Page 47 of The Ragpicker King
He did not seem to notice that Lin was there at all. No one did. And she realized, as if at distance from her own self, that he had put himself there for her to look at him. She knew him enough to know that. He meant to unsettle her. No doubt he imagined her as prudish—and indeed, compared with those on the Hill, she was, with her modest dress, her scuffed shoes, her plain unbound hair.
But she would not let him see she was bothered. She did not look away, but stared straight at him. She had seen Conor’s bare skin before, when she had healed his whip wounds. But she had been a physician then, concentrated on the mending of torn flesh.
This was different. He was perfect, healthy, unmarred. His skin was a light brown, polished and unmarked. Lin was used to looking at human bodies dispassionately. Perhaps she had forced herself to forget how beautiful they could be. The lines of him flowed smoothly into one another—broad shoulders, a waist that tapered to lean hips, muscles that moved dexterously under his skin when he turned.
His skin looked as if it would be soft to touch, fine-grained as silk, but his body was hard and lean, doubtless made so by years of riding and hunting. And sword-training. Kel had said he was always training, and one could see the results. The muscles in his stomach were as clearly delineated as if their shape had been drawn onto him with ink. He had been blessed with his mother’s beauty, too. Full lips, high cheekbones, and long fingers like poetry. Fingers that had touched her once—finding the edge of her dress’s neckline, where her breasts rose to press against the material...
As if he could read her mind, Conor flicked his gaze toward her for the first time. He caught her eyes, and she could feel her cheeks burning as his mouth curled up at the corner.
“Delfina,” he said, his voice low and lazy, “not that one. The black, with the silver buttons.”
The mobcapped servant—Delfina—deftly switched out the garments in her hands and went to hold the shirt up against the Prince. He frowned into the pier glass that hung inside the wardrobe door and shook his head. Water dripped from his damp hair onto his bare clavicles as Delfina removed the rejected garment.
A body is just a body,Lin reminded herself fiercely as he stepped into a pair of sueded gray trousers. “Perhaps you could choose something in gold, or cinnabar,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The colors of Kutani. It might be appreciated.”
The group of servants looked at her in alarm, as if she were a child who had poked a stick into a tiger’s cage. Conor’s gaze flicked over her as he drew down his shirt, covering—much to her relief, she told herself—his naked torso. “Oh,” he said in a careless tone. “You’re here.”
It was a tone calculated to make her feel like a small pebble that had fetched up under his shoe.
“Well, you seem to have brought me here to watch you get dressed,” Lin said. “I assumed you wished my opinion on your choice of outfit.”
“Believe me,” said Prince Conor, letting his hands fall to his sides, “I do not seek your opinion on sartorial matters.”
There was a small whirl of movement as Delfina attended to his cuffs. There was a frill of lace on each one, shot through with gold thread. A gold waistcoat, thick with brocade, went on over the shirt. The lace at his throat foamed over the waistcoat in a cascade.
You wanted my help,Lin nearly said.You asked me for it at the party.
She didn’t say the words aloud. Somehow she knew—just as she knew he was doing his best to unsettle her—that he did not want her to mention that.
The tailor had darted in now to make minute adjustments to the fit of his shirt. Delfina was carrying over a pair of boots, which looked to Lin to be nearly as tall as she was. “I asked Jolivet to pick you up while you were on your rounds, so you’d have your satchelwith you. Although I see you have dropped it on the floor. How careless.”
Lin glared at him, but he was studiously examining the velvet box of jewelry held out to him. After dithering between rubies and sapphires, he held out a languorous hand for rings to be slipped onto his fingers.
“Indeed, I assumed it was a matter of urgency,” said Lin, “not a choice between red and blue.”
He opened his eyes in mock-hurt. “Clothing is often a matter of urgency. Do you know what would happen if I wore orange in front of the Shenzan Ambassador? An international incident.”
“No doubt,” said Lin. “Speaking of political necessities, isn’t there somewhere else you’re supposed to be?”
Clink.The servant with the velvet box had dropped a ring. There was a scramble to retrieve it, during which the Prince regarded Lin steadily over the kneeling servants’ heads.
“Delfina, my dear,” he said as she rose with the fallen ring in her hand, “Alois, Ivèta—leave us. I would speak with my physician alone.”
Delfina set the ring back in its box, and the group of servants melted away silently. As the door closed behind them, the Prince threw himself onto the nearest divan, boots in hand. As he began to lace one up his calf, he said, “As far as the world is concerned, Iamat the docks, greeting the Kutani ship. Indeed, most of the Palace is there. This is as empty as Marivent is likely to be for quite some time. Which is why I asked you here now.”
Surely he wasn’t saying he’d sent Kel in his place so he could meet Lin at the Palace? She rejected the idea as ridiculous.
“You said at the party that you needed my help,” she said. “And that it was not you that was ill. I think you’d better tell me what it is you do want. It may not be within my ability to grant it.”
Having laced his second boot, Conor rose to his feet. He was not wearing a circlet, and black locks of hair fell over his forehead.She thought of his swan cloak, how the feathers had kissed his skin. “I have every faith in your ability.”
“The Exilarch—”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Your preferred Prince.” His voice was light as the notes of a satirical song. “I considered that. So I am giving you a royal order. You will help me, and you are not permitted to tell your Exilarch about it. Which relieves you of any responsibility there. A neat solution, don’t you think?”
Lin felt a rushing in her ears. She could hear Mayesh’s voice, over the pounding of her own heart:A royal order is a formal demand made by the Blood Royal. The punishment for disobeying it is death.
But he wouldn’t, she thought. Conor wouldn’t. She searched his face for some sign that he was joking, but she saw nothing there. He was as unreadable as a message written in cipher.
