“Danthrin, you’ve stalled the dessert from reaching the head table,” a deep voice interrupts. It’s the bearded male who sat beside the king only moments ago, receiving his whispers.
Lord Danthrin’s lips press together as he decides how polite he needs to be. A gaze toward the head table says he recognizes the man as seated at the king’s right hand, literally. “Surely, you’ve learned to address noblemen by their proper title, soldier?”
“Captain.” The male pulls an apple fritter off my platter and takes a bite. He mumbles around his mouthful, “Seems I missed that day in school.”
I decide I like him, whoever he is.
Fikar returns then, out of breath. “I got hung up.” With a curt nod toward the two men, he collects the platter from my grasp and whisks it away, leaving me empty-handed and itching to run from my previous keeper and his threats.
The captain scowls at Fikar’s back. “If I’d known he was going to do that, I would have grabbed more.”
“They are waiting for you at your seat.” Danthrin gestures toward it—an attempt to dismiss him.
“They’ll have to wait until I return from escorting the baker to the kitchen. Shall we?” He angles his arm for me to collect.
I hesitate, sneaking another glance. The king is in deep conversation with the blond, no longer paying attention to me. But he must have sent his friend to my rescue; there’s no other reason for it.
“Come, before they eat them all.” The captain nudges me with his elbow.
Tension courses through my body as my fingers curl around his powerful biceps.
“I’ll see you again soon,” Lord Danthrin calls out as I’m led away, his threat fading into the noise.
“Thank you,” I manage as we head toward the servants’ entrance.
“Thank the king. He noticed you needing an escape,” the captain says, his smile crooked. “I would have to say I agree. I believe I heard something about being tied to a tree?”
A part of me is disappointed that the king didn’t rescue me himself, but that would be silly to wish for. He is the king. “Lord Danthrin used to be my keeper before I came here, and he seems determined to be my keeper again.”
“Fortune has favored you, then. Gracen.”
I falter. Why does my name on his tongue sound like a warning?
“I’m Kazimir. The king entrusts me to know everyone and everything that goes on within these city walls as it relates to him. I’m a very important person. Surely, he’s mentioned me to you.”
“Uh …” I can’t tell if he’s joking. “No, but we’ve spoken little. Barely at all.”
The smirk on his face suggests otherwise.
The servants’ door is ahead. “Thank you, again, for your aid, and please, pass my gratitude on to the king—”
“What are you doing in here, Gracen?” All pretenses at humor and ease have evaporated. His arm tightens around my hand, trapping it against him.
“I’m sorry?”
“We have servants to run food and drink. You had no need to come here tonight, and you’ve never been here before.” He surveys the faces around us as we walk, lowering his voice. “You see, I not only keep tabs on goings-on, I am also very interested in identifying and removing all threats to my good friend. Even the most unsuspecting. You’ve heard by now the recent attempt on his life?”
I nod dumbly, wondering whether I’ve left one demon only to face another.
“So I would like to know why you would risk coming into the dining hall and subjecting yourself to the wrath of your previous keeper? Is it to catch a glimpse of the king?”
“No,” I sputter. That’s not why, though seeing his handsome face was not a hardship.
“Are you sure? I’ve heard you’ve grown quite smitten with him.”
My cheeks flush at his insinuation, as true as it may be. And where did Kazimir hear such a thing? From the king himself? “I … I was hoping to speak to him, privately.” I wasn’t planning on admitting to that, but something about the way Kazimir speaks—quickly, softly, and with precision—pulls the confession out of me.
“The mortal baker wants a private audience with Islor’s king?” The captain’s mouth curves into an amused smile. “For what reason?”
“My reason is important, I assure you, but”—I glance around—“it is of a sensitive nature, meant for the king’s ears only.”
Kazimir swings me into a corner, bracketing my body between his and the wall. “The reason will then drift to my ears to be dealt with, I assure you.” He studies my face, his gaze lingering on my nose and, likely, the smattering of freckles. “It would need to be an exceptional reason, or you will find no friend here, and you do not want me as your foe.”