Harry looked at them all. “Is Sanyash not joining us?” he said, feeling a little hurt. He missed his sister and had wanted her to meet Adam.
“Your nephew has a fever, Harry,” his father said gently. “Sanyash called to say that she would not be attending the ball and that she would come to see you tomorrow.”
“Being tardy would hardly help the situation,” the Queen said tersely and headed toward the main t-chamber.
Suppressing a sigh, Harry slipped his hand into Adam’s hand and followed his mother. It saddened him that his mother was taking this so badly, but he had expected nothing less. The Queen had a difficult character at the best of times. She wasn’t going to be magically fine with the situation. She tolerated it because she loved him, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“Will Seyn be at the ball?” Harry said, breaking the tense silence as they all got into the t-chamber.
In front of him, he saw Ksar’s shoulders stiffen. It wasn’t very obvious, but Harry noticed, and wondered.
“Probably,” the King-Consort said when Ksar didn’t answer. “Speaking of Seyn’ngh’veighli, I have heard that he’s gotten engaged as well— I believe to Ambassador Denev. It’s a fine match. He’s one of the most prominent politicians of his planet, and my sources say he has a high chance of becoming the President. Do you think it’s likely, Ksar? You’re much better versed in foreign politics than me.”
Harry looked back at his brother and noticed that his back was absolutely rigid with tension.
But the t-chamber’s doors opened at that moment and Ksar got out without saying a word.
“There’s something off about him,” Adam murmured into Harry’s ear. “He seems really on edge.”
Harry nodded, his brows furrowing. If even Adam, who didn’t know Ksar all that well, noticed that, something was really wrong.
He eyed Ksar carefully as they joined him at the doors of the main ballroom of the Eleventh Royal Palace, but Ksar’s face was a blank mask once again.
Their arrival was finally announced, and Harry braced himself as they entered the ballroom.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Harry could almost physically feel the stares on him and Adam—on their laced fingers. His mother had been against such blatant displays of affection, calling it vulgar, but Ksar had unexpectedly supported it, saying that if they were doing this, it was better to leave no room for ambiguity and speculation.
Harry lifted his head proudly. He was doing nothing wrong. He was with the man he loved. The pre-TNIT law had been repealed. He was no longer bonded to Leylen. All these people had no right to look at them that way.
But prejudice ran deep in their society, and Harry couldn’t help noticing the scandalized looks and the sneers. Beside him, Adam’s face held an expression of polite interest and nothing else, but Harry could feel the tension in his body. He knew Adam was pissed off. The feeling of being looked at like he was an uncivilized barbarian must have been extremely offensive to Adam: he was a very successful and respected man back on Earth, and he wasn’t used to being looked down on. Harry hated it. He didn’t care what all these people thought of him, but he cared how they treated Adam. His Adam didn’t deserve it. Adam was amazing, and Harry was lucky to be loved by him.
He tried to extend his shields to Adam, hoping to protect him from any telepathic prying, but Ksar shook his head. “I’ll handle it,” he said shortly, his silver eyes scanning the room. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, his voice thicker than he would have liked.
“None of that,” Ksar said in his head. “Keep your head high and act like you don’t care what they think. He’s doing fine, Harry. He’s handling it surprisingly well.” A pause. “Perhaps I was wrong about him.”
Harry smiled at him, feeling happy that someone from his family was finally coming around to accepting Adam. He hadn’t expected it to be Ksar. His brother’s support meant everything to Harry; it always had.
“Your Majesty,” someone said, tearing Harry away from his thoughts.
He looked at the man bowing to his mother and felt his stomach sink. It was Lord Bleyver. He was a widower and a rake who had the reputation for sleeping around. Most worryingly, he was known for his sharp mind and equally sharp tongue. Despite his outrageous behavior, he was well respected, and his opinion had a lot of weight in society.
The Queen inclined her head slightly. “Bleyver,” she said neutrally. Bleyver was actually one of her subjects; he was the head of a clan that was part of the Second Grand Clan.
Bleyver turned and bowed to Ksar. “Your Highness,” he said, his sharp brown eyes meeting Ksar’s cold gaze.
Ksar just nodded before completely dismissing the man and returning his attention to the room at large; Ksar had little patience for rakes.