Page 44 of The Shadowbound King

“I know what you meant,” I said, struggling not to laugh. “Although, I’m not sure it was sweet.” My smile faded as I cast another quick look at the opening across the room. “Nothing about him is sweet,” I mumbled.

Ginhad sat up. “The king is under a great deal of pressure,” he said in a low voice. “It’s hard for him when Lord Rane is away.”

“How long have they…?” I cleared my throat, my cheeks heating.

“A long time.” Ginhad gestured to the gown I still held. “It’s green, but I’m prepared to defend my choice.”

I recognized the deliberate change of subject—and I’d spent enough time around Ginhad over the past week to know when he was finished talking about something. The steward was charming and mischievous, but his playfulness masked a sharp wit and deep loyalty to Andrin.

Sighing, I smoothed a hand down the dress’s shimmering skirts. “Another night of frivolity.”

Ginhad stood, motioning for me to rise with him. We were long past the modesty I’d felt my first night at the Embervale, and I rose and obediently presented my back.

“I did warn you,” he said, unlacing me with quick, expert fingers. “This court only knows how to do three things. And let’s just say it’s been a while since anyone led a sewing circle.”

I gnawed at my lip, memories of the past few nights parading through my mind. The feasts had grown progressively unrulier as the week wore on. “I’m waiting for someone to strip naked and start coupling on the tables,” I said under my breath.

Ginhad made a soft sound, his fingers stilling on my ribbons.

I looked at him over my shoulder. “That’s going to happen, isn’t it.”

He offered an apologetic smile. “Just about everyone at court has awere, and almost no one can leave. I’d say it’s like a zoo in here, but that would be a little too on the nose.” He went back to tugging at my laces. “I know! I’ll sing to cheer you up.”

I lifted my arms so he could pull the dress over my head. As I maneuvered my way out of the yards of fabric, he launched into a bawdy, off-key tune. By the time he helped me into the new gown, I expected Andrin to charge from his bedchamber and kill Ginhad for real.

“…and the ladies doth ply the men’s rods!” Ginhad finished, drawing out the final word with an eye-watering flourish. He spun me around and gave me a hopeful look. “Did that help?”

“Um… Truthfully, no.”

He nodded, a sage look in his eyes. “But you feel better now that I’ve stopped singing, right?”

“Yes?”

He brightened. “Then it helped! And, my gods, I was right about this dress. When will everyone accept that I’m always right?” He darted behind me, then guided me toward a large mirror with his hands on my shoulders.

My breath caught. The gown fit like someone had sewn it just for me. Layers of sheer green skirts flowed from a curve-hugging bodice embroidered with golden leaves and rosettes. The embroidery continued down the skirts, making it appear as though leaves tumbled down the dress as I walked. Ginhad hadswept half of my hair into an elegant twist with the rest left to cascade down my back in soft waves.

Ginhad rested his chin on my shoulder, a soft smile curving his lips. “You could steal quite a few hearts in this gown, my lady.”

“We should all hope she leaves the thieving to her father.”

Ginhad jerked away from me as if he’d been burned. Together, we turned toward the bedchamber. Andrin stood in the doorway, his expression hard and arrogant. His dark green jacket accentuated his wide shoulders and large frame. Tall boots rose to just below his knees, the polished toes reflecting the firelight.

Ginhad bowed at the waist. “Good evening, Your Majesty. I was just helping Lady Mirella with her gown.”

Andrin flicked his gaze over me. “It appears you’ve finished.”

“Uh…yes,” Ginhad said. “Yes, sire, I have.”

“Then you may go. Please stop by the kitchen on your way to the hall.” Andrin waited a beat. “Make sure the cooks are sober.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Ginhad offered another quick bow, then nodded to me and left.

A heavy silence fell after the doors closed behind him. Andrin approached, his legs slicing through the shafts of waning sunlight that poured through the windows. His hair and beard gleamed brighter than the fire. He stopped in front of me, his boots brushing the hem of my voluminous skirts.

“You wear my colors,” he said, his blue eyes drifting down my bodice.

My pulse picked up, and a strange heat prickled over my skin. “Yes, Your Majesty. Although, Ginhad chose the gown.”

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