Page 47 of Vale of Dreams

I can’t tell if he’s evaluating my body or the simple blue dress I’m wearing. “Yes? Can I help you?

He meets my gaze, biting his lip. “Well, I can say that the prince has impeccable taste in women, but of course he has impeccable taste in everything, doesn’t he? That’s what makes him the prince.” He barks a laugh.

“Okay.” It’s not what makes him the prince, but I’m not going to argue.

He runs a hand through his black hair. His skin is pale, and his hair is so unnaturally black that I wonder if he glamours it.

He nods. “Yeah, you’d be my type, you know, Nia? If the prince hadn’t already claimed you for himself, you’d be my type, definitely. Interesting. Not that I’m going to tread on his territory when he so clearly values you, his royal mistress.”

Two women bustle behind him carrying swaths of fabric, one with long white hair, the other with a blond pixie cut. He shoves the box into the hands of the white-haired lady, then claps his hands together, smiling at me. “What did you say your name was?"

“Nia,” I remind him, though he literally just said it.

“Right, right.” He points at me.

This man has a distinctly practiced indifference.

“And you are?” I ask.

“The name’s Jasper. I’m in creative control of the royal wardrobe. I’m an artist, and I’ve been sent here to create art.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Jasper saunters into the room, looking around. “My dear friend Talan really gives his mistresses nice rooms, doesn’t he? Nice. Nice. You really did bewitch him, didn’t you, you little minx? Must have quite the snatch, but we don’t judge how one gets power, do we? The power is what matters.”

“Thank you?”

He turns to me, cocking his head. He narrows his eyes, and I think he’s pretending to think. “Right, what are we doing, then?”

“The banquet,” snaps the woman with the blond pixie cut. She cuts me a sharp look as she crosses inside.

Jasper claps again, then points at her. “Yes, Riona. Yes. The banquet. Talan has invited his new friend, and we need to get her dressed in the finest attire.”

“Banquet?” I ask.

Instead of answering, Jasper drops into an upholstered armchair and picks up my half-empty glass of mead. He fills it to the brim, then takes a long sip, draining half of it. “You mind if I have a little of this? It helps me think creatively. I do my best work with mead. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

He stares at me again, swirling the glass. “Do you make art?”

I flick my hair over my shoulders, staying in character as the imperious farm girl. “I’m a farmer, actually. Onions, carrots, and pigs. Of course, there is a certain artistry to onion farming during these times of famine.”

He freezes and stares at me over his glass as if he’s trying to figure out whether I’m joking. “Are you being serious?"

I fold my arms. “Why wouldn’t I be? The kingdom needs farmers, you know. We don’t have as much to work with these days as we used to, but we still manage to pull your food from the blighted soil. And yes, there’s an art to that.”

“Wow. Yeah, no, I can imagine. Onions. Interesting. Interesting. And of course, I’m sure you’re as layered as an onion.” He laughs again.

He’s highly skilled at saying absolutely nothing of substance.

He snaps his fingers again. “Riona. Riona. Bring out the?—”

“It’s Ranae,” the blonde says acidly. “You know my name. I’ve worked with you every day for eight years.”

He slouches in his chair, smiling. “Right. Ranae. Great to meet you. Nice one. Bring out the sheer midnight blue, please.” He drains the rest of the mead in his glass, then stares at me again. “Could you get undressed now, please? Sorry, what did you say your name was, again?”

I’m positive he knows everyone’s name. “Nia.”

Undressing in front of others was a well-practiced part of our training. The Fey are not self-conscious about their bodies, and I can’t ask Jasper to go into another room, even if I want him to. So, while he sips his mead, I pull off my blue dress and stand there in my brand-new white lace underwear.

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