Page 105 of The Princess's Chosen

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Bryony, deigns to visit," Edgar said, with just an edge of sarcasm.

"What?!" one voice squawked that I thought sounded a little like Sir Speares, and then the rest of the room fell into a hush.

The room was vast, a dining area of some kind meant for large parties, and full to the brim with more councilmen than I'd ever seen together thus far. Certainly more than had been on the list that Wendell and the rest of us had prepared. For a moment, I simply followed the slow guiding arm of Daniel as I took them all in. There were a few like Jonathon Roderick, who looked younger—around Wendell's mid-thirties—but the majority were old, gray and white the most common hair colors.

The air was thick with cigar smoke, and most men had a glass of amber liquid at hand. If I hadn't known better, itwould'veseemed like a gentleman's gathering. Like they all might put on wool coats in a minute and go out together for a hunt. Unfortunately, I had a feeling the hunt was taking place right here in the comfort of the warm room.

"Your Highness, you catch us off guard," a familiar dry and dark tone greeted.

Lord Roderick stood up from his seat first, the mass of men in the room following suit quickly, a collective bow delivered at an almost eerily uniform pace.

"But perhaps that was your intention," Roderick said upon rising, lips curving with the imitation of a smile.

"Is it not my right, Lord Roderick, to call upon the noble families of my kingdom? To call upon my councilmen?" I asked.

"Your mother's kingdom," said a man to Lord Roderick's left.

Lord Roderick was tall and lean and had the look of a predator. This man who spoke was almost as tall, but three times as wide, with a flushed red face and swollen jowls. I knew immediately he must be from the south for how well fed he seemed to be, how richly he dressed, and he almost did look familiar, like he might've passed through the castle once or twice.

"Lord Thomlinson," I said, pleased when he looked a little startled by my guess as he nodded deeply in acknowledgment. "Yes, my mother is Kimmery's queen, and I am her daughter. Do you believe she makes the distinction so strongly? That she does not wish for her heir to take an interest in the affairs of state? As you appear to wish I would not."

"Not at all, Your Highness, I merely—"

Roderick cut Thomlinson's blustering off with a sideways glance and a quick clearing of his throat.

"You are, of course, welcome in your interest, Your Highness. You've arrived at a—"

"Gathering of friends, so the duke told me," I said, forcing the same smile on that Roderick wore and watching as his faltered. "It must be very convenient for the council to all be so friendly and able to visit one another. I am very happy for you all. However, I think we are all well aware, and I include myself in this, that this is not a social meeting."

The room was quiet, the smoke still and hovering as though all the men collectively held their breath. One man, very elderly and stooped, wobbled in place and held on to the back of his chair like a crutch.

"Please, sit. My Chosen and I will join you, and you may continue to speak as friends," I said gently.

I took two steps toward the table, and a man was quick to offer up his chair. "Sir Weston, Your Highness," he murmured to me.

"Thank you, Sir Weston." A loyalist by Wendell's reckoning.

One by one, the men returned warily to their seats, most of them looking to Roderick and Thomlinson for guidance. The hush remained heavy in the room, but the smoke dissipated as one of the younger men moved to crack a window.

"Pope," another greeted Wendell softly behind me. "Good to finally see you at one of these…in spite of, well…"

Owen took the seat he was offered on my right, his lips brushing my ear as he sat down. "Red waistcoat, across and five down from you."

He'd found one.

"A couple others too."

My eyes widened briefly and then I regained control of myself. Three shifters here on the council? That meant it wasn't really more prevalent amongst commoners than nobles.

"Someone send for tea," a man called.

"Better make it coffee," another muttered, pushing his glass and cigar away.

"I believe I interrupted your conversation, Lord Roderick," I said to the head of the table, my eyes snagging on his steely gaze. "Please resume it."

Jonathon Roderick appeared from the corner of the room, bending to whisper in his father's ear, but the older man grimaced and pushed his son away.

"A conversation which was not, perhaps, suitable for ears such as yours," Lord Roderick said, lips smirking.

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