Mother was the first to be wed to King Melic, giving birth to me, my sister, and closest blood brothers Bramwell, Ashton, and Koa. I am the only one of her children in attendance at this dinner as I am first in line for the crown. Second is Basilus. Third is Casimir, who sits silently to my left. Casimir might be a bastard, but he was born third in line, and father has chosen to honor that. I wonder if it bothers him that he does not have a mother in the court to protect him or if it is more of a relief.
Finally, on my right, Prince Dalziel, King Deonairdus’s son and only heir, sips his wine. We were seated together in the hopes that we would become good friends. So far, he’s said little more than two words to me. I’ve mostly been talking to myself, though Casimir has jumped in a time or two to save me from embarrassment.
This lunch is a fragile thing built to support another even weaker and more brittle arrangement. Though it would appear that we are all at truce with one another, we are nothing more than tentative allies. The Court of Winds shares a fraction of our northwest border only slightly less than the Court of Light to our southeast. The Court of Light gives us access to ports along the coast for selling and trading with the Court of Water and many others. Not for long though, unless my father wishes to give up a chunk of land.
We are not discussing such delicate matters at the table tonight. This meal is all about winning over the royal family. Apparently Basilus’s plan is to woo the queen right into his bed. I have to force myself not to glare daggers in his direction.
Stupid boy.
“I wonder what it is like to be an only child.” I muse aloud.
“I would think it would be quite lonely. But perhaps Prince Dalziel can give us a better idea.” Casimir pats his napkin to his mouth. He might not have a royal mother, but you wouldn’t know it by how well he holds himself.
“I am quite satisfied with my life,” The prince slides his gaze up to my face. Dalziel takes after his mother with his tanned complexion and golden-brown hair but you can see the king in his heavy brow and square jaw. “How many siblings do you have, Prince Merrick? You have many, do you not?”
I knew it cut Casimir that he himself was not addressed when he had posed the question, but the simple fact that Dalziel had even bothered to attempt a conversation had me fighting a smile. Somehow, I kept my expression mostly neutral.
“I do. Our family tree is quiteextensive.”
“Extensive could mean a lot of things to a lot of people.” Dalziel hinted at the cruel, yet unfounded, rumor that was often spoken about my family. I would not feed into such disgusting, vile things.
“There are fourteen of us all together.” I clarify.
The weight of Casimir’s gaze presses down on me. It was he who had been the source of wild whispers that even the Mad King could not scare away. Well, he and Aeton, one of Queen Lairis’s sons, who’d been caught by a servant doing more than sharing a bath in the washroom.
“King Melic must be a busy man. Yet, I do not see fourteen faces here. Have they fallen from your father’s favor?”
My laugh echoes across the table, drawing several glances. Father nods his approval as I turn myself to face Dalziel fully. “Not at all. Their presence had not been requested because it is thought that they might overwhelm your family.”
“How considerate.” Dalziel picks up his fork and pushes a spear of broccolini around his plate, his attention waning.
"I do wish they would have invited my sister though.” The warmth of my fingers fogs my chilled wine glass as I bring it up to my lips. This is my one last card to play, a desperate attempt to keep his focus.
The prince straightens, slowly lowering his fork. “You have a sister?”
I love it when they act as if they are unaware of her existence.
“Just the one.”
“She is quite lovely and will make a wonderful bride one day,” Casimir adds.
Dalziel watches me as if my brother had not spoken. So I repeat, “She is beautiful, or so I’ve heard.”
It wouldn’t do us any favors if I were to fawn over my sister’s beauty. In truth, she really is stunning, though I might be biased. She’s the spitting image of our mother, a younger version that contains not even a hint of my father’s darker features. Perhaps that’s what I like most about her.
Basilus finally pulls away from Queen Portia’s side, snorts, and tosses a torn bite of bread into his mouth. He is not fond of my sister as they fought over our father’s attention for many, many years. Not that I think she wanted his attention at all.
I speak before he takes the chance to slip in a cutting remark. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. He is prone to making pig noises while he eats, a habit we’ve never been able to break him of.” I lift my glass toward Basilus, certain he can see my silent command written all over my face. “Luckily, he is house-trained though.”
Dalziel cracks a smile, and I nearly melt with relief.
“I do admire the banter between siblings. You are quite witty, Prince Merrick.” Our glasses chime together as he lifts his cup to mine.
“A great compliment from a great friend.” The sour taste floods my mouth before being quickly swallowed down. I’d eaten too much dinner to help give reason as to why conversation might be lagging, but now I regret doing so as the wine adds more pressure within me.
