Page 79 of The Uncrowned Prince

It was a little like settling into a different skin—remembering how to swagger and smirk and draw every eye, and to do so as if it were his sole purpose for existing. And yet, in many ways, this ruse was comforting. It was something he knew how to do. Something he was undeniably good at.

In years past, Vaniell had played this part out of desperation. Alone and bitter, hoping only for survival.

Now he played it with this strange cast of companions, while the fate of the Five Thrones hung in the balance. Could he convince the Irian councilors to listen? Or would they dismiss him as a fraud? Or worse, acknowledge his identity but label him as worthless?

A steward hastily approached, bowing to Vaniell before offering him a confused frown.

“Good sir, I believe there has been a mistake. I have not been made aware that anyone of your rank was among the expected guests this evening. We are in the midst of a formal farewell for a valued ally, so perhaps I could take your name and you could call again when a member of the council might be available to meet with you.”

It was time to make his play.

“My good fellow, I assure you, there is no mistake,” Vaniell drawled with a glittering smile. “I am always precisely where I mean to be. Please make the Royal Council and His Highness, Prince Torevan, aware that Prince Vaniell of Garimore has arrived and requests to be granted a moment of their time.”

CHAPTER20

The shabby coat was gone, and like a dragon shedding its skin, the man beneath had emerged, wielding audacity like a deadly weapon.

In the hands of Garimore’s prince, Karreya began to suspect that it might be exactly that.

As the murmurs spread through the crowd and the steward rose from a deep bow, Vaniell surveyed the room with a slightly bored expression, never allowing his gaze to rest in any one place for long.

“And your, er, companions?” The steward hesitated. “Ought I announce them as well?”

He’d said “companions,” but his attention kept darting to one—the dark cloaked form of Kyrion, Wyvern King of the night elves, who had informed Karreya rather forcefully that they werenotthe same as elves.

“My companions,” Vaniell returned silkily, “are quite capable of announcing themselves, whenever it seems right for them to do so.”

“I see.” A pair of servants materialized at the steward’s elbow, and he sent them scrambling with a few whispered words. “And their, ah… weaponry…”

“As the representative of my people, traveling in a foreign land, I would be remiss if I risked the royal succession by appearing in public without a guard, would I not?” One of Vaniell’s dark eyebrows rose, but in judgment rather than query, as if he neither requested nor expected an answer.

“Indeed yes, but…”

“So, you have finally seen fit to crawl out of your hole, eh?”

The tall, bulky figure of Garimore’s ambassador emerged from the crowd, nostrils flaring, fists clenched. It seemed abundantly clear to Karreya that Lord Grendish had not been quite prepared to find the heir to Garimore’s throne smirking at him across the reception hall.

“Why, my dear Lord Grendish, what a lovely surprise to see you here.” Vaniell strolled forward, to within arm’s length of the ambassador, before reaching out and flicking imaginary specks of lint from the latter’s red-lined cloak. “You appear to have traveled with some haste, given that you could not even stop to press your wardrobe or attend to those bags beneath your eyes.” He shook his head in theatrical disappointment. “What could possibly have occurred to lead you this far from court with such dire speed?”

“Are you suggesting that Garimore ought not express their support of neighbor and ally in such a difficult time?” Grendish replied, lips twisting in distaste. “Exactly what I would expect of your fickle character. Missing for months, and now appearing out of nowhere without dignity or decorum, as if life is a grand, never-ending party.” He snorted. “You’ll gain no audience here, Your Highness, so I suggest you slink off to whatever corner you’ve been hiding in.”

Vaniell’s smirk only grew. “But corners are so fascinating, Your Excellency. It’s simply marvelous what one can learn by hiding in them at exactly the right moment.”

The ambassador paused, color draining from his cheeks. “I cannot imagine…”

“Enough.” A tone of quiet command intruded on the confrontation. A man of past middle age stood on the edge of the crowd, his graying hair and beard cropped short and the tawny brown skin of his arms bearing no shortage of scars—a warrior by the look of him. Karreya recognized him from her previous visit to these halls, when he had seemed to hold some position of leadership among the council members. He did not seem in any way disturbed by the conversation he’d interrupted, though by his furrowed brow and speculative gaze, the cloaked form of Kyrion gave him significant pause.

“Forgive me,” he said coolly, “for the lack of courtesy in your reception. I do not believe anyone currently present at court has been blessed with the privilege of making your acquaintance, Prince Vaniell, so you were not immediately recognized. But allow me to assure you that we are honored by your presence here.”

“The honor is mine,” Vaniell returned smoothly, “and I must offer my gratitude to Ambassador Grendish for so graciously confirming my identity.” He threw a smirking glance at the spluttering ambassador and winked.

Far from seeming pleased to be thanked, Grendish appeared to have swallowed his tongue.

“Your Highness, Your Excellency,” the councilor continued, “I am Faraden, First Councilor and chief advisor to His Highness, Prince Torevan. Whatever contention lies between the two of you, the Royal Council demands an immediate cessation of public hostilities, and must further insist on an urgent private audience with you both.”

Vaniell responded to this stern invitation with a delighted smile. “Precisely what I had most wished for. Thank you, Faraden, for granting my request so swiftly.”

The First Councilor did not reply again, but led the way out of the hall, leaving Vaniell and his companions to follow and Ambassador Grendish to fume as he scurried to keep up.

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