Page 108 of Sharpest Court

“And you’re missing a greeting,” I said sharply. “Or did nobody ever teach you not to sneak up on a person without knocking?”

Eyebrows raised, he brushed his knuckles against the curtain in a knock-knock motion, which elicited nothing more than the silent sway of fabric. “Better?” he drawled.

I gave him an exasperated look but didn’t form a retort. Probably because, at that moment, I could see the Arcus quality in him. Mischievous. Sarcastic. Quick-witted, if circumstances allowed him to be.

It softened me enough that I explained, “The general is attending to a wine-soaked shirt.”

Finbar nodded distantly, fiddling with a gold chain around his neck. It bore an empty, claw-pronged setting, reminiscent of the one I’d seen in Keil’s bedchamber back at the estate. I went to step past him, anxious to get the mold to Lye before the drums sounded, when he spoke again.

“I apologize for our last conversation. I realize I was mistaken in assuming you were here against your wishes, separated from your betrothed.” He exhaled forcefully. “I simply didn’t believe the king would send you to a place like this.”

A place like this. He’d said it with bitterness, impossible to ignore.

Seeing my arched brow, Finbar chuckled grimly. “My mother’s family hailed from this island. Our ancestors were among those who defeated the First Emperor Saxon in his final battle. I am, in essence, the prodigal child, returned to his homeland.”

“But you do not consider it your homeland?”

“My royal heritage will always mark me as an outsider here, just as my status as a Hollow marked me as an outsider on the mainland.” He swallowed, looking momentarily unguarded. “It is difficult, Lady Alissa, to find your home when your very blood pulls you in opposite directions.”

The words found their mark, unexpectedly softening me further. I’d never met anyone who’d articulated my own lifelong anguish so well.

But as I felt the time slipping away, I straightened. I couldn’t imagine what had induced Finbar to apologize tonight—what aspect of my performance had finally convinced him that I truly was here as Erik’s bride—but I offered a forgiving smile all the same. “I accept your apology, Prince Finbar.” I made for the curtain. “Please excuse me.”

“A word of warning,” Finbar said, making me pause. “He replaced your dress for our dinner.”

I felt ill at the thought: Holden choosing an outfit for me, hanging it in my changing tent, imagining me wearing it as we dined together later tonight.

But I swallowed my disgust and shrugged. “Does that fact require a warning?”

“I wouldn’t like someone picking out my clothes. I suppose it would make me feel . . .” He trailed off, pursing his lips. “Like a puppet.”

Finbar walked away, leaving me to stew in that sentiment.

And though I had the upper hand over the general, though he would hold no power over me after tonight . . . my stomach tightened with an inexplicable sense of dread.

29

The first part of the jolly passed in a cacophony of music and laughter and glitter-dusted bodies shedding their sparkles into the air.

Holden, now dressed in a black ensemble, was all grins and hospitality once again, encouraging me to dissolve tufts of sugar-floss in my champagne to enhance the sweetness. He didn’t reiterate his previous offer, nor did he appear resentful at my refusal.

Still, I dumped my champagne into the flowerpots whenever he turned away, refusing to let my guard down. If Holden discovered my true purpose in being here, he would gladly wrap me up and send me off to Erik like a parcel.

Now, as he poured sweet cream over his crushed-ice orange cordial, I drifted beside Perla, who was waiting for Keil to return with a drink.

“How are you feeling?” I murmured, facing ahead.

“Like I could jump off a cliff and survive,” she said, a dry smile in her voice.

I breathed a little laugh, knowing she was trying to make a joke of it. If either of us thought too hard about our circumstances, we wouldn’t have possessed the capacity for humor.

Her voice dropped then, suddenly serious. Vulnerable. “I know you can’t trust me.”

I flicked my gaze toward her. Across the room, Keil struck up a conversation with Holden to give us more time.

“I never said that,” I whispered.

“You didn’t have to.” She gave a faint lopsided smile. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t trust me either.” Then she sighed. “I don’t know what you’re really doing here, Alissa. But I know you’re doing something. And I understand that helping me puts that something at risk. So thank you. Truly.”