Page 40 of The Sun King's Noon

Elara rose to take Penelope’s hand. They settled at the table just below the platform. Near them, Corwin was in the midst of a doomed campaign to win Briony’s goodwill. He slid her a sugared almond that she flicked away.

And beside Corwin—Richard saw with an unpleasant twist of his gut—Kaelen sat with the Naradeshi dancer. The dancer’s long hair cascaded like a waterfall over a shoulder. His wrists were stacked with gold bangles that jangled as he leaned close and murmured something. Kaelen laughed, his head tipping back and dimples adorning his cheeks.

Richard’s fingers tightened around his goblet. He tried to recall if he’d ever made Kaelen laugh, but not a single encounter came to mind. Indeed, all Kaelen ever did these days was scowl. Or argue. Or stare with that wounded expression, as though Richard had wronged him in some way.

And yet, this dancer coaxed smiles with such ease. Kaelen brushed his knuckles against the fall of the dancer’s hair, and inturn, the dancer twined a thick strand around two fingers and tickled the loose ends against Kaelen’s ear.

Kaelen let out a startled giggle, shoulders hunching and ears turning red.

Richard set down his drink harder than he meant to. Wine sloshed against the rim.

Why? He glowered at his disgruntled reflection in the goblet. Kaelen had taken lovers before. He knew of a past lover, Soren, and Corwin had boasted of Kaelen’s reputation across countless taverns as a generous lover. Over the years, Richard had heard giggles from serving maids, stable boys, scribes and footmen about Kaelen’s skills in bed. The knight seemed to have bedded half the castle when he was younger. It was only natural for Kaelen to now be entranced by this new dancer. Why should it vex him so?

Clearly, Richard reasoned, the irritation stemmed from the matter of security. Kaelen had not looked in Richard’s direction even once during this dinner. It meant the Deputy Captain of his Crownsguard was shirking his duties. For Kaelen to act in such a silly manner was unbecoming.

Richard straightened with a slight nod. Yes. He would summon Kaelen to sit at the high table. It would give the knight more importance and remind him that his focus should lie on his king. Just as Richard was about to raise his hand, Vikram spoke from across the table.

“My nephew appears to have found fine conversation.”

Richard startled. “Your Majesty?”

Vikram inclined his head towards the second table. “Ravi. My older brother’s son. You have noticed him.” His mouth twitched into half a grin. “As have most of your hall.”

Below, Ravi clutched at Kaelen’s arm as he laughed uproariously.

Whatever Kaelen had said, Richard was sure, could not have been so funny.

“Your nephew is difficult not to notice,” Richard said. “His skill with those blades is extraordinary.”

“He spent fifteen years making enemies of his own fingers until the urumi agreed to obey him.” Vikram tore a piece of flatbread and dipped it into a dark lentil stew. It’d taken Cook Shirley five attempts to make it right. “The weapon is not forgiving, Sun King. It bites the wielder as readily as the foe. Mastery requires not only discipline but a willingness to bleed for one’s art.”

“It is an incredible achievement,” Richard said. He meant it, though bitterness surged as Kaelen’s laugh reached his ears once more.

“You are generous.” Vikram nodded at Dain. “And you, Lord Commander, ought to be congratulated.”

Dain looked up from his chicken. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You have bred a handsome son. The knight there is yours, yes?”

Dain puffed his chest and twirled his moustache. “Aye. His fine looks come from his mother, mind, but the rest of him’s my doing, doubly so for the muscle.”

Vikram appraised the second table, where Kaelen was now examining a bangle, while Ravi watched with his chin propped on a palm.

“A good match they would make,” Vikram said. “In Naradesh, we would say the stars have placed them at the same table for a reason.”

A retort pressed against Richard’s teeth—something about how the evening’s purpose was not matchmaking. Before he could speak, Seola—chewing on a pheasant leg—leaned around Ragnar to peer at Vikram.

“How in all the frozen hells,” Seola said, her cheeks bulging, “did you carry the world up all those stairs? They say men and women carried blocks weighing more than a horse and still got disqualified! You must have lugged up something a great deal heavier.”

Vikram wiped his fingers on the cloth napkin and steepled his hands. “I have my own curiosities, Princess Jeong. Your kingdom sits on a frozen rock, surrounded by black waters that teem with beasts. And beneath your snows and deep in your icy caves, I am told, ancient creatures creep. How does one build a civilisation upon such ground?”

“One builds it stubborn, King Vikram.” Seola tossed the stripped bone onto her plate. “The sea is cruel, yes. Even in the shallows, the nykur lurks, wearing the shapes of fine horses or pretty faces to lure the weak-hearted into the surf. But the first Queen of Frostheim held in her heart the valour of the Great Raven. When the nykur trapped her, she yanked its mane, and when it dove, she held her breath and bit down on its ear until it surfaced, screaming. Three days and three nights she rode it, until the beast bent its neck and submitted.” She slapped the table with a grin. “That is why the nykur sits upon our banner. We broke it and made it ours.”

“The Great Raven,” Vikram murmured. “How fascinating to see the worship of other gods.”

“Do you mock us?” Seola’s brows creased. “You worship a monkey, no?”

Vikram chuckled and held up a hand. “No offence intended, Princess. Only interest. Yes, the sixth starhouse is that of the god Harish. He is a monkey of great bravery and strength.”