Page 46 of The Sun King's Noon

Seola swatted Richard’s shoulder as he watched them go. “You are good at that.”

“I have had near a lifetime of juggling my siblings’ arguments.”

Seola lifted her sword. “Well then, old friend. Shall we return to our own quarrel?”

“Yes.” Richard slid into a ready stance. “But this time, you will refrain from discussing my knight.”

“Aha.” Seola winked. “Yourknight, is he?”

Richard lunged before she could say another word.

CHAPTER 19

By evening, Richard’s head felt as if a drum pounded from within. He walked the corridors of the west wing, massaging his temples as the servants bustled around with final preparations for tomorrow’s ball. The sun’s dimming rays poured through the long windows and gilded the red runners underfoot.

Richard sighed, turning a corner. An hour with Vikram had done him no good. The Naradeshi king had received Richard in his guest chamber with a tray of tea and had then dismantled every angle Richard had attempted. No, Naradesh would not commit troops to a border war it judged unwinnable. No, Vikram would not send soldiers to be torn apart because Ardenia’s king believed unity could patch over logic. Yes, Naradesh would investigate the naga. Yes, Naradesh would gather information on Rot. But, armies? No.

“Sun King,”Vikram had said calmly,“you ask me to pour water into a cracked vessel.”

The worst was the certainty beneath Vikram’s words—the flat, unshakeable conviction that Ardenia would fall. The Nightbourne Queen had said the same. As though Richard’s realm were a patient whose physician had long since drawn curtains around.

After the crushing exchange, as Richard had stalked from the guest quarters, Byrom had come to him, clutching his notes. The second harpist had suddenly fallen ill, he had said urgently. Would Richard mind if they replaced the second harpist with a new violinist hungry for a chance to perform, or would Richard prefer they pay a surplus for a more experienced harpist?

“I do not care, Byrom,” Richard had snapped. “A goat will do if it can keep a tune. You need not bring every minuscule catastrophe to me.”

Byrom had paled before stammering his apology and fleeing.

Now, shame prickled hot. Byrom did not deserve that. The man had been run ragged, seeming one strong breeze away from collapse. Richard ought to mend things later. Perhaps send him a hundred of his favourite sugared pastries.

Knuckling his temples, Richard entered a hallway that overlooked the inner courtyard. On hearing the swell of laughter and chatter, Richard neared an arched balcony. By the great oak tree was a throng of people. Servants, mostly—kitchen staff in flour-dusted aprons, stable hands with mud-covered boots. A cluster of pages and squires. A few off-duty soldiers with tankards. At the centre of it all, surrounded by Elara, Corwin and Penelope, was Kaelen.

He held a cake slathered in cream, and he was grinning—a full grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed all of his teeth.

The crowd cheered, and a scullion boy began a chant the others picked up, “Five-and-twenty! Five-and-twenty!”

Richard’s stomach dropped.

Kaelen’s birthday. He had forgotten.

Below, Corwin took the cake from Kaelen and slung an arm around the knight’s shoulders. “Speech!”

“Say something wise,” Elara called out. She was hugging a giggling Penelope from the back. “Something worthy of your age.”

Kaelen considered it, then intoned, “My wisdom is Corwin ought never be trusted near buttercream.”

Immediately, Corwin smeared a gob of cream across Kaelen’s cheek. A stablehand chortled and raised a tankard, and more toasts erupted.

Richard pressed his thumbnail into the balcony’s railing. What could he give Kaelen? A jewel, perhaps. There were several in the royal treasury?—

A figure moved through the crowd with languid grace.

Ravi.

He was adorned in gold necklaces and earrings, and wore a fitted saffron wrap, the long swords glinting at his waist. On reaching Kaelen, he cupped the knight’s face, tiptoed, and kissed him.

Kaelen made a muffled sound. His lashes fluttered shut, and he inclined his head, adjusting the angle, a hand rising to tangle in Ravi’s hair. The kiss deepened. Ravi’s thumb traced the line of Kaelen’s jaw.

The two parted. Kaelen’s cheeks blazed crimson.