Jaren’s golden brows rose. “All day? You must be tired.”
“Pot, kettle,” Kiva said, gesturing to his disheveled appearance.
“Today was . . . challenging,” Jaren said. He looked as if he were about to say more, but then changed his mind and shared, “If you two don’t have any other plans, everyone is free tonight for the first time since we returned home. Are you up for a family dinner?”
Kiva’s stomach tightened, but Tipp offered an excited, “Y-Yeah!”
“Go wash up, kiddo,” Jaren said, tipping his chin toward Tipp’s bedroom. “We’ll wait for you.”
Tipp handed the disgruntled Flox to Jaren — the creature’s mood brightening the instant he was in the prince’s hands — and took off into his room.
“Should I, um . . .” Kiva waved to her outfit, fearing her clothes were too casual for dinner with the royal family.
Jaren’s eyes didn’t wander from her face, his tone soft as he said, “You’re perfect, just as you are.”
His implication was impossible to miss. Kiva’s breath caught, but she was saved from having to respond when Tipp skipped back and declared, “R-Ready!”
If Kiva had been asked to recall anything about their walk across to the western palace, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. Not with Jaren’s words repeating in her mind, like a feather stroking her skin.
You’re perfect, just as you are.
Part of her was furious with him as they stepped into the small, intimate dining room where his family waited. How dare he be so kind, so loving, so Jaren? Why couldn’t he act like the haughty prince he should have been — more like his sister? Hell, even more like the flirtatious Caldon, who Kiva felt a growing fondness toward, but whose personality acted like a romantic repellent.
You’re perfect, just as you are.
Kiva wanted to cry. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and ignored how good it felt to have Jaren’s hand resting against her back, guiding her into the room.
A quick glance revealed that an ornate ashwood table lay at the center of the space, already set and brimming with food — carved meats and roasted vegetables, saucers of gravy, cheese platters, thick, luscious breads, and a whole host of other delicacies that made Kiva’s mouth water just looking at them. Interspersed between the golden plates was a trail of dainty luminium drops, the speckles of light making the buffet look almost magical, especially when combined with the crystal vases full of snowblossoms. In the background, the floor-to-ceiling windows looked straight out to the manicured gardens, a sight that was beautiful at night and would be even more spectacular during the day.
As phenomenal as the display was, Kiva couldn’t appreciate it as much as it deserved. Not when the royal family turned as one to look at her, Jaren, and Tipp upon their entry into the room.
Anxiety swept over Kiva, but Tipp was immune to the attention, bounding straight over to the spare seat beside the grinning Oriel. The two boys immediately bent their heads together and began whispering in a way that would have alarmed Kiva at any other time, but she was too focused on staying calm as Jaren nudged her toward the head of the table.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my father yet,” he said as the middle-aged, well-dressed man rose from his seat on their approach.
The King of Vallenia stood up — for Kiva.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” King Stellan said, reaching for her hand. Her fingers felt numb, but his grip was gentle as he closed both of his hands around hers and smiled warmly.
He had Jaren’s smile.
And that wasn’t all they shared.
The king’s hair was darker than the rest of his family, like a rich caramel, which explained the browner shades that blended through Jaren’s golden locks. Stellan’s eyes were also different, being a coppery color unlike the blue that his wife and children shared, with a gold rim that had been inherited only by Jaren.
Tall, broad shoulders, honeyed skin — aside from the hair and eyes, he was what Kiva envisioned Jaren would look like in twenty years.
It wasn’t a bad image.
At all.
And yet . . . there was something Kiva couldn’t quite put her finger on: a wanness to his face, a strain about his features, a dullness in his eyes. She wouldn’t have given it any further thought, except that as his hand held hers, she felt it.
The king was sick.
Kiva knew it in every part of her. Her magic knew it, her fingers, no longer numb, starting to tingle.
NO! she screamed inwardly.