It wasn’t that Mansourah wasn’t delightful company, because he was. The man she cared quite a bit less for was Simeon of Diarmailt, a rather smallish man with beady eyes and restless hands. She didn’t suppose it was polite to wonder if he picked guests’ pockets while they were otherwise distracted, but she was a cynic when it came to men with titles—and he didn’t even still have his title, if what she’d heard was true. All she knew was that the palace was very shabby, which she thought spoke rather loudly either of a family fallen on hard times or a master of that family who couldn’t manage his funds properly. A lesser relation of a once powerful, magical house was how Acair had described him back at the inn, which she supposed had been a rather kind thing to say.
In the end, she didn’t care who was pretending to sit on the Diarmailtian throne, presently past wishing she could make a curtsey to him and go.
“Here we are,” the king said, opening the door to what was apparently his private solar. “After you, Lady Léirsinn.”
She entered in front of Mansourah and their host, looked as usual for all possible exits, then realized the solar wasn’t as empty as it could have been. She came to a teetering halt, causing the men behind her to stop abruptly. She supposed that was a boon given that it drew the attention of her two companions who made every effort to assure themselves that she wasn’t unwell.
She wasn’t unwell; she was terrified.
Damn that Acair of Ceangail. She would have wagered her only pair of riding boots that he was the man who had just flung himself over the settee placed at the back of the room. How he’d gotten himself inside the king’s solar was a mystery, but she suspected he had quite a list of unsavoury skills to boast about. At least he was fortunate that the sofa found itself far enough away from the fire to be comfortable if one were about some sort of strenuous mischief.
She sat where invited to and tried to pay attention to the king and Mansourah. There were no noises coming from that particular corner of the chamber where she thought a particular intruder might be having a wee rest, but perhaps anyone who had made it to the king’s inner chamber wasn’t fool enough to wheeze while about his nefarious activities. At least that lad didn’t have to feign any interest in polite conversation. Once she finally managed to listen to what Mansourah was discussing with the king—the latest batch of wine from some country she’d never heard of—she was left wishing she’d taken a tumble over the back of that splendidly upholstered sofa herself.
“I would enjoy that very much,” Mansourah said politely. “Léirsinn, darling, King Simeon has invited us to go take a turn in his gardens with him.”
Léirsinn dragged herself back to the conversation at hand. “Ah, well, wouldn’t that be lovely,” she managed, scrambling for an excuse not to go. “If only it weren’t so cold.”
“Of course,” Mansourah said gently. “You are of a delicate constitution, so perhaps the chill should be avoided.” He turned to the king. “It was a rather difficult journey here, Your Majesty, and my lady is rather fragile. I wonder if we might leave her here in comfort and perhaps visit your wine cellar instead?”
Simeon smiled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not parting with any of my private supply, lad.”
Mansourah laughed politely. “I wouldn’t presume to ask, of course. I might, however, be able to identify the remainder of what you sent my late brother the king for his coronation all those many years ago, if that would amuse you.”
“Adhémar did love his drink,” Simeon agreed. He rose and paused. “If you’re certain your lady won’t feel neglected.”
Léirsinn shook her head quickly. “It would be a great kindness, actually, to be able to simply sit and enjoy your lovely fire,” she said, doing her damndest to sound as noble as possible. Telling him to take his sorry arse out of his solar so she could shove the man she needed alive to rescue her grandfather out the window was likely not the right thing to say.
“As you will. Come, Prince Mansourah, and we’ll take a torch downstairs. I’ll leave guards outside the door for your lady’s safety.”
Léirsinn watched them go, looking as fragile as possible until the door closed. She waited a bit longer just to be safe, then hopped up and bolted across the room. She knelt on the sofa and looked over its back, utterly unsurprised at the identity of the man lying there with his hands folded over his chest.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered fiercely.
“Collecting payment for something I failed to provide,” Acair said, sitting up and brushing dust off his shoulders. “Though why I’m bothering, I don’t know.”
She could scarce believe her ears. “You’re stealing something?”
“I’m not sure I would use that word,” he said, heaving himself to his feet, “but you can if you like.”
She gaped at him, but either he didn’t notice or he was accustomed to those sorts of looks. She honestly wouldn’t have been surprised by either.
He walked over to a glass case sitting on a large, ornate table near the window. He didn’t hesitate before picking the lock on it as easily as if he’d done the like hundreds of times before, which she suspected he had. He slipped his tools back into some sort of pocket, then opened the lid of the case. He paused and looked at her.
“You might not want to watch,” he said seriously.
“Who will rescue you if you run afoul of trouble?”
“Ah—damnation. Don’t save me.”
She watched him leap across the chamber and dive over the back of the sofa. There was no point in telling him that she had no intention of even trying to rescue him, mostly because she assumed he already knew that. She almost managed to get herself to her own seat before the door opened, but not quite. She clutched the back of her chair and found a theretofore untapped ability to feign illness as she looked at the king.
“Your Highness,” she rasped, wondering if putting the back of her hand to her forehead would be too much. She considered, then decided it was best to continue to hold onto her chair. At least that way, she could heave it at the man if he did anything untoward.
The king rushed to her side and took hold of her elbow. “You’re unwell.”
“I think I am,” she said, grasping for the first thing that came to mind. “I thought standing for a bit might aid me, but I think perhaps a turn in your garden might be best. Fresh air and all that.” She hesitated to ask him where Mansourah had gotten himself to on the off chance she was going to soon be joining the prince of Neroche in the dungeon, but she was no coward. She took a deep breath. “Where is His Highness?”
“On his way,” the king said smoothly. He leaned his hip against the chair facing the one she was clutching and looked at her. “So, my dear,” he said without preamble, “who are you?”
“Just a country miss,” she said as politely as possible, “trying to navigate the shoals of a very large world.”
“Then why is the prince of Neroche pursuing you?”
“It is,” she said honestly, “an utter mystery to me.”
She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t heard a snort from the corner, but couldn’t fault Acair for it.
“From whence do you hail precisely?”
“Ah, the East,” she said, latching on to the first thing that came to mind.
“The East is a very large place.”