Free The Spy Princess by Sherwood Smith Page A

lake. Everyone was supposed to dress formally, according to rank, but Uncle Darian wore a plain tunic and sash of dark violet with hints of gold—the Irad colors—long trousers, and riding boots.
    The light on the king’s face made him look very much like a grown version of Peitar, which was unsettling because I never really could think of him as an uncle, as family. At least Father did care for us in his way, despite his frowns and fusses. Uncle Darian was too remote, too cold, too dangerous in his moods—too much
the king
and never
our uncle
.
    He gave a careless wave toward the fine chairs.
    Father was, as usual, clearly disturbed by the king’s impatience with what he considered proper courtly manners. Or maybe it was because Uncle Darian was in a bad mood. Still, he sank into the chair with a grateful sigh and mopped his brow.
    The light then shifted on my uncle’s stern face; it was our turn. I dropped my best curtsey. “Good evening, Uncle Darian.” And I retreated to the farthest chair.
    Peitar bowed, also murmuring his greeting.
    Uncle Darian’s mouth tightened. “Put that thing in the fire,” he said, gesturing at Peitar’s crutch. “Leaning on it will never make you straight. You are not yet too old to learn strength of will.”
    Peitar’s expression did not change. He did as ordered. Then, as the crutch began to burn, he made his painful way to the chair next to mine.
    The king turned his attention back to Father. “Tasenja and his boy are here. You’ve explained?” I sat up straight as Father bowed his head in agreement. “Do you understand what’s expected of you, Lilah?”
    â€œYes, Uncle,” I bleated.
    His brows contracted in a slight frown. “The betrothal ceremony will take place next month, but you and the boy will meet now.”
    I knew what he meant: he wanted us to meet in private now, in case I made a fuss. Though my last mistake had been made when I was barely old enough to talk, he’d clearly never forgotten it. I couldn’t help but grimace.
    He almost laughed as he said, “Prospect of a betrothal turns your stomach?”
    â€œShe’ll do what she’s told, Your Majesty,” Father said.
    â€œYes, she will.” Uncle Darian pulled the cord for the steward. “Bid Lord Tasenja and his son join us.”
    Peitar caught my eye and lifted his chin:
Courage
, he was saying, plain as anything.
    Meeting this boy didn’t mean I was marrying him—now or ever. If Derek had his way, the choice would be never. Until then, I could play along. Wear a mask, as Peitar had said.
    Lord Tasenja was vaguely familiar—short and plump, with blond hair carefully curled at the sides and back.
    The son was also short, blond, and stocky. He strutted forward and tossed back his wrist-lace before bowing expertly before Uncle Darian, and then—in just the right degree—to my father. Two half-bows for Peitar and me, and then he stood, courtly nose in the air.
    At a look from my father, I rose and made my curtseys. Lord Tasenja surveyed me, from the hair bows trying to hold back curls that were already unraveling to my embroidered slippers, which had grown tight since our last visit here. He did not appear impressed.
    â€œLilah Selenna,” Uncle Darian said, stripping all the etiquette out of the introduction—which was actually rather a relief. “Innon Tasenja.”
    Their name, like ours, was the same as their holding. That meant a very old family.
    â€œCome along,” my uncle said to the two fathers. “We have much to discuss. Let them get acquainted.” Peitar trailed behind, one hand surreptitiously resting against the wall every time he had to put weight on the bad leg.
    I sat down on the fine sofa and busied my hands with smoothing out my skirts. What my uncle had done to Peitar filled me with rage. But I had to hide that! Here was my future, standing three