He does not return it but instead grits out, “You’re not wearing that. Go change.”
Confused, I glance down at the dress Laina picked out. Fashion norms didn’t change while I was gone. This is completely what would be expected of a royal.
I glower at him. “And just exactly what do you think I should wear?”
“Those jeans and one of your flannel shirts,” he replies without batting an eye.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You just said it was ridiculous to wear that dress while you were in the bedroom not even a minute ago.”
I scoff, moving toward the door. “Don’t be an ass, Bastien. I’m not changing.”
He moves fast as lightning, wrapping his hand around my upper arm. “That dress is too revealing. Do you want Sorin ogling you?”
“If it gets us his help, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for a little ogling.” I smile sweetly to emphasize my point.
“I’m sure he wants to do more than ogle,” Bastien retorts.
“At least someone wants to,” I mutter and I hate that it sounds a little petulant. “I’m not changing my mind, so we might as well go.”
Bastien releases my arm and doesn’t say another word as we move to the door. “We should bend distance to Conclave Hall,” he suggests, and I know he’s only doing that to keep people from looking at me.
“I’d rather enjoy the walk,” I reply, moving onto the porch. I don’t miss the guards there waiting for us, eyeballs about to pop out of their heads as they take me in.
“What are you looking at?” Bastien barks, and they all move to attention, heads turned away. He trots down the steps, inspecting the lines, and I have to bite my tongue not to laugh over what I’m convinced is a fabulous display of jealousy.
I’m not surprised he’s in a foul mood this morning. He wasn’t happy I spent so long with Archer, and he was terse during dinner last night in the cottage. Bastien’s still mad about me going to see Hephastus, but he’s also resigned. He didn’t try to talk me out of it, other than to ask once again to let someone else go.
“That would be a waste of time,” I told him. “I’m the best chance of getting the info we want.”
“There’s a good chance you could die,” he pointed out.
“Good chance you could die, too, since you’ll be there with me,” I tossed back.
Bastien glared at me. “I’m not afraid to die for you, Thalia. Or this cause.”
“I know,” I said, gentling my voice so he understood I was being genuine and not baiting him. “I appreciate your concerns, really, and I’d let someone else go if I thought it would be fruitful. It won’t be that bad. It’s probably not more than a day’s ride once we bend distance to the edge of the valley.”
“More like a day and a half,” Bastien said, and we got down to the business of where we’d travel, avoiding large towns, if possible, and staying off busy roads. The Rosethorn Valley is huge and not overly populated, but it’s a region claimed by Ferelith since it sits right on the southern border of Kestevayne.
We’re a spectacle as we walk through town to Conclave Hall. More people have turned out on the streets to wave, because royal visitors are never kept secret for long.
As we approach the hall, I see a variety of soldiers and guards all decked out in the colors and crests of each family. Joining us, in addition to Baynor Sorin, will be representatives from the D’Amuris, the Groucutt, the Baudin, and the Foss.
But Baynor Sorin is the most important as he controls the largest army, next to ours.
He will be my focus.
We enter the hall, and I’m momentarily speechless. The Conclave has put to use their magics to decorate with floating lights and flowers and buffet tables of food everywhere. On the dais beyond our meeting table, a huge ice sculpture of a raven is magically kept frozen. Waiters circulate offering wines and other liquors. While we’re here to discuss business, the royals expect this sort of welcome, so I can’t begrudge it.
I move through the room, Bastien close behind at all times. He relented to leave the guards outside when I told him it was preposterous to think I’d be attacked while in the hall and that I am more than confident he can protect me.
“Princess Thalia,” a man’s voice booms, and I turn to see Renard Foss striding toward me followed by his daughter Annika and stepson Mason.
“It’s good to see you, Prince Renard.” My tone is cordial and diplomatic, and I accept his air kiss to each cheek.
All royal titles are simply either prince or princess, depending on who rules. Only those who sit on the throne at Kestevayne earn the title of king or queen, and I have not yet earned that. I suppose technically I am considered queen now that my parents are dead, but I’ll never accept that position until I win back my city.