Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Kareen ascended the steps stage left, then moved to the center, enjoying the spotlight as Gared bowed to her. She might have stayed there all night, basking in the cheers and applause, had Jasin not opened the door to admit the next woman. Kareen winked at him as she moved slowly to descend stage left.

“Miss Dinese Wardgood, daughter of Lord Wardgood of South Klat.”

Dinny had chosen a waltz that was sure to have Gared tripping over everyone in the room. Odds were she’d compound the punishment by reciting poetry the whole time.

Araine had arranged for many young hopefuls to occupy the seats beside Gared at dinner each night, but none more often than these two. Their powerful fathers were able to buy access the others could not afford. They were the clear political favorites, but unless the rest of the debutantes were farm animals, they had little chance of making Ball Queen.

Dinny gave Gared a hidden wave as she left center stage, but as with Kareen’s wink, the young baron gave no sign he noticed. He kept his eyes on the doors, waiting for something to give him hope.

Rojer played in woman after woman, but Gared remained unmoved.

“Miss Emelia Lacquer, daughter of Alber Lacquer of Merchant Hill.” For a moment Gared remained still, but then he stiffened and leaned forward.

Rojer looked to door. He should have known. All Jessa’s girls chose “downstairs names” while they were working, cast aside on graduation as they reentered society by their given names.

It was Rosal.

Gared watched intently as she glided down the walkway, though if it was the look of hunter or prey, Rojer could not guess.

From that moment on, Gared only had eyes for her, to the point of ignoring the last few women to enter, save when they passed into his line of sight crossing the stage. Thankfully there were only a few, but much of the crowd had already picked up on Gared’s distraction, pointing at Emelia and whispering to one another.

Rojer sighed. Everyone who was anyone was in attendance, including more than a few who had likely been to the royal brothel in the last eighteen months. Emelia had changed her hair and chosen a modest gown, looking quite different than she had at Jessa’s, but sooner or later someone was bound to recognize her.

Leesha stood alone at the ball. She had done everything she could to get Wonda into a gown for the event, but finally the girl shrieked, tearing the last dress from her body. Leesha thought the seamstress was going to have a heart attack.

“This ent me,” Wonda said. “Love you, mistress. Take a hundred crank bow bolts for you. But you and all the demons in the Core can’t get me to wear another rippin’ dress so long as I live.”

What could Leesha do, but apologize? Wonda now stood by the wall with the other guards. She had cut her hair and oiled it back, proudly showing the jagged lines the demon’s claws had left across her face.

Leesha smiled. It was a start. She would have to thank Jessa. Her words had reached the girl where Leesha’s could not.

There was a gasp, and she looked up to see Gared ignore the steps, hopping off the stage as easily as other men might from a foot stool. Guests, taken by surprise at the informality, hesitated, then moved to greet him.

But the hesitation was all the time Gared needed to sweep past, his long legs carrying swiftly across the ballroom to where Emelia stood with her parents. Royals and highborn stood openmouthed at the snub, and Alber Lacquer noticed, even if Gared was oblivious. He twitched nervously as Gared pumped his hand, but Emelia’s mother, no small beauty herself, beamed with pride.

Gared had always been a simple man. Direct. It was good sometimes, to remind the Royals that not everything was a secret game of hidden cards.

Leesha had been promised to Gared once, but he was a better man by far now, even if he had been sleeping with her mother. Part of her wanted to advise against the match. Emelia was devious and controlling. But Elona was that as well. And Leesha, if she was honest with herself. Perhaps that was what Gared needed in a woman.

Emelia carried the risk of scandal, but no more than Gared himself, even if he did not know it. If Elona gave birth to a giant, it wouldn’t be long before someone figured things out. Even Gared couldn’t be thick enough to miss that.

“I’d give anything to know what was going through that mind of yours,” a voice behind her said.

Leesha started, so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed as Thamos came up behind her and bowed. But she had been praying for this moment, and she was ready. She gripped her emotions in a cruel fist, shoving them down a dark hole as she turned and dipped into an elegant curtsy.

However hard Wonda had been on the seamstress, Leesha had been worse. She fretted over every stitch and ruffle of her silk gown, designed to hide her growing belly in the shadow of cleavage even the women could not ignore.

She bit back a smirk as she watched Thamos’ eyes flick to her chest as she bent. The count was dashing in his polished boots and formal uniform—crushed velvet and silk, with golden epaulets and tassels. A dozen medals of lacquered gold covered his left breast, his dress spear slung over his shoulder in a polished harness encrusted with precious stones.

But if her neckline had caught his gaze, Thamos’ handsome face caught hers and held it. His beard was carefully trimmed, not a hair on his head out of place. She wanted to grip it tight, tousling the pristine locks, slick with sweat as he thrust into her.

Leesha felt a moistening between her legs. This was the last night before he was to be sent south, and she meant to have him again before he left. She would die if she did not.

“Nothing of import, my lord,” she said.

“A lie.” Thamos sounded tired. “But I should be used to that. There is never nothing of import going on behind your eyes, Leesha Paper.”

Leesha swallowed. She supposed she deserved that. “Gared seems to have chosen his Ball Queen already.” She nodded to the two, staring into each other’s eyes. “I was pondering the match.” She gave her head a twitch toward Wonda. “And I was thinking of how Wonda had railed against coming in a gown.”

Thamos grunted. “The girl is wise. My mother’s been throwing me these balls for years. I’d rather be fighting corelings.”

“The Baron of the Hollow is not the only eligible bachelor tonight, Highness,” Leesha said. “The count still needs a countess.”

Just then there were bells, and everyone looked to see the Duchess Mum standing with Kareen Easterly. Crowded behind her stood the Royals Gared had snubbed, trying—and failing—to hide their vexation.

“It looks like the Count of Riverbridge wants the cocktail hour cut short.” Thamos chuckled. “The Easterlys have better claim to the throne than even my mother. They’re not used to being snubbed.”

Indeed, Araine signaled Rojer to begin the first dance, and the Jongleur was not fool enough to refuse. He began the slow song Kareen had inched down the carpet to.

Thamos took a step back, offering his hand with a bow. “I may yet need a countess, but I have no desire to look for one on my last night in Angiers. Will you dance with me?”

“If I put my arms around you, Highness,” Leesha said, nonetheless taking his hand and moving in close, “I may not let go.”

Thamos put a hand on her waist. “You will have to. My mother has summoned us to her garden after the first dance.”

“Now?!” Leesha couldn’t believe it. “In the middle of the ball, with you being sent Creator knows where in the morning?”

“Points I made to my mother,” Thamos said, “but she said if I value my skin, I was to collect you and come.”

They passed Gared on the dance floor. He was grimacing, and when Leesha caught a whiff of Kareen’s perfume, it was not difficult to see why. She felt her sinuses constrict, and a muscle in her temple twitched, threatening the headache to come.