Zuleeka sent him a flash of teeth and plucked another olive off Mirryn’s plate. “I don’t scare easily.”
This time it was Kiva who had to keep from throwing anything at her sister. In a warning voice, she hissed, “Zulee —”
“I h-have an idea!” Tipp cried over her, bouncing in his seat. His mouth was so full that it had sounded like, “Ih-haffndeer,” but then he swallowed and looked at Mirryn before saying, “They should c-come on Wednesday!”
Kiva tensed. “Tipp —”
“What’s on Wednesday?” Zuleeka asked.
“It’s Mirry’s b-birthday,” Tipp answered, and not for the first time did Kiva wish he would stop speaking. “She’s having a b-big party to celebrate. A m-masquerade.”
“Sounds fun,” Zuleeka said, a dangerous light entering her eyes.
“It w-will be!” Tipp exclaimed. “Can they c-come, Mirry?”
Quickly enacting damage control, Kiva interjected, “Tipp, we don’t invite people to parties that aren’t ours. It’s rude.”
“But I’ve n-never had a party to invite a-anyone to,” he said, making Kiva’s throat burn.
“It’s fine,” Mirryn said, with an imperious wave of her hand. She turned to Zuleeka and Tor. “You’re more than welcome to join us. In fact, since you’re Kiva’s family, I insist.”
“No,” Kiva said before anyone else could. “That’s very kind, but I’m sure they have other plans.”
She looked firmly at her siblings, begging them to agree.
“Kiva’s right,” Torell said, sensing her distress. “It’s a very kind offer, but we couldn’t possibly —”
“— say no to a royal invitation,” Zuleeka cut in smoothly. She looked at Mirryn, a bright smile gracing her lips. “We’d be delighted to join you, Princess. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Zulee —” Tor tried, but the look on her face halted his words.
“Mother taught us not to turn our noses up at unexpected blessings, brother,” she said, the words innocent enough but causing a vise to press in on Kiva’s lungs — a feeling that only worsened when Jaren changed the topic, leaning forward to address Torell across the table.
“You said you’re a blacksmith,” the prince observed, eyeing Torell’s muscular build. “Does that mean you know your way around a blade?”
“I’ve had some experience,” Tor answered carefully. “Mostly from volunteering as a village guard a few years back.”
“Fancy a quick sparring match?” Jaren patted his perfectly flat stomach. “We can work off our lunch.”
Having watched him eat even less than her, Kiva didn’t believe his reasoning. Tor, too, must have noticed Jaren’s lack of appetite, but he still pushed his plate away and stood.
“I’d be honored to cross swords with you, Your Highness,” he said, before offering a wry grin. “But you’ll have to forgive my sloppy footwork.”
No, no, no, no, no.
What the hell was Torell thinking? He couldn’t spar with Jaren — and especially not when the prince was in such a foul mood.
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you quickly enough,” Jaren said, unlinking his hand from Kiva’s suddenly numb fingers and standing as well.
“Jaren, mate,” Caldon murmured, seeing Kiva’s rapidly paling face, “maybe you should —”
“It’s just a friendly match,” Jaren said, but despite his words, his eyes were glacial. To Torell, he waved a hand toward the doors. “Shall we?”
Kiva silently pleaded with her brother, but Tor only sent her the smallest of reassuring smiles that did absolutely nothing to calm her.
“Boys and their swords,” Mirryn said, sighing as she too rose, along with everyone else around the table. She turned to Zuleeka and rolled her eyes in a distinctly unprincess-like manner. “Thank the gods that we women have much more sophisticated methods of working through our feelings.”
“While I agree with you on principle, I’m sure you and I have very different coping techniques,” Zuleeka said. Quickly, but with an undeniable hint of mockery, she tacked on, “Your Highness.”
Mirryn’s eyes narrowed, not missing the scorn in those final two words.
Afraid she’d have to pull both her siblings out of the royal dungeons if they didn’t start showing some gods-damned respect, Kiva shot a warning look at Zuleeka before hurrying after her brother and Jaren.