“Right about what?” Prince Ira asked.
The steel in his tone was unusual for him, but as he looked from Brielle to Lord Treveon and settled on Luci, gone was the congenial prince. His easy smile was replaced by thin lips pressed together and a hard set to his jaw.
“It’s fine,” Luci repeated.
She attempted to withdraw her arm from Brielle’s, but for such a thin creature, her grip was as firm as stone. Worse, they were gathering attention from everyone. Even Lucien and Gladys were standing at the doors watching.
Oh, pumpkins, this was horrifying.
“Somehow I doubt it’s fine.” Prince Ira said as he fixed his forest eyes on Lord Treveon. “Enlighten me.”
Lord Treveon heaved out a shaky breath while he took in the eyes watching the drama unfold. For once, she and the lord agreed. It would have been much preferable to have not come at all and avoided all of this.
“I’m afraid my daughter’s attachment to her servant sometimes presses the bounds of respectability. Lucinda will retire to her rooms, and I will make sure this does not happen again.” Lord Treveon said, dipping his head. “My firmest apologies, your highness.”
Prince Ira stiffened, hands clenched at his side, before his gaze flashed to Brielle, who nodded subtly.
There was no time to consider what this scheming meant because Prince Ira held out his hand to Luci and met her gaze with such ferocity that she was certain she was now one with the floor.
“Lucinda,” he ordered.
Oh goodness. This was worse than worse. There was only command in his voice, and she was forced to remember that he was not the crown prince by name, but by birthright. The world was his to break and remake at his will. Pulling her gaze from his lest she burn to ash and cinders, she looked to Brielle, who was smiling coily. She nodded toward the prince as if Luci was missing the entire plot.
But she wasn’t because Lord Treveon was the color of plum pie, and if humans were capable of implosion, he was about to at any second. Maybe she should have taken enjoyment inembarrassing him after all the times he’d looked down on her and made her feel small, but she didn’t. This was his world, not hers. In fact, if he’d only ever taken the time to see her for who she truly was, he would have seen that their goals were the same.
To make Brielle happy.
Despite the smile she wore now, this was not the happiness Luci envisioned for her friend.
Shaking her head, Luci swallowed.
“It’s fine, I have work to do in-”
“Take my hand, Lucinda.” Prince Ira said, voice low in a way that coursed through her like a bolt of lightning.
Whether it was the command in his voice, the growing smell of cinnamon, or a lapse of good judgment, Luci couldn’t have said. All she knew was that she reached out and took his hand.
His hand squeezed hers in reassurance, and she thought she might just lose consciousness then and there.
“Lucinda is here at my request, Lord Treveon. If you ever question her presence again, I will happily remove you from the council and send you back to Blythe. Am I understood?” he said.
Luci wondered if he’d ever sentenced anyone to death. That was the exact tone she imagined one would use to do it. How strange that her legs would start shaking now. Inconvenient.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lord Treveon and instead busied herself looking at the gold and white tile beneath her feet. Elaborate designs of intersecting florals competed for space inlaid into the tile. It was beautiful, but also dizzying, which didn’t help her shaking legs. That’s when her hands began to shake, and she was certain death was preferable to this.
Prince Ira’s grip on her hand tightened.
“Am I understood, Lord Treveon?” he asked.
“Yes, your highness.” his voice was strained.
Still, Luci couldn’t bring herself to see his embarrassment and anger. It would only make all of this worse.
Prince Ira tucked her arm close to him and gently guided her forward. The eyes on them were enough to burn a hole through her dress and straight into her soul.
“Eyes up, Lucinda. You are not beneath them. You exceed them in every sense of the word,” he said, breath coasting over her neck like a prayer.
Her throat was dry and her skin pricked with nervous energy.