Though he did eventually fall asleep, Garrin’s rest was fretful. He woke frequently, convinced there was someone in his room, and kept his knife under his pillow for the remainder of the night. He fell into a doze sometime around dawn, and finally managed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep while the rest of the castle stirred awake.
A knock roused him a little before midday, and he mumbled permission to enter.
The door creaked open and Jakin’s voice floated across the room. “Good morning, Your Highness. Will you be joining the other princes and princesses for luncheon?”
Luncheon... no, he did not want to go to luncheon with a hungover Senjay and a disapproving Lliane, plus their siblings. Plus Arya. He would rather do almost anything else.
But his stomach grumbled audibly at the thought of skipping the meal, so Garrin threw back his blankets and climbed out of bed. While Jakin was busy stoking the fire, Garrin peeked behind the tapestry next to his wardrobe and found the door connecting his room to Arya’s.
Would it be suspicious if he requested the wardrobe be moved in front of it?
“Do you know the history of this room?” Garrin asked, dressing in plain clothes and throwing a heavy jacket over his shoulders.
“The history?” Jakin asked.
“Yes. Who used this room before me? Do you know?”
Jakin shook his head. “Sorry, Your Highness. I’ve only been working in the castle for a few years. I can try to find out for you, though.”
“No need,” Garrin sighed. He already had a walking history of the entire kingdom next door.
“Then will you be needing anything else, sire?”
“Nothing, Jakin. Thank you.”
Garrin pulled his jacket closed, bracing himself for the cool halls, and hesitated outside his room. Should he offer to escort Arya to the meal? Technically she should not know how to get there, and the other royals would think him rude if he didn’t guide her.
He sighed. Being betrothed wasn’t supposed to change anything, but here it was causing him more headaches in two days than he’d had in the whole previous year. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with her being too attached to him. When he left, she would probably thank him for it.
“Princess?” he called, knocking on her door and forcing a polite tone into his voice. “Are you awake?”
The door opened under his knuckles, so abruptly that he almost fell forward. “I’ve been awake for hours,” Arya said, stepping aside so he could enter. “Laziness is not a desirable trait in royalty.”
Did she mean that she hadn’t been given that trait, or was she admonishing him for having it? “I rarely sleep so late,” he muttered. “Someone kept me up all night.”
“It’s hardly my fault if you stayed up daydreaming about me,” Arya smiled. She lifted a sky-blue cloak off a hook on the wall and draped it over her shoulders. Her dress was a rich dove gray, without extra details or ornaments to distract from her beauty, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
Garrin turned away before she could notice him noticing. “Did you do any more exploring?” he asked.
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“No. I think I’ll do that today.”
“Not until after luncheon,” Garrin said. “The rest of the royal families are expecting us.”
Arya followed him into the hall, tugging her door closed behind her. “I’m eager to meet them,” she said, falling into step beside Garrin. “I know their biographies, of course, but the information the Architects gave me is so... dry. And I want to see for myself how jealous I should be over Princess Lliane.”
That last comment was made with a smirk, which Garrin stoutly ignored. “You would shock the whole table if you brought that up,” he said.
“Perhaps that’s my intention.”
Garrin glanced at her. “I don’t think so. If you meant to cause a scene, you’d have done so at the ceremony.”
“The day is still young.”
He flashed her a concerned look and found her laughing in response. They could do without conversation, he decided, and led her down the hall in silence.
Luncheon would be served in one of the smaller dining rooms, one that was easier to heat. Apparently Arya had figured this out too—or someone had told her—because every time he made a turn he found her anticipating it. She never went so far as to walk in front of him, but would lean just a little in the direction he wanted to go as if proving to him that she knew the way. Baiting him again, waiting for him to mention it.
He kept silent.
When they reached the dining room, she fell back a step and folded her hands before her. They were the last to arrive; the chairs at the long table were already full of Eiliad and Thiyaan royalty, leaving only two seats open. One was at the head of the table, and Garrin made his way toward it without hesitation. Normally that spot was reserved for his father, but the kings and queens would be dining on their own that day. They always did when the three families got together.
Garrin pulled out Arya’s seat before taking his own, ignoring the attention of his guests as they watched him. Arya ignored them too, turning as she sat to beam up at him. It was beautiful, but the smirk at one corner of her mouth—hidden to the rest of the room—ruined the effect.
“About time,” Senjay said. He was seated at Arya’s left, with his sisters in a line that wrapped around the other side of the table. Lliane sat beside the youngest, leaving her brother Mered at Garrin’s right.
The blatant distance Lliane had put between them—plus Senjay’s comment—rekindled Garrin’s irritation. “I’m surprised you’re able to join us, Senjay,” Garrin said. “After watching you being carried out of the party last night, I assumed you would sleep in.”
Senjay grinned. “I’ve never yet experienced a hangover that could keep me down.”
A few of his sisters giggled, so Garrin turned his attention to the other royals as he took his seat. “And you, Prince Mered? Princess Lliane? How did you enjoy the festivities?”
“Very well,” Mered answered. “The feast was as impressive as always. I quite enjoy your cuisine here in Fyrest.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Garrin said politely, his eyes on Lliane. She simply took a drink from her cup and agreed with her brother.
“And Princess Arya?” asked Setaare. She leaned over the table so she could see around Senjay and smiled. “Did you have fun last night?”
Arya folded her hands serenely in her lap. “There was so much going on that it was a little overwhelming. I’m afraid I had to leave early.” Her voice had that soft, faint quality it had at the ceremony—showing no hint of the sharpness she’d displayed in his bedchambers.
Setaare gave Arya a sympathetic nod. “I went to sleep early as well. I enjoy the dancing, but my brother kept calling for couple’s dances, and there were more women than men. There were too many of us sitting out, and that is no fun at all.”
“You could have called for something else,” Senjay argued.
“In Fyrest?” Setaare snorted. A sheepish look flashed across her face, and she sent an apologetic glance toward Garrin. “Not that there is anything wrong with the way Fyrest does things. It’s just a little different from back home.”
Different... that was an understatement. In Thiyaan, Setaare could have done more than call for a dance. She could have played the music (though Garrin knew she had no interest in doing so), she could have been a part of the planning—she could even hold a spot on the council to help her brother rule when he became king. The first time Garrin had gone to Thiyaan as a child, the sight of so many women at the official meetings had baffled him.
As he grew, he started to look forward to those visits. The women in Thiyaan were so much more vibrant than the ones in Fyrest—and not just because of the warmer climate and flashier dress they favored. They spoke to him as though they cared to hear his thoughts and expected the same in return. Not like the women in Fyrest, who curtsied and cast down their eyes as soon as he came near. Well, not like most of the women here. Garrin glanced at Arya, who was waiting silently with her head down. In private at least, she acted more like a Thiyaan than a Fyrestian.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.