The Royal Villa at Kallithea turned out to be considerably larger than the words country residence had led me to expect. It stood on the higher ground beyond town behind a low pale-stone wall, three stories arranged around a broad central courtyard with gardens spilling down the slope behind it. Cypress trees framed the drive, flowering vines climbed sections of the outer walls, and enough servants were waiting beneath the shaded front portico to make it perfectly clear that House Soulflame did not believe leaving the palace required anything resembling ordinary life.
Skydancer slowed beneath me as we passed through the gates, her ears turning toward the stable hands already coming forward to receive us. The sun had descended considerably during the two-hour ride, stretching long shadows across the courtyard and turning the pale stone almost golden. Behind us, the mule brought the cart through the gates with steady patience, thirty-seven percent of its cargo providing incontrovertible evidence that everyone involved in packing me had failed to appreciate the distinction between excess and appropriate preparation.
Adrian guided his bay to an easy stop on my right while Renee brought her chestnut mare alongside me from the other side.
“You survived,” Adrian said.
“I spent two hours sitting on an exceptionally expensive horse. I was not crossing a desert.”
Renee glanced toward the sidesaddle. “You were also sitting sideways.”
“I noticed.”
“You complained about it before we left.”
“I was evaluating it before we left.”
“That sounded very much like complaining.”
Adrian swung down from his horse with the irritating ease of someone whose legs already reached most of the distance to the ground. Renee dismounted a moment later with similar competence, leaving me seated on Skydancer while both of them somehow developed a sudden interest in what I planned to do next.
I looked down at the sidesaddle and knew perfectly well how to dismount without assistance. The necessary shifts of weight and fabric were there waiting for me, as familiar to my body as the riding itself had become during the journey. I also knew that accepting help was considered entirely proper, especially while wearing the same layered court dress I had put on that morning, and some deeply ingrained expectation suggested a gentleman would offer before I had any reason to ask.
“I can get down.”
Renee’s mouth twitched. “I did not say you could not.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking that you were still on the horse.”
Adrian handed his reins to an approaching stable hand and walked toward Skydancer. “Would Her Highness prefer to remain mounted through dinner?”
“I have not decided.”
“That might complicate the dining room.”
“I am the Crown Princess. They could move the table.”
Renee covered a laugh with one hand while Adrian stopped beside my saddle and looked up at me. Sitting on a horse should have provided enough extra height to make him less offensively enormous, yet sitting on a horse should have provided enough extra height to make him less offensively enormous, yet even from the saddle he was still much too close to eye level.
He offered his hands without making a spectacle of it. I gathered my skirts, shifted into the position that felt instinctively correct, and placed my hands against his shoulders while his settled securely around my waist.
Then he lifted me down.
Twenty-nine years of remembered life had provided plenty of experience getting out of chairs, cars, beds, and occasionally bad social situations without another man simply picking me up around the waist. Understanding why sidesaddle etiquette made assistance convenient did very little to prevent the deeply ridiculous sensation of being removed from a horse like an exceptionally expensive piece of royal luggage.
My boots touched the courtyard stones a moment later. Adrian kept his hands at my waist only until my balance settled, then released me and stepped back as though nothing remotely noteworthy had happened.
I smoothed my skirts. “That was excessive.”
“You landed safely.”
“I could have landed safely by myself.”
“I know.”
Renee watched from beside her mare with an expression far too carefully composed to be innocent. “Then I suppose everyone is satisfied.”
“I am surrounded by people who have become very pleased with themselves.”
Adrian placed one hand over his chest. “I am relieved my services continue to meet royal standards.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, then deliberately shifted my attention toward the enormous bay standing behind him.
“What time is dinner?”
His expression became suspicious. “Why?”
“I am establishing how much of your deadline remains.”
Renee laughed immediately.
Adrian glanced toward his horse and then back to me. “I told you I would consider names.”
“You were given until tonight.”
“It is not yet night.”
“The sun is making excellent progress.”
“I appreciate your concern for astronomical accuracy.”
“I appreciate your commitment to procrastination.”
Renee stroked the chestnut mare’s neck while listening. “In fairness, I have not named mine either.”
“You met her a few hours ago. You have permission to develop an informed opinion.”
“How generous.”
“I am an understanding leader.”
Adrian folded his arms. “Apparently only when the accused is Renee.”
“The circumstances are entirely different. You have presumably known Horse for years.”
The stable hand beside Adrian’s bay lowered his head suspiciously quickly.
Adrian looked toward him. “You may laugh.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
The poor man immediately failed to contain himself.
I smiled sweetly. “Even the stable staff recognize the injustice.”
“My horse remains completely indifferent.”
“He has accepted neglect because he knows no better.”
“He is a warhorse, Radiance.”
“He can be a warhorse with a name.”
Adrian sighed, though the corner of his mouth had started to turn upward. “I am considering it.”
“Good. Progress.”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“I have been mocked by the System, my family, my lady-in-waiting, and you since breakfast. I deserve something.”
“You have two gowns.”
I pointed toward him. “Tonight.”
His grin widened. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Skydancer nudged my shoulder before I could retaliate, demanding that the attention return to the only member of the conversation who had behaved properly. I turned toward her and stroked along her cheek, scratching beneath the edge of the bridle until her eyes softened.
“You were perfect.”
“She tried to race my horse twice,” Adrian said.
“She was expressing enthusiasm.”
“She attempted to eat your coat before we departed,” Renee added.
“That was before the expedition.”
Skydancer breathed warmly against my palm before finally allowing the groom to lead her away. I watched long enough to make certain she went willingly, then caught Adrian standing beside his bay with one hand against the horse’s neck while speaking quietly to him as another groom began removing equipment from the saddle.
“That would be easier if he had a name.”
Adrian did not look around. “I am beginning to regret traveling with you.”
“You have been traveling with me for two hours. Imagine how the horse feels. ”
The cart became someone else’s responsibility almost immediately, which improved my opinion of royal villas considerably. Servants began unloading luggage while others separated expedition provisions from personal cases, and Renee moved toward them with the unmistakable focus of someone who understood that if she did not supervise my belongings personally, the household might put one of my dresses somewhere unacceptable.
I was considering whether following her would make me appear responsible when an older man approached from beneath the portico. His dark household coat was impeccably cut, the Soulflame crest embroidered discreetly at the collar rather than displayed across his chest, and silver threaded through hair otherwise kept neatly dark. The instant he stopped before me, I recognized the role even though no remembered meeting accompanied it.
He bowed. “Your Highness. Welcome to Kallithea. Niketas Argyros, steward of the Royal Villa.”
“Steward Argyros.”
“We were told to expect your party near the evening meal, and I am pleased your journey remained on schedule.”
“I am increasingly fond of journeys that end at houses.”
His professionalism survived the observation without difficulty. “I hope the villa will prove comfortable.”
“I have every intention of allowing it the opportunity.”
His gaze moved politely toward Adrian and Renee before returning to me. “Your rooms have been prepared. His Highness has been placed in the adjoining east guest chamber, and Lady Renee has the room directly across the corridor.”
I looked toward Adrian and found him already watching me. The slight curve at the corner of his mouth suggested he understood exactly why adjoining had caught my attention.
“Convenient.”
Steward Argyros inclined his head. “We thought it most appropriate, Your Highness.”
Of course they had. Adrian was my fiancé, and every household we encountered apparently intended to treat that word as a far more established social reality than I currently felt prepared to acknowledge. At least adjoining remained decisively different from shared, and Renee being directly across the corridor meant the person I trusted most here would be close enough to reach without wandering through an unfamiliar villa.
“I would like to see my room before dinner.”
The steward’s expression became faintly apologetic. “Of course, Your Highness. The kitchen was instructed to serve shortly after your arrival, however, and the meal should be ready within approximately half an hour.”
I looked down at myself.
The court dress had been beautiful when I put it on that morning. It was still beautiful now, which was frankly offensive considering what I had put it through. The skirts had survived two royal arguments, packing, a bathroom crisis, several hours of sitting around my chambers, and two hours sidesaddle beneath a traveling coat. Nothing visible was actually wrong with it, but the idea of wearing the same dress to dinner after spending an entire day inside it produced an immediate and surprisingly intense objection.
“How approximate is approximately?”
“Half an hour, Your Highness.”
Renee had returned in time to hear the answer. One look at my expression told her exactly what battle had just begun.
“You are not changing.”
“I could.”
“You could also make everyone wait while you inspect the two gowns you brought, reject both for reasons you invent on the spot, and then ask where the rest of your wardrobe is.”
“I would not invent the reasons.”
“That was not the reassuring part.”
“I have been wearing this since this morning.”
Adrian glanced down at the gown before looking back at me. “It seems to have survived.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
I opened my mouth, discovered that I have already worn it all day sounded less compelling when spoken aloud than it felt inside my head, and closed it again.
Renee’s expression became unbearably knowing. “You can wash, fix your hair, and change before bed.”
“I could change before dinner.”
“You have thirty minutes.”
“I am very efficient.”
Renee stared at me.
“I can be very efficient.”
Adrian made a thoughtful sound. “An inspiring display of confidence.”
I turned my sweetest smile toward him. “Your horse is still named Horse.”
His expression changed just enough to make the retaliation worthwhile.
Steward Argyros maintained the heroic neutrality of a man who had probably served House Soulflame long enough to understand that royal conversations were safest when treated as weather. “If Their Highnesses and Lady Renee would care to refresh themselves briefly, I will have someone escort you to the small dining room as soon as the meal is ready.”
The plural caught my attention immediately, and Adrian’s expression told me he had noticed it too. Apparently there were going to be many opportunities on this journey for strangers and servants to remember that we were engaged whenever I was making a dedicated effort not to.
“Small dining room sounds promising.”
Renee started toward the entrance. “You say that as if you believe there is any version of a royal dining room you would consider small.”
“I am willing to be surprised.”
Adrian fell into step beside me as we followed her beneath the portico. “After seeing your definition of light luggage, I am increasingly curious about your standards for architecture.”
“My standards are excellent.”
“They require a mule.”
“That was unrelated.”
The villa opened around us in polished stone, warm wood, tall arched windows, and the restrained sort of luxury that apparently qualified as informal to my family. The entrance hall alone was larger than most houses I had lived in on Earth, though the furniture had been arranged in intimate clusters rather than along the rigid ceremonial lines of the palace. Painted tiles climbed partway up the walls in geometric patterns of blue, gold, and ivory, while open doors farther down the corridor offered glimpses of gardens glowing beneath the declining afternoon light.
We had barely crossed the main hall when another servant approached Steward Argyros and murmured something quietly enough that I caught only the word kitchen. The steward listened, nodded, and turned back toward us with an expression that suggested my remaining opportunity to negotiate with a gown had just been murdered.
“The kitchen is somewhat ahead of schedule, Your Highness. If it pleases you, dinner can be served as soon as you are seated.”
Renee looked at me, and I recognized the expression before she had the opportunity to enjoy it.
“I see that expression.”
“I have not said anything.”
“You do not need to.”
Adrian glanced toward the same court dress I had been wearing since breakfast. “For what it is worth, you still look perfectly presentable.”
“That is an extremely low standard for a princess.”
“I thought telling you that you looked beautiful would be interpreted as flirting.”
“It would.”
“Then I chose caution.”
“You chose cowardice.”
“An important distinction.”
I still wanted to change, and that remained completely, irrationally true even while I understood that making an entire kitchen delay dinner because I had suddenly decided wearing the same immaculate dress all day constituted hardship would make every complaint Alistair had thrown at me in the courtyard considerably harder to dismiss. The realization annoyed me enough that I looked down at the skirts one final time, smoothed a crease that barely existed, and surrendered with as much dignity as surrender allowed.
“Fine. I am dining like this.”
Renee nodded. “A historic victory for practicality.”
“I reserve the right to hate it.”
“I assumed you would.”
Steward Argyros led us through a corridor lined with family portraits and into a dining room that was apparently considered intimate by royal standards. The table could have seated twelve without anyone needing to raise their voice, but only three places had been set. Mine occupied the head, Adrian’s waited immediately to my right, and Renee’s had been arranged to my left with enough precision that the household’s interpretation of our relationships was difficult to miss.
I stopped just inside the doorway and let my gaze travel over the arrangement. “Convenient.”
Adrian moved toward the chair beside mine. “You used that word already.”
“It continues to apply.”
Renee took her own seat with the expression of someone who had decided observation was safer than participation. Adrian pulled my chair back, and I allowed him to because refusing a perfectly ordinary courtesy would have created more spectacle than accepting it. Once I settled into place, he pushed the chair in with practiced ease and took the seat beside me while servants began moving around the table.
A footman poured water first, then another approached carrying two bottles of wine, one pale gold in clear glass and the other a translucent ruby red. Instead of asking me what I wanted, he presented both labels toward Adrian.
“Your Highness, would the princess prefer the white from the southern vineyards or the lighter summer red?”
I turned slowly toward the servant, already preparing to point out that the princess in question was sitting approximately three feet away and possessed both a voice and several opinions. Adrian caught the movement, glanced at me, and the small smile that appeared told me he understood exactly what was about to happen.
“The white,” Adrian said.
My eyebrows rose, but before I could object he added, “For me,” then looked directly at me and gave the faintest wink.
The footman recovered beautifully and turned the bottles toward me instead. “And for Your Highness?”
I knew exactly what Adrian expected me to say. Worse, something about the scent rising from the uncorked white bottle already appealed to me more than I wanted to acknowledge.
“The red.”
Adrian said nothing, which was somehow more irritating than if he had laughed. The footman poured the red into my glass and moved away, while Adrian accepted the white with impeccable innocence and Renee watched both of us with the growing interest of someone who had just realized dinner might provide considerably better entertainment than expected.
I lifted the red and smelled it first. Berries, something floral, a little spice. Perfectly pleasant. I took a deliberate sip while keeping my eyes on Adrian and discovered that it was good, not remotely unpleasant, and still very obviously not what I wanted.
Adrian took a sip from his own glass without looking at me.
I took another from mine on principle.
Still good.
Still wrong.
Renee lowered her eyes toward her water before I could determine whether she was smiling.
“I like this,” I said.
Adrian finally looked at me. “I am delighted.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I said I was delighted.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I would never presume to challenge your opinion regarding your own wine.”
I narrowed my eyes and took another sip. Adrian lasted perhaps twenty seconds before calmly setting his glass down, reaching across the small distance between us, and exchanging our wineglasses.
I stared at the white now sitting in front of me. “Did you just switch my wine?”
“Yes.”
“I chose the red.”
“You did.”
“So give it back.”
He wrapped his fingers around the stem of my abandoned glass. “You are welcome to take it.”
His expression remained perfectly composed, but the amusement in his eyes was unbearable. I picked up the white while he waited with irritating patience, then took a sip purely because refusing to taste it would have made this entire argument even more ridiculous.
Crisp fruit, delicate flowers, just enough sweetness to round the acidity without making it cloying. The preference arrived instantly and completely, with no remembered dinner or vineyard or tasting lesson required to explain it, and I hated that the first coherent thought in my head was simply, Fuck. This is better.
Adrian drank the red.
I looked at him, and he looked back with the serene expression of a man who had apparently decided silence was the most effective possible form of gloating.
“Enjoy your victory quietly.”
“I was under the impression I already was.”
Renee made a quiet sound into her water glass while I continued glaring at him.
“You knew.”
Adrian considered the accusation before taking another sip of the wine I had chosen purely to contradict him. “I had a suspicion.”
“You knew.”
“You are welcome to switch them back.”
I looked at the red in his hand and then at the white in mine. The fact that I had absolutely no intention of surrendering the better wine made my position considerably harder to defend.
“No.”
His smile deepened. “Then I suppose we have both survived.”
“You are insufferable.”
“I have been told.”
The first course arrived before I could decide whether throwing a bread roll at my fiancé constituted a breach of diplomatic protocol. A delicate soup fragrant with roasted vegetables and herbs was placed before each of us, accompanied by warm bread and whipped butter. Another servant followed carrying a small bowl of pale herb cream and moved toward me with a spoon poised over my soup.
Adrian glanced at the cream, then at me, and I caught the look before he could say anything.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose. “I have not spoken.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to suggest that the servant ask you.”
The servant froze halfway between us, clearly reconsidering every decision that had led him to this table. I looked at the cream, and although the herbs smelled perfectly pleasant, the moment I imagined them dissolving through the broth something in me rejected the combination with surprising certainty.
“No cream, thank you.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The servant withdrew while Adrian reached for the bread basket as though nothing noteworthy had happened. I watched him select a roll and begin breaking it open, increasingly annoyed by the fact that he had once again predicted a preference I had only consciously discovered after he did.
“You knew.”
He glanced at me. “Apparently.”
“How?”
“I paid attention.”
“To what?”
Adrian met my eyes. “You.”
The answer came so simply that it stopped whatever response I had been preparing. He returned his attention to the bread and calmly spread butter across it while I sat there trying to decide why two syllables had managed to make the entire question considerably more complicated. There were perfectly reasonable explanations. Whoever Adrian had been before this world became real had known about Radiance, had apparently listened when I talked about her, and had paid considerably more attention to the details than I remembered expecting anyone to. That explained the wine, the cream, and probably several other preferences I had forgotten mentioning somewhere along the way, but it did not explain why being known that precisely by a man I had met only twice before today felt less like trivia and more like someone had reached across the table and touched something private.
Renee rescued me by tearing a piece from her own bread and looking toward Adrian with open curiosity. “How much attention are we talking about?”
“Enough.”
“That is suspiciously vague.”
“It is accurate.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“That is the first honest thing you have said in several minutes.”
“I have been entirely honest.”
“You switched my wine.”
“You were drinking the wrong one out of spite.”
“I was exercising choice.”
“You still are. You chose to keep mine.”
I looked down at the white wine sitting beside my plate and discovered I had no useful answer that did not involve surrendering it. Taking another sip was considerably easier, although the slight movement at the corner of Adrian’s mouth made me consider returning to the red purely to punish him. Fortunately, the soup was excellent and gave me something else to concentrate on before stubbornness ruined a perfectly good glass of wine.
The conversation shifted toward the next day’s route as we ate. Renee had already spoken with Steward Argyros about the western roads, while Adrian knew enough about the route from Valennian travel and military maps to have opinions about watering stops, road conditions, and how far we could reasonably push the animals without turning the journey into an endurance test.
“Tomorrow will be substantially longer than today,” Adrian said. “If we leave at first light, we should reach the next town before dark without pressing the horses or the mule.”
I looked at him over the rim of my wineglass. “First light is not a civilized time.”
“It is a very common time.”
“For farmers.”
“And travelers.”
“I am neither.”
Renee lifted one eyebrow. “You are currently traveling.”
“That feels temporary.”
Adrian smiled. “I am beginning to understand why your father sent you.”
“My father sent me because I am charming and capable.”
“He may have mentioned responsibility.”
“He was being dramatic.”
Renee and Adrian exchanged a look over the table, and I filed the offense away for later retaliation through whatever party-leader authority I could plausibly invent. I had more immediate problems when the second course arrived, bringing roasted poultry, vegetables glazed with honey and spice, a grain dish scattered with dried fruit, and several small sauces arranged between us.
A servant began portioning the meal onto our plates before indicating the sauces. “For Your Highness, we have a dark wine-and-spice reduction or the citrus sauce.”
I opened my mouth, but Adrian spoke quietly beside me before I could answer.
“Citrus.”
The servant hesitated, though Adrian was not looking at him. His attention rested entirely on me, and the tiny trace of amusement in his expression made it obvious he knew exactly what he had just started.
I turned my head slowly. “Did I ask?”
“No.”
“Then why did you answer?”
“I did not answer for you.”
“You said citrus.”
“I made a prediction.”
His expression was far too calm. I looked at the two sauces again, and the brighter citrus one smelled immediately appealing, sharp and fragrant against the roasted meat. The darker sauce smelled richer and perfectly good, but I could already feel the direction my preference wanted to go, which made the decision obvious for entirely the wrong reason.
“The dark one.”
Renee lowered her gaze toward her plate while the servant spooned the dark reduction beside my poultry and continued around the table. Adrian accepted the citrus sauce for himself without comment, which was offensive enough that I immediately cut a piece of meat, dragged it through the darker sauce, and took a bite.
It was good. The wine reduction was rich, slightly sweet, and heavily spiced, with absolutely nothing wrong with it except that the citrus scent drifting from Adrian’s plate made every instinctive preference I possessed insist I had chosen incorrectly. I took another bite anyway, because principles had apparently become edible.
Renee lasted longer than I expected before looking up. “How is the sauce?”
“Excellent.”
“I am glad.”
Adrian drank his wine without contributing anything, which somehow made his silence worse. I glared at him until he finally looked over.
“You can stop being smug.”
He appeared genuinely puzzled. “I have not said anything.”
“That has not helped.”
“I am eating dinner.”
“Smugly.”
“I was unaware eating had a posture.”
“You have demonstrated several.”
Renee’s mouth disappeared behind her wineglass while Adrian cut another piece of poultry and dipped it into the citrus sauce with infuriating deliberation.
“You could try mine,” he said.
“No.”
“Of course.”
“I like this one.”
“I believe you.”
“You do not.”
“I believe you like it.”
I waited for the rest, but Adrian simply continued eating. The careful phrasing became more irritating the longer I considered it.
“That was very carefully worded.”
“I have learned caution.”
“You have learned nothing.”
His smile returned before he went back to his meal. I made it through another two bites before irritation finally lost its competition with curiosity.
“Give me that.”
Adrian slid the small dish of citrus sauce toward me without lifting an eyebrow. I immediately regretted how pleased he looked despite his effort to conceal it.
I added the smallest possible amount of citrus sauce to one corner of the poultry, because apparently even surrender required procedural safeguards. The first bite delivered bright citrus, warm spice, and just enough sweetness to make the entire dish come together in a way the darker sauce had not. My eyes closed for half a second before I could stop them, and Renee’s laugh reached me almost immediately.
“I hate both of you.”
“I did nothing,” Renee said.
“You witnessed it.”
“That is not generally considered an offense.”
Adrian reached for the dark sauce I had abandoned and added some to his own plate. “For what it is worth, this one is also good.”
“That does not make this better.”
“No, but it does mean nothing is being wasted.”
I stared at him while he ate the sauce I had selected specifically to prove him wrong, and the question that had been building through the entire meal finally escaped. “How many of my preferences do you know?”
His amusement faded just enough to make the question feel less like part of the game. “I do not know.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I mean I genuinely do not know. Some things I remember because you talked about them. Some were written down somewhere. Some I noticed earlier today.”
“You noticed earlier today that I prefer citrus sauce?”
“No. I knew that one.”
“From what?”
Adrian considered me for a moment before answering. “You complained about a similar sauce once.”
“I did?”
“You spent several minutes explaining why it ruined otherwise respectable food.”
Renee looked toward me with immediate recognition. “That does sound like you.”
“I have standards.”
“You have speeches,” Adrian said.
“I am beginning to regret ever discussing Radiance with anyone.”
The words left my mouth before I fully considered them, and something in Adrian’s expression shifted. It was subtle enough that Renee did not seem to notice, but I did.
“You discussed yourself,” he said.
“I discussed a character.”
“Did you?”
I opened my mouth and discovered the answer was less immediate than I wanted it to be. The woman sitting at this table liked the white wine, disliked the herb cream, and preferred the citrus sauce. None of those preferences felt like instructions I was following from a character sheet. Adrian had predicted them, but I was the one tasting the food and discovering he was right, and the distinction had become considerably harder to maintain than it had been when all of this was still theoretical.
Renee spared me from answering by reaching for another piece of bread. “I would advise against challenging her entire sense of identity during dinner. We have not reached dessert.”
“That is the most reasonable thing anyone has said all day.”
Adrian inclined his head. “I withdraw the question until after chocolate.”
I pointed my fork at him. “You are assuming chocolate.”
His eyes flicked toward mine, and the smile returning to his face told me immediately that I had just given him another opportunity I was going to regret.
The household staff had apparently been paying enough attention to our dinner to reach conclusions of their own. By the time the second course began disappearing, Adrian’s repeated ability to predict my preferences had been interpreted through the far more romantic framework of a recently engaged prince already knowing his future bride exceptionally well. I caught two servants exchanging pleased looks after the citrus-sauce surrender and decided that correcting whatever story they were constructing would require considerably more effort than eating my dinner.
One of the maids approached with a fresh carafe and smiled warmly toward both of us as she refilled our water. “It is lovely to have Their Highnesses here together. We were told the engagement was recent.”
I nearly inhaled the last of my wine. Adrian, who had apparently been granted immunity to embarrassment at birth, remained perfectly composed while Renee lowered her gaze toward the table with suspicious speed.
“Very recent,” Adrian said.
“How exciting.”
Renee’s shoulders moved just enough to betray her. I recognized the posture immediately and knew she was hiding a smile, which meant I was now the only person at the table taking my suffering seriously.
The maid continued cheerfully. “The household was delighted when we heard. His Highness’s chamber has been prepared beside yours, Princess, and Steward Argyros made certain both rooms have everything Their Highnesses might require.”
“That is very thoughtful,” Adrian said.
I turned toward him while the maid’s smile widened. “You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
His honesty only encouraged her. The maid withdrew looking even more pleased than when she arrived, apparently convinced she had just witnessed exactly the sort of flirtation expected from a newly engaged royal couple. I watched her go while considering whether social assumptions could qualify as a hostile condition under the party interface.
Renee finally lifted her gaze. “You handled that gracefully.”
“I am trapped in a house full of people who think this is romantic.”
Adrian rested one arm comfortably against his chair. “It is an engagement.”
“It is a negotiation.”
“It can be both.”
“It is currently one.”
“Then I will try not to devastate the staff.”
I pointed my fork toward him. “You are part of the problem.”
“I am sitting quietly.”
“You are sitting smugly.”
“That is a posture issue.”
Renee reached for her wine before her expression could betray her again, while I tried to decide whether the engagement itself was bothering me more than how easily everyone else seemed to accept it. This morning the idea had been a political arrangement Father and Mother had discussed without me. By afternoon it had become a System relationship label, adjoining rooms, servants using plural honorifics, and a prince beside me who knew which wine I liked before I did. None of those things meant I had agreed to marry him, but the distinction between provisional and imaginary was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
Dessert arrived before I could follow that thought anywhere useful. The household had apparently decided two choices were sufficient for an intimate meal: a dark chocolate confection accompanied by softly spiced cream, and a delicate fruit tart glazed with something floral and bright. Both were beautiful enough to deserve consideration, although my attention went to the chocolate so quickly that I immediately became aware of Adrian looking at me.
The servant carrying the desserts glanced toward him first, clearly prepared to continue the pattern established through dinner. I caught the movement before Adrian could say anything and redirected the poor man with a look.
“Ask me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He recovered admirably and turned the tray toward me. “Which would you prefer?”
I looked between the two desserts with exaggerated seriousness. The fruit tart was elegant, colorful, and probably excellent. The chocolate smelled richer and warmer, with enough cocoa and spice reaching me from several feet away that my tail shifted behind the chair before I could stop it.
Adrian’s smile began.
“I know what you’re going to say. You were going to say chocolate.”
“No.” He leaned back slightly, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re going to say it.”
I considered choosing the tart purely to deny him the satisfaction, but the wine and sauce had already taught me where that particular road ended. More importantly, I actually wanted the chocolate, and spending an entire dessert eating the wrong thing simply because Adrian knew me well enough to predict the right one seemed like a level of stubbornness even I had trouble defending.
I pointed toward the chocolate. “That one.”
The servant placed it before me, then turned toward Adrian. “And for Your Highness?”
“The chocolate.”
I stared at him as the second portion settled onto his plate. “You chose that because I chose it.”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I like chocolate.”
“That is suspiciously convenient.”
“Perhaps we possess one compatible trait.”
Renee took a bite of her fruit tart while watching us with open amusement now that pretending otherwise had become pointless. “I am beginning to think this journey may be less dull than I feared.”
“That is because none of this is happening to you.”
“You inspected my emotional relationship with my employer through a magical menu this afternoon.”
“I did not announce the interesting parts.”
Renee paused with her fork halfway toward her mouth, and amusement transformed immediately into suspicion. “There were interesting parts?”
I took another bite of chocolate and discovered that it was unfairly good, rich without being overly sweet and warm with whatever spice had been folded into it. Delaying my answer long enough to enjoy it also gave me time to construct a response that provided absolutely nothing useful.
“Classified.”
“That is not how your own menu works.”
“It does now.”
Adrian laughed, and an unwilling smile escaped me while I returned to the dessert. The wine had eventually been exactly right, the meal had been excellent, and somewhere between arguing over sauces and being involuntarily cast in a household romance, I had stopped thinking about dinner as another problem I needed to survive.
That realization made me look toward Adrian again. He was listening to Renee explain why my unilateral classification system possessed no legal authority, one hand around his wineglass and an easy smile on his face. That morning he had been the offensively attractive prince Father expected me to consider marrying. Now I knew he had a Player origin, knew he had paid disturbing amounts of attention to the character I had written, knew he could make me choose the wrong wine purely by predicting the right one, and knew he found bullying me about luggage almost as entertaining as I found bullying him about his nameless horse.
The last thought reminded me of unfinished business.
I set my fork down. “How is the naming process progressing?”
Adrian’s smile faded by degrees. “I wondered how long dessert would distract you.”
“It was an excellent dessert. Your deadline remains unaffected.”
Renee looked between us. “Perhaps he requires inspiration.”
“He has had years of inspiration standing underneath him.”
Adrian glanced toward the windows, where evening had settled completely beyond the glass. “You said tonight.”
“It is tonight.”
“You did not specify an hour.”
I stared at him. “Are you attempting to exploit contract language?”
“I am a prince.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is apparently the answer I am giving you.”
I leaned back in my chair and considered him with renewed interest. “Midnight.”
His eyebrows rose. “You have extended the deadline?”
“I have clarified it.”
“How merciful.”
“If you fail, I name him.”
Adrian looked genuinely alarmed for the first time all evening. “That was not part of the original agreement.”
“There was no agreement. There was an expectation.”
“That remains considerably less enforceable.”
“I control the party name.”
Renee covered her mouth with her napkin while Adrian studied me across the small distance between our chairs. “You would not.”
“I absolutely would.”
“What are you threatening this time?”
I smiled. “I have several hours to refine it.”
“That may be the most compelling argument you have made.”
“Leadership.”
“That is still coercion.”
“Your horse will thank me.”
Dessert disappeared while we argued, and by the time the final plates were removed the villa had settled fully into evening. Lamps glowed along the walls, darkness filled the windows beyond the dining room, and the comfortable weight of a long day finally began catching up with me now that there was nothing immediately demanding another royal decision.
Steward Argyros returned while servants cleared the last dishes. “Your Highnesses, Lady Renee. Your chambers are prepared, your luggage has been delivered, and the stable master reports that all four animals have been fed, watered, groomed, and settled comfortably for the night.”
The animal interface opened almost before I consciously decided to check it. Skydancer’s profile showed her fed, watered, calm, and sitting at ninety-six percent happiness, while her stamina had already begun recovering after the short ride. Renee’s mare remained healthy and increasingly comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings, Adrian’s horse appeared entirely untroubled by either his missing name or my luggage, and even the mule’s happiness had climbed several points now that nobody was asking it to pull thirty-seven percent of my personal belongings anywhere.
“Skydancer approves of the accommodations.”
Renee rose and smoothed her skirts. “I am relieved the villa has met her standards.”
“They are exacting.”
“Like owner, like horse.”
I chose to interpret that as admiration and pushed my chair back, but Adrian had already stood and moved around the table. He stopped beside me and offered his hand with the same effortless confidence he had displayed beside Skydancer earlier.
I looked at the hand and then up at him. “I can stand by myself.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing that?”
“Because I am a gentleman.”
“That excuse is becoming suspiciously convenient.”
His smile widened. “And yet it keeps working.”
I could have ignored the hand. I could have stood perfectly well without him and probably should have, if only to prevent him from becoming insufferably certain that every traditional courtesy would eventually succeed. Instead I placed my hand in his and let him help me rise because, annoyingly, I liked the gesture more than I wanted to examine after everything else that had happened today.
Adrian released me as soon as I was standing, though the amusement in his eyes suggested he had noticed how little resistance I had actually offered.
“Midnight,” I reminded him.
He sighed. “I knew there was going to be a price.”