The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(56)
The vizier stands up and claps his hands. Voices taper off as people lower their forks and turn their attentions to him.
“As you all have noticed, we have new guests with us tonight.” Heads bedecked with feathers and enormous fabric concoctions swivel in Cal and Shadow’s direction. It’s about time they acknowledge the couple’s presence. He continues. “Please allow me to introduce, from Argonia, the Honorable Lord Callum Holton and his sister, the elegant Lady Lila Holton.” He claps his fingers into his palm; his guests do as well. “The Holtons have graced us with their company, but only for a short time, for they are en route to Stavin, where they must collect the substantial estate of their late grandfather. I had the pleasure of spending some time at his, erm, Bucklam Park house many years ago, and to my astonishment, the elder Lord Holton remembered our brief acquaintance as fondly as I, and willed to me this very fine Argonian emerald ring.” He holds out his hand to display the ring Shadow gave him that afternoon. The dinner guests ooh and ahh. One of the women claps politely and others follow, tapping their fingertips into their palms.
Though they’re still irritated with each other, Cal looks to Shadow so he can catch her eye at the vizier’s phony story involving their supposed grandfather and the hilarity of his “Bucklam Park” remark. But her face is turned away from him, and she ignores him even when he nudges her with his foot.
“Yes, thank you, thank you,” the vizier says, bowing slightly. “Please make the Holtons feel welcome, and enjoy the rest of your meal. I believe we still have a few more plates before dessert.” He sits down and arranges a napkin on his lap.
Now’s Cal’s chance to get Shadow’s attention. But the woman seated on her right addresses her first.
“I see you packed lightly,” the woman is saying, looking up and down at Shadow’s new gown.
Cal feels a flash of anger. How dare she be so rude? Shadow is beautiful, much more beautiful than the overly primped ladies of Montrice. They remind him of plucked chickens in satin and diamonds. He keeps his attention on his food to avoid saying something he might regret. Last time he rushed to Shadow’s defense, she was angry with him for interfering. And anyway, this is what he tried to warn her about. Montrice’s nobility is known for their vanity.
The woman continues, smiling wide. “No doubt you didn’t expect a formal dinner invitation while traveling. Don’t get me wrong, I completely understand. But older is wiser, and that’s why no matter how my husband hounds me to stick to only five trunks, I don’t listen. I would die—simply die—if I had to meet a monarch in last year’s afternoon gown.”
“Mmmm . . .” is all Shadow says back. Cal wonders if the woman understands how close she is to being throttled.
“I know for a fact it’s not your fault anyway, dear. There isn’t a single wimple to be found in Argonia, let alone proper pannier hoops. I’ve seen it for myself. Such a . . . relaxed people. I really admire that about Argonians. They just don’t pay any mind to the fashions or what anybody else thinks of them.”
A woman to Cal’s left hears this and leans over him to join their conversation. Up close he can see she’s much younger than he first thought, around his age, with a pretty face under all the thick white makeup the noblewomen wear. “This type of social disaster has happened to all of us, Lady Lila. Don’t you worry about a thing. I can help you get everything you need—a lovely wimple, a court gown, furs . . .”
Shadow begins to protest, but the woman holds her hand up to stop her. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Thank you,” Shadow says. “But I’m afraid we don’t have an invitation to the palace.”
“Of course you do,” the lady says. “Why do you think you’re here? This is how the vizier evaluates your worthiness, and judging by that speech, I think it’s safe to say you’re in.” She winks.
Cal and Shadow share a glance at last.
“Oh! Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Gertie, the Duchess of Girt. Everyone calls me Duchess Girt, which I suppose is better than Duchess Gertie. The lady to your right is my dear friend, the Duchess of Aysel; her husband, the duke, is beside her. Mine has, unfortunately, passed.”
“I’m so sorry,” Shadow says.
Duchess Girt waves her off. “Oh no. Don’t be. I prefer spending my meals alone so I can converse with eligible bachelors.” She forces out a high-pitched giggle.
Cal has the urge to plug his ears.
“So, if you know any eligible bachelors . . .” She glances at Cal. “I like the handsome, brooding type. Sort of like your brother here. In my experience it’s the quietest ones who have the . . .”
Cal hides a grimace. But perhaps the duchess’s interest in him will be useful, as women’s attentions have been in the past.
A glass clinks. The vizier stands to get everyone’s attention again. Cal is relieved for the interruption. He notices a small step as the vizier gets up this time; he’s standing on another stool. The vizier, swaying a bit, says, “After dessert, please join us in the library for libations.” He’s up to his neck in libations already, Cal thinks.
The duchess turns back to them. “Where was I? Oh, I don’t remember. Here, I have it!” She reaches across the table to grab Shadow’s hand with her pale, thin one. Her nails are long, filed sharp, and painted the same shade as her red rosebud mouth. “You two are coming home with me. Yes, yes, don’t protest; it’s been decided. Where are you staying?”