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Reghan kept that in mind as he descended to the keep. He went to
his chambers first and changed his clothes--Castan had provided him
with a rather rich wardrobe. Perhaps to gall Bressal. He'd been in the
habit of wearing the most modest of his options, but not that night. For
the banquet, he would choose something suitable for a prince. A wave of
his hand made it suitable for a king. He risked Bressal's wrath by
wearing something so obviously above his station, but he risked Bressal's
wrath simply by existing.
* * * *
Reghan attracted attention. Reghan attracted a great deal of
attention as he entered the great hall. First, it was the servants, jumping
at the sight of him, rushing to his side in fear that he was a member of
Mannix's party that they had overlooked somehow. The knights at the
lower table noticed the commotion first, and their attention was drawn to
the strange looking man in the fine clothes, asking themselves whether
he was the one who Bressal sent to the stocks for a week. Gradually, the
diners at the middle tables turned their heads, casually glancing over to
see what the ruckus was about, but not looking away again. Finally, the
king, his son, and their honored guests were forced to find out what had
captured everybody's rapt attention.
He felt Castan's gaze land on him first, and it was all he could do
to stop himself from meeting it. He wasn't breaking any rules of protocol
with his clothes--not technically, though everybody heard the statement
loud and clear--and he wanted to keep it that way. So he ignored the
prince in favor of bowing to Bressal, bending so low at the waist that his
hat almost fell off. He knew Áine was staring at him, too. Even if she'd
never been to Banbha's court, she would still know him. Like called to
like, and he could feel her seeping into his skin.
"Who is this handsome young man?" Mannix asked.
Reghan kept his eyes averted, waiting for Bressal to choke out an
answer. Now he hoped Castan understood why it was so important to
play by Bressal's rules. The entire court would now witness Bressal with
his wrists tightly bound, unable to control a servant in his own court, in
front of his dear friend and guest.
"This is Reghan. One of the prizes Prince Castan brought back
from his battle with Banbha."
"He's a fey?" Mannix asked.
Reghan risked looking up at that point, and the sight of Castan
and Áine was almost enough to steal his breath. They were sitting at
opposite ends of the table, but they were still stunning together. Reghan
had the sudden vision of the two of them sitting side by side, hands
clasped, heads proudly bearing crowns, shoulders and throats shining
with jewels. They were both fair and they were both wise and they were
both in the fairy court.
Reghan gasped and closed his eyes, doing his best to forget the
vision. But it couldn't be erased. It only seemed brighter behind his shut
eyes, all of the colors standing out starkly, Castan wrapped in gold, Áine
wrapped in silver.
"Yes. The only one who would swear his oath to Prince Castan.
Now he serves the court."
"He is your servant?" Áine asked, sounding as breathless as
Reghan felt.
"Yes, he is," Bressal said before Castan could answer. "I've been
endeavoring to break him in and prepare him for the life of servitude."
"How, pray tell, have you done that?" Mannix asked gruffly.
"A week in the stocks taught him how to bow, and a week of
walking on his knees taught him to kneel. A week in the stables taught
him humility, and a week in the dungeons reminded him of his new
place in this court. And now, my dear Mannix, I would like to ask you to
complete his lessons."
Áine's eyes widened, Castan's frown deepened, and Mannix didn't
look half as pleased as Bressal had clearly expected him to. Reghan took
advantage of everybody's temporary shock to bow deeply. "I look forward
to serving you, my lord."
"Aren't you scared?" Áine whispered, and the rest of the hall might
not have heard her, but Reghan did.
Bressal laughed openly. "What's there to be afraid of? He's
completely beaten."
"But..."
Mannix held up his hand, stopping his daughter's protest. She fell
silent, but Reghan could see she wasn't happy about it. "Your trust in an
honor to me, your majesty. I'm grateful for the gift you've bestowed and I
promise I will train him to the best of my ability." He looked over to
Reghan, his stare pointed, and Reghan realized that Mannix wasn't
ignorant of Reghan's lineage either. "Go to my chambers and wait to
attend me."
Castan was staring at him. Reghan could feel it, like a thousand
ants crawling over his bare skin. He wished he could offer Castan some
reassurance. Perhaps Mannix or Áine would give him permission later to
speak to the prince. No, no, Reghan's earlier plan to distance Castan
from him was still a good one. For more than one reason. The fact that
he hated it so much was a pretty good sign that it was for the best. If it
wasn't painful, it wouldn't be necessary.
Reghan turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the
banquet like the great hall was his domain. He didn't stop walking until
he reached the chambers used for the most honored guests. He let
himself into the room, settled in the chair closest to the fireplace, and
arranged his cape around him. He set his mouth in an austere line, and
for the first time in a very, very long time, Reghan prepared himself to
hold court.
Chapter 8
Castan rarely enjoyed the responsibilities and obligations that
accompanied large banquets like this, but he usually managed to smile
and speak politely, to laugh and joke at the appropriate times, to be
suitably solemn if the conversation turned to politics or kingdom
matters. But after watching Reghan walk away, he couldn't put up that
sort of effort. He wasn't even interested in trying. He responded only
when somebody spoke to him directly, and then he was surly and bit out
only the most necessary words. Bressal noticed, of course, and sent him
pointed looks throughout the night, expressing his disappointment and
annoyance without ever changing the tenor of his voice. Castan didn't
care if Bressal was displeased.
His thoughts never left Reghan.
He was certain everybody in the hall was thinking of Reghan. The
servant who looked more like a king. The servant who couldn't have been
more humble, more respectful, or better behaved. Bressal had expected
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