Chapter 27: A Little Too Much Fussing

Lioren stood near the foot of the grand staircase, leaning his hip against the carved banister while furiously scratching the tip of his nose with the back of his thumb.

It was an itch that simply refused to die. A deep, persistent, downright maddening tickle right at the bridge, the kind of itch that northern old wives always swore meant someone, somewhere, was gossiping about your scandalous life choices over tea.

Lioren groaned out loud, rubbing his face with both hands. "Unbelievable," he grumbled to the empty foyer.

Fine. Let them talk. They were probably still gossiping about how he’d used a royal favor to get Xavion anyway. Whatever.

Lioren had far more immediate, far more nerve-wracking problems to deal with today.

Namely: the mug. The untouched, stone-cold mug of tea Martha had whisked away from Xavion’s bedside table. Yes, he got the report.

Lioren had stared at that silver cup on the kitchen counter for three solid minutes this morning, his stomach doing a weird, uneasy flip. Did I come on too strong? he’d asked himself for the twentieth time, pacing a nervous track across the hallway rug. Did I look like a lunatic barging into his room at night in a bathrobe three sizes too big?

He’d spent the last twenty-four hours bending over backward trying to make Xavion feel safe, warm, and thoroughly un-hostage-like. But what if he’d overshot the mark? What if he’d been so relentless with the blankets, the twenty-course dinners, and the late-night tea that Xavion thought he was playing some sick, psychological game? In a world where people usually offered you poisoned wine before taking your land, a Grand Duke dropping off tea could easily look like a cover for a blade in the dark.

"Ugh," Lioren muttered, leaning his forehead against the cool mahogany post. "I’m an idiot. A well-meaning, overly intrusive idiot."

He was so deeply buried in his own internal spiral, visualizing Xavion staring at the mug with absolute, cold suspicion, that he completely failed to hear the crisp, purposeful rustle of maroon silk coming down the corridor behind him.

"Lioren."

Nothing. He just kept staring blankly at a knot in the floor, his thumb still idly twitching near his nose.

"Lioren."

Still nothing. He let out another soft, miserable sigh.

PLAK

The sound burst through the silence beside his left ear, nearly sending him straight through the ceiling.

Lioren jumped so hard his boots came crashing down against the marble. His heart tried to escape through his throat, and his hand shot toward his sidearm on pure instinct. He was halfway prepared to fight for his life before the laughter beside him informed him that, unfortunately, his attacker was someone he shared blood with.

"What in the holy name of the northern gods is wrong with you?!" Lioren shrieked. "Are you insane?! You almost blew out my eardrum!"

Evelia lowered her hands, shaking her head with an expression of profound, unbothered disappointment. "I called your name three times, little brother. You were standing there staring into space like a dead sheep. Be grateful I clapped the air instead of slapping the back of your thick head."

"I was thinking!" Lioren snapped, smoothing down the front of his dark green coat with frantic, agitated jerks of his fingers. "Important, high-level tactical thoughts! And you come up behind me trying to cause permanent hearing loss! I’m telling Mother. I’m writing a letter to the estate today."

Evelia let out a short, musical laugh, crossing her arms over her maroon traveling dress. "Oh, please do write to them. Make sure to include every single detail about how you used a royal favor to buy an enemy prince, and see how fast Mother’s reply reaches the capital. I’m sure she’ll be deeply concerned about your ears."

Lioren opened his mouth to inform Evelia that perhaps she should spend less time buying shoes and more time developing a personality, but whatever he was about to say got stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

Quiet, light footsteps were coming down the grand staircase.

Both siblings turned toward the sound.

Xavion was descending the stairs slowly, his hand resting lightly against the banister. He was dressed in the charcoal tunic the maids had laid out, the outfit fitting his broad, lean shoulders impeccably, the silver embroidery along the cuffs catching the morning light filtering through the high leaded windows. His waist-length blue hair was gathered back into a loose, elegant tie at the nape of his neck, and his silk eyepatch covered his right eye, sitting perfectly in place. He looked quiet, composed, and undeniably royal.

Evelia’s face softened instantly, all the sharp, teasing malice vanishing as she took a graceful step toward the foot of the stairs.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Evelia said warmly, offering a smooth, perfect incline of her head. "I must say, that shade of slate gray suits you remarkably well. Far better than the drab rags the Ostharian envoys had you wearing."

Xavion reached the marble floor, stopping a few paces away. "Good morning, Lady Evelia. You are very kind."

Lioren stood frozen for a half-second, his brain completely short-circuiting. The sight of Xavion, looking whole, rested, and standing in his sunlit hallway, instantly wiped away all the lingering anxiety about cold tea and creepy motives. A massive, bright grin spread across Lioren’s face before he could stop it.

"Prince Xavion! Hey!" Lioren blurted out, taking a quick step forward, his eyes practically sparkling. "Good morning! Wow, you look great! Really great! Did you sleep okay? Did Martha fix the fire? The hair looks awesome by the way, very..."

He caught himself mid-sentence.

Wait. Stop. Act normal. Do NOT fuss. You are going to freak him out again.

Lioren slammed his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. He violently reined in his expression, smoothing his features down into what he hoped was a cool, effortless, casually dignified noble smirk. He cleared his throat loudly, backing up half a pace and tucking one hand behind his back like a proper Grand Duke.

"I mean... good morning, Your Highness," Lioren corrected. "I trust your accommodations were satisfactory. Ahem."

Standing beside him, Evelia slowly turned her head. She looked at Lioren’s sudden, stiff-backed transformation, then at his painfully forced, neutral face, and her eyes lit up with absolute, ruthless amusement.

Lioren shot her a lethal side-eye, silently warning her that if she opened her mouth, he would burn her favorite silk cloak.

Xavion looked between the two of them, his single violet eye picking up the bizarre, silent battle occurring over the foyer rug. A faint, almost invisible flicker of light touched his expression, not quite a smile, but a softening around his mouth that made him look far less like a guarded captive.

"Everything was more than satisfactory, Grand Duke," Xavion said softly, his tone quiet and steady. "I am ready whenever you are."

"Right! Excellent!" Lioren said, abandoning his cool stance immediately and gesturing toward the heavy double doors where Caldrin was already waiting with the carriage keys. "To the central market then! Evelia, try not to buy an entire textile shop today."

"I have my own money, thank you very much," Evelia replied smoothly, sweeping past him toward the sunlight. "It’s not as though I need to spend yours."

She paused just long enough to glance back at him, a sly smile spreading across her face.

"But if you’re so eager to spoil your dear sister, who am I to refuse?"

Lioren sighed and stepped outside beside Xavion, letting the cool morning breeze brush against his face, the itch on his nose finally disappeared.