The evening meal was served in the lesser hall, which was smaller and easier to heat, though it was still decorated with banners and flowers to commemorate the occasions of both Garrin’s betrothal and the visit of foreign dignitaries. The council had also been invited to dinner, as well as all the court Sages, Tellers, and Architects, and a handful of nobles to fill out the empty seats at the three long banquet tables. The menu would showcase Fyrest’s port offerings, featuring a myriad of baked fish, shrimp, mussels, and crab, all served with personal dishes of melted herb butter for dipping. A savory clam soup, roasted vegetables, and fresh brown bread would make up the rest of the meal, with the tempting promise of dessert on small round tables throughout the room.

The long walk to and from Gillesport paired with his training session made Garrin’s stomach rumble as he strode into the dining hall. Arya was already seated beside Lliane, chatting and smiling as though she’d known the Eiliad princess her whole life. The other princes and princesses had settled themselves around Arya, leaving the chair at her left empty for him. The kings and queens sat at the head table—all except Queen Asella, Senjay’s mother, who had not yet arrived. All other court guests had found their seats at the remaining table and were busy talking and laughing while they awaited their meal.

Arya favored Garrin with a bright smile as he approached the empty chair beside her. “Are you feeling better rested?” she asked.

“Very,” he lied. “I spent the afternoon studying.”

“That sounds more like the Garrin I knew before,” Lliane teased.

He tried not to bristle. He’d never been a profound study, but he enjoyed reading—often more than other activities. Lliane had frequently teased him about it when they were children. But the way she said it now held little bite. In fact, it sounded almost... fond.

“I hope you’ve found your stay here comfortable,” Garrin said, hoping to stop his thoughts from rushing down unproductive paths.

“Of course,” Lliane said. “Mered and I were just talking about how much more comfortable the guest wing is than the last time we visited.”

Her younger brother nodded. “Not that there was anything wrong with it before. But it seems warmer this time.”

That would be because they were visiting later in the season, and during a milder winter. But Garrin was prepared to take credit for the change and smiled at them both. “I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps in the future—”

The crash of a door being flung open cut off the rest of his response. All heads in the hall turned toward the southern door to find Marshal Renton stalking across the floor, his long cloak sweeping his heels.

He hesitated and seemed to make an effort to control himself when he noticed the eyes on him. “Forgive my tardiness,” he said to the head table, accompanying his words with a slight bow. “I have just come from the guardhouse.”

“Please, sit,” Garrin’s father said, gesturing toward the other council members. “There is no need to apologize. Dinner is yet to be served.”

Renton bowed again. When he straightened, his sharp gaze raked over Garrin. “Would you care to share what I found when I spoke to the soldiers on duty at the gate?” he said in a low voice that somehow carried across the hall.

The eyes that had been on Renton flashed to Garrin. Beside him, Arya stilled and held her breath.

Years or months or even days ago, Garrin would have shrunk back from the open anger in Renton’s face. The man was used to commanding respect and immediate obedience, and anything less put him in an awful temper that Garrin usually avoided. But feeling Arya stiffen next to him and hearing the hush that fell over the room gave him a courage he hadn’t experienced before. He’d always known that Renton was a bully, but this time he knew something else: he was not alone. Arya supported him. The fact that she could not act on that support in public didn’t matter—when the dinner was done, she would commend him for standing up to the former marshal.

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And if she would support him in silence, who else might?

So Garrin folded his hands on the table and lifted his chin, speaking in a calm voice. “Please enlighten us, Lord Renton. What did your soldiers tell you?”

Renton’s face flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “They told me that you had again left the castle grounds without an escort,” he grated out. “This after I had already—”

“I did not leave without an escort,” Garrin interrupted. “I’m sure your guards can verify that Prince Senjay accompanied me.”

“With all due respect to His Highness,” Renton said, with a jerking nod toward Senjay. “An escort should be trained and armed. I must insist that from now on, you only leave the castle grounds under the protection of at least two of my soldiers.”

Garrin kept his gaze and his voice level. “While I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, there is no need to go to such extremes. I am quite safe within and around the castle. Or do you think I have enemies here?”

“I’m sure Marshal Renton only has your safety in mind,” Garrin’s father said. His voice shook slightly, as though he hadn’t been prepared to speak. Garrin resisted the urge to look at him over his shoulder, instead keeping his eyes on his opponent.

“I appreciate your dedication,” Garrin said firmly. “But your authority does not extend over me, Marshal. I will do as I need to, and you will not interfere. Is that understood?”

He expected an argument. He expected his father to insist on Renton’s goodwill, or explain that leaving the castle with a pair of soldiers wasn’t much of an imposition. But the hall was quiet in the wake of his question, as though all within were holding their breath. Renton stood frozen in the middle of the room, eyes burning through Garrin, hands twitching at his side. Still, nobody spoke.

So Garrin did the only thing he could think to do to end the increasingly awkward silence: he called for a servant to pour the wine and begin the meal. His father would still have to bless the food and take the first bite, but at least this would provide a distraction for the rest of the guests and allow Renton to find his seat without all eyes on him. A diplomatic decision, Garrin thought. Better than commanding the marshal to take his seat.

“You must be careful with him,” Arya whispered.

Garrin blinked at her in surprise. “What do you mean? I just—”

“He’ll make a dangerous enemy,” Arya said. “You should have confronted him in private.”

“He confronted me,” Garrin argued.

“Then you should have let him have his moment and addressed the problem later.”

A frown pulled at Garrin’s brow. So much for Arya supporting his decision to stand up to Renton. “Next time I’ll do just that,” he said bitterly. “I’ll let him treat me like a child in front of my future subjects and allies, and talk to him in private where he can twist my words without an audience.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she said.

But the servants had arrived with plates full of food, and Garrin turned his attention to the head table. His father was on his feet, waiting uncomfortably for the room to quiet so he could speak. Renton had found his seat among the other council members, who spoke around him with forced cheerfulness and fascination with their plates.

“My friends,” Garrin’s father began, repeating himself twice more before the room quieted. “With the blessing of Fyelle, I invite you to enjoy this meal.”

Simple but effective—as all the king’s public addresses were. Anything to shift the attention from himself. But this time the brevity was welcome, because it gave the guests an excuse to focus on their food and forget the awkward confrontation. Garrin wished he could forget it, too. His mood had darkened with Arya’s warning, though he knew the reaction was childish. He picked up a fork and poked at the fish on his plate, trying not to sulk.

“Don’t pretend to be meek now,” Lliane said, leaning over the table to speak around Arya.

Garrin took a bite of fish to give himself time to answer. “Meek? How so?”

“You’ve gone quiet again, as if we didn’t all just watch you stand up to the biggest bully in your castle.” Lliane swirled her wine, smiling at him over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but I think it’s a welcome change.”

“A change from what?” Arya asked.

Lliane took a shallow sip. “He had this shyness,” she said. “And he was always reading and talking about his storybooks and poetry and ballads, but he never did anything. Sorry, Garrin.”

He shrugged, but her words stung more than he liked to admit.

“But the last few days,” she went on. “You’ve grown. You’re stronger than you were before. It’s nice to see.”

“I think he was fine before,” Mered put in kindly.

Garrin smiled at him. “Thank you. But I’m not sure Renton appreciates my new courage.”

“Let him sulk,” Lliane said, tossing her head. “What can he do to you?”

Garrin wanted to agree with her, but the troubled look on Arya’s face made him hesitate. He had a feeling she knew something he didn’t, and he didn’t like being kept in the dark.

But he could hardly ask her about it here, so he took another bite of his dinner and resigned himself to waiting.