Kylar’s afternoon had been frantic. He’d had to get Logan to get someone else to get him an invitation, and then when he’d tried to find Durzo, the wetboy was gone, leaving a typically terse note: “On a job.” Durzo didn’t often give Kylar a lot of detail on his jobs, but lately Kylar felt that he was being more and more excluded, as if Durzo were trying to create space between them so that it would be easier to kill Kylar when the time came.
Durzo’s absence had meant that Kylar didn’t have to confess to talking with Elene, botching it, and probably tightening security at the Jadwin estate all at once, so it wasn’t altogether a bad thing. Now, because he’d told Logan he was coming to the party, he had to come without a disguise, but because he’d told Elene he was coming, if she saw him, she’d report him immediately.
That was why he’d come in a carriage, even though it would seem odd for a young noble alone not to ride. The carriage stopped at the gate and he handed his invitation to Birt. The man didn’t recognize him, of course. He just looked over the invitation carefully and waved him in. Kylar was glad to see the man. If he was still guarding the door, it meant that the Jadwins didn’t have enough guards to replace all the ones who’d worked earlier in the day and still guard the party. Maybe they hadn’t believed Elene. After all, how would a serving girl know about the plots of wetboys?
Kylar took one step out of his carriage and froze. The carriage directly in front of his was open and a whip-thin man was stepping out of it. It was Hu Gibbet, all in chocolate leather and silks like a lord, long blond hair combed and gleaming, smiling with the disdain of a man superior to those around him. Kylar ducked back into his carriage. So it was true. He counted to ten and then, afraid that his driver would wonder what he was doing and maybe call attention to him, he stepped out of the carriage himself. He saw Hu disappearing inside. Kylar followed, producing the invitation again for the guards in front of the monstrous white oak door.
“So have you gotten the old goat’s permission?” Prince Aleine asked.
Logan looked at his friend on the other side of the long table heaped high with every delicacy the Jadwins thought would impress their guests. The table was near one of the walls of the vast great hall of white marble and white oak. Against the monochrome background, the nobles were a riot of color. Several of the realm’s most influential hecatonarchs, priests of the hundred gods, mingled in their myriad-colored robes. A band of minstrels in flamboyant cloaks and makeup fought for attention with lords and ladies high and low. Terah Graesin had shown up to the last big party two weeks ago in a scandalously low-cut red gown with a soaring hem. Terah was eighth in line for the throne, after the prince, the Gunder daughters, Logan, and her father Duke Graesin, and she adored the attention her position gave her. Her daring had touched off a new fashion, so this week all the gowns were either red or dared to expose more leg or breast or both than most prostitutes did. This was fine for Terah Graesin, who was somehow able to look glamorous instead of cheap. Most women weren’t so fortunate.
“I spoke with the count this morn—” Logan said when he was suddenly silenced as breasts went past. No, not just breasts. The breasts. They were perfect. Not precipitously exposed, but perfectly shaped, these floated past him, held in a gossamer embrace of fabric rejoicing to cling to such nubile curves. Logan didn’t even see the woman’s face. Then, as she walked past, the sweet curves of swaying hips and a flash of lean, muscular calves.
“And?” the prince asked. He looked at Logan expectantly, holding a plate with little samples of every delicacy on the table. “What’d he say?”
Logan face flamed. Too much time in the wilds. Except that that wasn’t really true. His eyes seemed unattached to his mind at all, controlled directly from elsewhere. He moved further down the line, trying to remember what he’d been saying, his plate still empty as he rejected a few delicacies fricasseed, flambéed, or frosted. “He said—ah, my favorite!” Logan started heaping strawberries on his plate, grabbed a bowl, and filled it with chocolate fondue.
“Somehow I’m sure whatever Count Drake said, it wasn’t ‘ah, my favorite,’” Prince Aleine said, arching an eyebrow. “If he said no, you don’t have to be embarrassed. Everyone knows Count Drake is a little off. Their family mixes with commoners.”
“He said yes.”
“Like I said,” the prince said. “He’s a little off.” He smiled and Logan laughed. “When are you going to propose?”
“Tomorrow. It’ll be my birthday. Then no one can stop me.”
“Does Serah know?” the prince asked.
“She suspects that I might do it soon, but she thinks that I need some time to consolidate my household and speak with my parents about it first.”
“Good.”
“What do you mean?” Logan asked.
They had reached the end of the long table. The prince stepped close to him. “I wanted to give you a birthday present myself. I know you’ve got feelings for Serah and I respect that, but Logan, you’re a duke’s son. Tomorrow you’ll become one of the most powerful men in the realm, behind only the other dukes and my family. My father would love for you to marry Serah, and we both know why. If you marry her, you’ll set your family back from the throne for two generations.”
“Your Highness,” Logan said, awkward.
“No, it’s true. My father fears you, Logan. You are admired, respected, even held in awe here. That you’ve been gone half of every year hasn’t alienated you like my father hoped. Instead, it’s made you romantic. The hero off fighting for us on the borders, keeping the Khalidorans at bay. The king fears you, but I don’t, Logan. His spies look at you and they can’t believe that you are what you appear to be: a scholar, a fighter, and a loyal friend of the prince. They’re schemers, so they see schemes. I see a friend. There are those who would destroy your family, Logan, by any means, and they won’t tell me what they’re planning—but I won’t allow it. In fact, I’ll do all I can to stop it.” He looked down, grabbed a bit of fried plantain off a plate. “I’m here tonight to do a favor for my father. In return, he promised to give me whatever I ask. Whatever I ask.”
“That’s some favor,” Logan said.
The prince waved a hand. “King Stupid gave my mother’s favorite jewel to his mistress. I’m here to get it back. It doesn’t matter. You know my sister?”
“Of course.” Jenine was here somewhere. She was usually described as “sunny”: very pretty, and very fifteen.
“She’s smitten with you, Logan. She’s been in love with you for two years. Talks about you all the time.”
“You’re joking. I’ve barely exchanged two words with her.”
“So what,” the prince said. “She’s a great kid. She’s pretty, only getting prettier, and she has my mother’s intelligence—I know how important to you that is to you, my vituperative friend.”
“I’m not vituperative,” Logan said.
“See? I don’t even know if you are or not. I just grabbed the biggest word I know. But Jeni would.”
“What are you saying, Your Highness?”
“Jenine’s your birthday present, Logan. If you want her. Marry her. Just give me the word.”
Logan was stunned. “That’s, that’s quite the birthday present.”
“Your family will be restored. Our children will grow up together. One of your grandchildren could share the throne with one of mine. You’ve been the best friend a man could ask for, Logan, and friends are something most princes don’t get. I want to do well by you. You’ll be happy, I promise it. Jenine is turning into an amazing woman. As I think you’ve noticed.” The prince nodded.
Logan saw her then, looking at him across the room, and he realized he’d already seen her tonight. Or at least her breasts.
His face flamed. He tried to summon words, but they abandoned him. Jenine stood there across the room, with the elegance of a woman far older, at least until one of her friends said something to her and she started giggling.
The prince laughed. “Say yes, and you can do all the things you were imagining a minute ago. Legitimately.”
“I, I …” Logan’s jaw worked. “I’m in love with Serah, Your Highness. Thank you for your offer, but—”
“Logan! Do everyone a favor. Say yes. Your parents will be overjoyed. Your family will be saved. Jenine will be ecstatic.”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Of course not. But think about it. Serah’s great. But let’s be honest, she’s kind of pretty, but she’s not as smart as you like, and you know what the rumors say about her getting around—”
“She’s the opposite of a loose woman, Aleine. She hasn’t even more than kissed me.”
“But the rumors—”
“The rumors are because people hate her father. I love her. I’m going to marry her.”
“Excuse me,” a young blonde said. She slid between them and brushed past the prince to reach for a sweet roll. She was a scandal in red. The friction between her chest and the prince’s nearly pulled her breasts free of her dress, which had something more like a navel-line than a neckline. The prince noticed, Logan saw. But then, he usually did. And so did Logan.
“I’m Viridiana,” the girl said, catching the prince’s eyes as they came back up. “I’m so sorry, excuse me.” Not that it was an apology. Not that it was an accident.
Viridiana slipped back into the crowd, her dancer’s body carrying the prince’s eyes and his thoughts away from Logan. “Well, uh, think about it. Let’s talk tomorrow, before you ask,” the prince said, watching Viridiana head out to the back porch. She looked over her shoulder, and seeing him looking, smiled.
The prince looked down at his plate, piled high with a little bit of each delicacy on the table. Then he looked at Logan’s, piled high with just one thing. “This, my friend,” the prince said, “is the difference between us. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve seen a dish I simply must sample.”
Logan sighed. His eyes fell on Jenine again, who was still looking at him. It looked like her friends were urging her to go talk to him.
Damnation. Where’s Serah?