Page 29 of Bloodguard

I frown. “You’re saying I need to be popular? To wave at onlookers in the arena and pretend that all that’s happening around us is fantastic even as I can see the threats mounting against Arrow every day? You want me to smile as people diefor sport?”

My thoughts turn to Leith. His suffering. His pain.

I can’t condone those games. I won’t.

“No,” he says. “I’m only saying that sometimes you must share wine with those you’d prefer swallow glass.” The carriage comes to a stop, and a footman opens the door.

Father exits first, then holds his hand out to me.

“Father, I…”

“We can continue this discussion later, Maeve.”

My stomach sinks. Have I disappointed him?

Though Father doesn’t say it, I feel the burden of freeing Papa—his one true love. If I fail to claim the throne, everyone suffers. I take a deep breath. I won’t fail. I take his hand and exit the carriage.

Giselle casts a look over her shoulder, her honey eyes wary, but like Father, she hides it well. She smiles and allows Caelen to escort her into the main courtyard, her long silver dress fluttering as we head toward where lively music plays and dancing has already begun.

General Tut stands beside Vitor, who waits at the entryway, welcoming guests as they arrive.Keeping tabs, more like.Tut is tall, even for an ogre, his thick head and neck straining against the cut of his military robes. His puffs of red hair are too unruly to braid in the characteristic style that Vitor and Soro and even Caelen favor. What strands he has are shorn down to expose the shaved sides above his crooked ears.

As we approach them, I realize I have been made to feel like a guest in what ismyhome, my kingdom.

“Maeve! So lovely that you could attend this year.” Vitor takes my hands and kisses them.

I choke on unexpected bitterness. I want to say something witty or cutting to defend my former absences, but instead, I smile.

“Thank you,” I say, shoulders square and back straight like my grandmother taught me.

I start to move beyond the procession but then think better of it and step back and stand beside Vitor.

He beams like I’ve handed him the sun.

I’d like to think it’s because he’s proud that I’m embracing my role as the future queen, but in reality, it’s likely because this serves him, too. My presence validates his position of power. And Vitor has settledverycomfortably into the role of Lord Regent of Arrow.

“Jakeb,” Vitor says to my father. And though it lacks enthusiasm or warmth, it is respectful enough. Father nods to him, then bows to me before joining the other guests. The gesture is pointed and petty, and I have to suppress a smile knowing how much Father must have enjoyed doing it.

About an hour into handshakes, introductions, and niceties, I’m beginning to regret my decision to take my rightful place in the receiving line. It would have been so much easier to join Father and Giselle in the courtyard, but easy isn’t my role tonight. There’s also a very annoying itch on the side of my left breast thanks to my tight, uncomfortable gown, and it’s taking everything in me not to abandon decorum and reach in there to scratch it. Instead, I politely smile and nod at the noble in front of me while my grandmother’s words play in my head.“A queen does not give in to fear, anger, or discomfort before her subjects. She overcomes and endures. As will the kingdom.”

Caelen and Giselle are dancing, at Caelen’s insistence, I’m sure. The lively tune is one that comes from his nearby birthplace of Tunder. Other guests linger near the buffet tables, where platters of food are laid out by the castle staff.

I notice that Aisling and Soro move from one group of nobles to another. Aisling makes small talk, her smile big and bright. She’s quick to touch a shoulder or take a hand. She leans in close, her expressions almost exaggerated as she engages each guest with rapt attention. Really, she could teach a class on charm. Not that I’ve ever been on the receiving end of it.

Though well trained for courtly duties, my natural talents are biting my tongue, lest I cut out theirs, and herbology—traits not normally associated with ruling a kingdom. Grandmother, though—she wasn’t above tongue slicing. Just not in public.

Apparently, that’s one of the few things I’ve inherited.

At last, the line of arriving guests ends with a familiar face.

“Lord Kaysoon!” I smile genuinely for the first time in a while when the delegate from Libur approaches. I lift my hands, thumbs pressed together and fingers extended like wings in what is the welcome gesture of his land.

“Princess Maeve, a pleasure as always.” He returns the gesture. The stout dwarf looks even more pleased to see Vitor. “I was hoping to catch you.” He hesitates only an instant before launching into his petition. “Lord Regent, I’m sure you’re aware of the droughts in our realm.”

Straight to the point. I smile, ever appreciating the practicality and candor of Liburi culture.

Vitor inclines his head to his general. “Tut has kept me apprised of the situation.”

We monitorallof the realms.

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