She’d had to do the rest, but the rest hadn’t seemed so hard given the alternative: a life spent in Barren. This man wasn’t Caitlin—but he wasn’t the Emperor, either. And neither of the men were Barren. Neither of them ever would be.
“May I compliment you on your appearance?” Lord Grammayre asked.
“If you absolutely insist.”
Helen cleared her invisible throat.
“...I mean, thank you. Do you recognize the dress?”
“I was about to ask.” The Hawklord smiled. “It suits you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It would if you didn’t look so uncomfortable in it. It is very simple,” he added. “The Aerians do not value simplicity in their formal dress, but there is much to be said for it.”
“My normal clothing is simple, too.”
“Ah. Yes. But perhaps not suited to entertaining.”
* * *
Severn came last.
When the door opened—and yes, Kaylin had all but leapt out of her seat in her eagerness to take advantage of any excuse to be out of that room—she was so happy to see him she could have cried.
Severn, however, froze in place. His mouth was half-open, as if he’d been about to say hello and forgotten what the word meant. He did, after a few seconds, remember to blink. She was confused for that same few seconds, and then looked down at the white dress. She looked up again.
Severn was dressed more formally, but human male formal was just a fancier, more expensive version of normal.
“If you bow,” she told him, “I’ll kill you, I swear.”
His smile was, at least, familiar. “I didn’t expect that dress.”
“Helen made me.”
“I did not make her, as she said, do anything. She is an adult. She makes her own choices,” Helen added.
“You’ll notice Severn’s not wearing a dress.” Kaylin held out both of her hands; Severn hesitated before placing his on top of them. “We could trade.”
“I don’t think the dress would fit me.”
“Betting?”
“Not while the Emperor is a dinner guest, no.” His smile deepened. “I’ll take that bet when he’s gone, though.”
“It’s irrelevant,” Helen told them both, “because Severn’s clothing wouldnotfit. In any way. Your guests,” she added, “are waiting.”
* * *
Bellusdeo was holding court when Severn and Kaylin made their way to the parlor. The Hawklord glanced in their direction, but it was brief and appeared to contain more amusement than censure. Severn made his bow to the Emperor; it was not up to Diarmat’s standards, but then again, his whole demeanor had been so much more graceful than Kaylin’s, it probably didn’t matter.
He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable in this roomful of people, two of whom could destroy his life just by lifting a pen. Or a voice.
Kaylin, relieved of the need for idle conversation, watched the Dragons. The Arkon’s eyes were gold, pure gold. He was speaking with Bellusdeo, and her eyes, tinged lightly orange, rested in a relaxed, and even affectionate, expression. The Emperor might as well have been Kaylin.
And that was an odd thought. The Emperor was arguably the most important man in the Empire—but he was just as uncomfortable, felt just as out of place, as Kaylin did.
As if he could hear the thought that not even she was stupid enough to put into words, he raised a dark brow in her direction. His hair had been oiled and pulled back off his face; it fell down his back in a series of intricate knots that did not scream “informal” to Kaylin.