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Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2)(63)

Author:Leigh Bardugo

“I think we find something to drink and try to look like we belong?”

“Have I mentioned that I loathe parties?”

Nina looped her arm through Hanne’s. “Have I mentioned that I love them?”

They made their way through the crush of people toward a table covered in glasses of something pink and sparkling. Could it possibly be—

“The look on your face,” Hanne said with a laugh. “It’s lemonade, not champagne.”

Nina tried to hide her disappointment. She should know better by now. If Fjerda could have made fun a punishable offense, they would have. Then she spotted a pale blue sash and a muddy-blond head moving through the crowd.

She didn’t let her gaze linger, but that was most definitely Vadik Demidov, surrounded by a cluster of noblemen—and trailed by the Apparat.

“Let’s try to get closer,” she whispered.

Before they could even take a step in Demidov’s direction, Joran had swooped down upon them. He looked like a rotten tooth in his black uniform, completely out of place in this confectionery of pastel silk and chiffon. “Prince Rasmus commands your presence.”

“Of course,” said Hanne. There was no other reply to a prince. They were led to an alcove nearly hidden from the room by silvery potted trees and thick cream curtains. It was the perfect place to spy without concern for being spied upon.

Prince Rasmus sat on a cushioned chair that was something between a throne and a settee. He was not reclining in comfort as he had been last time, and the effort of remaining upright and hiding his fatigue was costing him. He looked pale, and Nina could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. This was what Brum had meant. The royal family knew the prince had to appear in public—particularly after the disaster at Maidenswalk—but they had tried to place him away from the bustle so that he wouldn’t be overtaxed.

Nina and Hanne curtsied.

“Go on,” the prince said with a disinterested wave of his hand. He was far more out of sorts than he’d seemed the other day.

They entered and sat themselves on low tuffets.

“You both need to work on your curtsies,” he observed with displeasure.

But Hanne only smiled. “I fear mine will get no better with practice. I’ve never been known for my grace.”

That wasn’t true at all. Hanne was graceful running or on horseback. The artifice of court didn’t suit her. And as for Nina, she could manage an exquisite curtsy, but Mila Jandersdat, widow of a man who traded frozen fish, certainly could not.

Rasmus’ eyes roved over Nina now. “Your mistress wears silk but dresses her maid in wool. That speaks of a petty and jealous disposition.”

He really was in a foul temper. Nina saw Hanne’s fingers flex slightly and gave her a warning glance—not too much, not too soon.

“Wool suits me very well,” said Nina. “I wouldn’t know what to do in silks or satin.” A profound lie. She could think of nothing better than sliding about naked on satin sheets. Matthias would have been scandalized. And what would Hanne think? The thought popped into her head unbidden, followed by a wave of guilt.

“I find most women learn to love luxury quickly enough,” the prince said. “I see no jewels at Mila’s neck nor on her ears. Your father should remedy that, Hanne. He doesn’t want to look like a miser.”

Hanne inclined her head, then looked up at the prince from beneath her lashes. “I should tell you that I’ll pass along your advice, but I have no intention of doing so.”

Rasmus huffed a breath. “You are brash to admit you would deny a prince.” Hanne’s fingers shifted again, and the prince gave a deep sigh of what might have been relief. “All the same, I can’t blame you. Your father can be quite terrifying.” He glanced at Joran, who stood at attention beside him. “Of course, Joran isn’t afraid, is he? Answer, Joran.”

“I have only respect for Commander Brum.”

It was hard to believe the guard was just sixteen, especially beside the prince.

“Joran is always appropriate. Minding me is a great honor. Or so they say. But I know better. It was some kind of punishment. Joran ran afoul of the good Commander Brum, and now he must play nanny to a weakling prince.”

“You are not so weak as all that,” said Hanne.

The prince took another long breath. He’d lost some of the rigid set of his shoulders, and the sheen of sweat was gone from his forehead.

“Some days I feel all right,” he said. “Some days I don’t feel weak at all.” He gave a little laugh. “And today I actually find I have some appetite. Joran, have food brought to us.”

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