Page 78 of The Uncrowned Prince

Only his heart, and he wasn’t certain she would even want such a paltry gift.

“I believe you,” Leisa said simply. “Very well. We will arrange for you to be transported to Hanselm as quickly as possible, with whatever aid you require. Those of us who are left will rally the remaining Thrones.”

“We will have to move swiftly,” Vaniell put in. “Garimore has already sent an ambassador to sway the minds and hearts of the Irian royal council. He’s attempting to convince them to delay crowning the young prince. I suspect he is working against Farhall and Eddris in the same way while their thrones are presently in question.”

Leisa and Kyrion shared an odd glance—both speculative and secretive.

“What then do you suggest?” Kyrion asked.

He had an idea, but they weren’t going to like it.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that the Wastrel Prince of Garimore has been missing for long enough.”

“I’m not certain we care to have him back,” Leisa pointed out dryly. “He did not exactly have a reputation for wisdom or political shrewdness.”

“But he wasverygood at drawing people’s attention,” Vaniell drawled, offering them a twisted smile. “Not to mention his other special talents, such as annoying the powerful and getting exactly what he wants. I feel that those might be of particular use right about now.”

“He also possessed nerves of steel.” Leisa’s tone and expression both turned studiously casual. “Though I’m not sure how many people realized that about him.”

Vaniell cocked his head. “I cannot say that I have any idea how you might have reached that conclusion.”

“You played the coward with a smile on your face,” Leisa returned quietly, “but you never flinched. Not even when the Raven’s blade was about to cut your throat.”

Vaniell did flinch then—at the mention of the Raven. It would probably be many years before he could fully let go of that guilt. But when had he ever had that deadly sword at his throat?

Ah. Only once.

When Princess Evaraine first visited Garimore. The Raven had cut Vaniell’s cravat from his neck without breaking the skin, and he’d made the mistake of showing no reaction.

“How did you know?” he asked curiously.

Leisa smiled and winked. “That’s a conversation for later, Your Highness. So what exactly is this plan of yours?”

And Vaniell told her.

* * *

In the end, it was indeed a plan worthy of the magnificent audacity of Prince Vaniell of Garimore, and as their party neared the gates of the Irian Royal Palace, he surveyed the group with a critical eye.

They were as near to perfect as they could be, though not without Senaya’s help.

After a private conversation with Leisa, she had agreed to aid them this far, and while she and her daughter remained stiff and distant with one another, Senaya seemed to have not yet reached any conclusive decisions about the future.

For today, however, she had used her power to transform their wardrobes in preparation for potentially the most important confrontation of their lives.

They passed through the gates near twilight, as the torches in the garden were being lit and the brass lanterns along the carriage road banished the shadows with their brilliance. The doors to the palace were open wide, as Prince Torevan and his council were holding a farewell party for the Garimoran ambassador. Gossip indicated that Ambassador Grendish intended to depart the following morning, after concluding any final negotiations.

Vaniell recognized many repeat guests from his prior visit, though from their expressions, none of them seemed to know quite what to make ofhim—or his companions.

Which was exactly as he’d intended it.

On this occasion, the Wastrel Prince of Garimore was clothed in perfectly fitting black—from boots and trousers to his embroidered waistcoat and tailored jacket. Beneath the waistcoat, he wore a shirt of scarlet silk, while the jacket sleeves were embroidered in red. In one ear, a ruby earring glittered, and his fingers bore rings of ruby and onyx.

On his left was Leisa, wearing a deceptively simple green silk gown. Her hair was caught up in a circlet, and around her neck she wore a heavy ring on a chain.

To his right was the imposing figure of Kyrion, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak and heavy leather gauntlets, with a massive greatsword across his back. And behind them were a pair of guards in unremarkable uniforms—Karreya and Senaya, lightly armed, but attempting to draw as little attention as possible.

Together, they strode through the doors into the entryway where guests were greeted and announced, and within moments, a small crowd gathered to ogle their arrival.

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