Page 42 of A Storm in Every Heart
Fuck this.
I shove my chair back abruptly and stand. All eyes at the table turn to me, and my father raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Uh, I just need some air,” I mutter, stepping back from the table.
Before anyone can stop me, I push my chair back in and stride toward the short steps that separate our raised table from the rest of the busy dining room.
“Excuse him,” my father says behind me. “His betrothed just entered the hall. You know how young princes can be.”
King Florian laughs, and the stilted conversation resumes.
I grind my teeth but don’t turn around. I hadn’t even noticed Lady Lyra enter the room, I simply had to leave before I did something stupid. Punching the prince of our neighboring kingdom would not be the best way to start this summit…even if he deserved it.
I avoid catching anyone’s eye as I stride along the far side of the busy dining hall. Eight long tables, packed with food and finely dressed nobles of both courts, fill the cavernous room, their chatter echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
At least the courtiers all seem to be getting along.
In theory, we’re here because Prince Thorne is interested in marrying my sister, but we all know that’s not the real reason.
An event like this is intended to let the courtiers mingle with each other while the royals talk politics. Undoubtedly dozens of marriages and business agreements will come out of the next three days, but none of them will involve the royal families.
No one in my family has ever married outside our own court. My own uninspiring betrothal is the perfect example of that.
Despite my father’s excuses to the Vernalli royals, I have no desire to stop and talk to Lyra, and I duck my head, pretending not to see her as I push open the heavy double doors and step out into the corridor.
Mercifully, no one else is out here. On one side of the long hall is the polished stone wall, which drowns out any sound from the dining room behind it. On the opposite side, the wall is open and lined with white stone pillars and a low railing, which overlooks the rocky cliffs and ocean beyond the castle.
I cross the hall and lean on the railing. In the distance, I can see the chimneys of the nearby city and the tall masts of the docked ships.
I’ve barely had a moment to catch my breath when the doors open again behind me, bringing the sounds of the dining room out into the quiet corridor.
“Your Highness?” a familiar voice asks as the creaking doors swing shut again.
“What is it, Magnus?” I growl.
Magnus Von Bargen, my father’s favorite advisor, comes to stand beside me. I begrudgingly turn to acknowledge him.
Magnus is a thin, white man of above average height, with blonde hair, which hints that he’s originally from Thermia—though I’ve never asked. Technically, he’s my future father-in-law, but our relationship has never been anything other than prince and courtier.
“Your father wanted me to remind you that it leaves a bad impression on the court of Vernallis for you to disappear in the middle of dinner.”
“He said that, did he?”
Magnus huffs a breath and throws me a placating smile. “Well, no, not precisely…but you know what I mean.”
I sigh and roll my eyes—I understand exactly what he’s getting at.
My father is incredibly predictable, and so set in his ways that Magnus can foresee his words before they’re even spoken. Like earlier, when Magnus practically dragged me outside onto the balcony so the arriving Vernalli nobles would get the full effect of our entire family looking down on them. I don’t like crowds or putting on political theater, but predictably, my father didn’t care, and Magnus was sent to tell me so.
Father’s predictability is why Magnus has become my father’s chief advisor; essentially his sole advisor. Although Father doesn’t typically take advice from anyone, if he ever chose to, Magnus’s opinion would be the only one he’d consider.
“What do you think Father would do if I punched Prince Thorne in the middle of dinner?” I ask, conversationally.
To his credit, Magnus doesn’t seem surprised by the question and considers it. “I think he’d tell you that if you must, save it for after dinner.”
I let out a startled bark of laughter. He’s absolutely right; Father wouldn’t care about the violence, only that it was unplanned. Losing control is a far greater sin in my father’s eyes than anything else. I could probably get away with murder as long as it was well thought out.
“I’ll be back in a moment. Less than five minutes, I promise.”
