In the end, it was Leo’s mother who had turned the tide. “I don’t think you should ignore this man,” she said to her husband. “He seems dangerous to me.”

Leo never really knew what had happened after that—he returned to England and his very vibrant social life. But the Alucian Parliament took up the cause, and the workhouses were eventually shut down. Now factories provided modest housing for the workers.

By the end of his bath, Leo had determined it didn’t matter what Lysander wanted—Leo wouldn’t involve himself with it. He wouldn’t be in the garden tomorrow, because Leo was setting sail in two nights, no matter what.

There was a soft rap at the door, and then Leo’s valet, Freddar, appeared, holding a large towel. “Will you dress now, Your Highness?”

Leo sighed. “Je.” He couldn’t avoid the ball. All eyes would be on Leo tonight, more so than ever before. He was the new prized bull, the one everyone wanted as sire. For years, he’d watched Bas endure these evenings and the endless introductions to all manner of women—short and round, tall and thin. Beautiful and plain. Women with pleasing dispositions and those who were cold as fish. All of them wanting an opportunity to woo a crown prince. Leo was no crown prince, but as of today, he was the next best thing. It hardly mattered that his father had already negotiated a marriage—the wealthy and privileged would present their daughters and sisters to him like gifts from the Magi.

His long black formal frock was embellished with the dignitatis epaulets on the shoulders, denoting his rank in the military. A rank that was achieved by virtue of his birth and nothing else. He would also wear a royal blue sash onto which medals of his family’s name, military achievements and honors would be affixed. None of them belonged to him personally.

Those medals would complement the larger, ribboned medals that were pinned to his chest, also granted because of his titles and privileges and for nothing that he’d done. Such as the large bloom of white ribbon with a gold circle and pearls encrusted in the middle, the Order of the King’s Garter. There were more medals that signified his rank in the navy and the army—bestowed on him because he was a prince—as well as the Order of Merit and the Order of the Reeve, given to him by his father. And of course, his father’s coronation medal, another large gold piece with dark blue and gold ribbons, that celebrated Leo’s royal birth.

He was doused in the symbols and trappings of his family’s wealth and privilege, and he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve any of it. How was it fair that by virtue of his birth alone he should have such fortune? How was it fair that another child, born into lesser circumstances, would struggle through his or her life and accomplish far more than Leo ever would, yet not have a single medal worth so much? Any one of these medals on his chest would bring prosperity to a family for several years.

Why me?

That question had plagued him at various times in his life. He was eight years old the first time he’d asked it. He’d befriended a boy in the stables. His name was Tadd or something close to it. Leo couldn’t rightly recall his name, but he could still see his face, as if he’d spoken to him only yesterday. He and Tadd had formed a friendship over a horse. Tadd had taught him quite a lot about horses—how to brush their coats and manes, how to clean their hooves.

It had been Leo’s idea to sneak the horse from the stables and ride him. The freckle-faced lad was reluctant, but at Leo’s insistence, he went along with it.

When they were discovered, Tadd was dragged off the horse and roundly beaten in front of Leo, even as Leo cried for the stable master to stop. And then Tadd simply disappeared. Leo had been left with a searing sense of responsibility and unfairness about the whole thing.

That was the first time he’d been aware of the enormous privilege he enjoyed and how little he’d done to deserve it.

He had learned in the years that followed to turn a blind eye to those feelings and accept his life as it was and be grateful for it. That was easy to do when surrounded by the children of aristocrats who similarly had their lives handed to them. It was easy when he had the luxury to spend his days with his friends, or abroad. He’d grown lazy in that way wealth had of making a man disinclined to lift many fingers. Nothing was expected of him other than to finish his studies and not impregnate a chamber girl. That he could do.

He had learned to dull the tedium and the unfairness of it all with alcohol. What he wanted was to go back to England and the dissolute but happy manner in which he lived.


LEO WAS ANNOUNCED with enough fanfare to make his head throb, then escorted by two footmen on either flank to the dais where his parents sat on their thrones. As he walked, people on either side of his path bowed and curtsied. Such ritual, such unnecessary pomp.

Two chairs had been added to the dais beside the king for Bas and Eliza.

Leo greeted his father stiffly. “You look well enough,” his father said, his gaze apprizing.

“Where have you been, darling?” his mother asked. “You’re late.”

“Out,” he said, and bent to press his lips to her cheek. Queen Daria looked regal in her diamond-and-sapphire crown. On her gold gown, she wore nearly as many medals as he did. She was a beautiful woman, and when Leo was a boy, he’d worshipped her, held in thrall by her beauty. He’d longed for her attention and her smile, but both had been sparingly applied to him.

She smiled at him now and cupped his face when he leaned over her to kiss her cheek. “It has been the happiest of days to have my children here with me. I can’t wait for the day that you will make me as happy as Sebastian has today.”

Leo suppressed his groan.

“You’ll not wait long, my love,” his father assured her.

His mother leaned forward and whispered, “Have you met Lady Eulalie? She’s quite attractive.”

Leo shook his head. If he spoke, he wouldn’t be able to hide his anger.

“She is illunis,” his mother said, using the Alucian word for beautiful. “I think you will find her appealing.”

“Hopefully,” he said with a shrug.

“You will! We took into account your likes and dislikes, my darling.”

That was absurd. He’d never told his mother or father what he found attractive, and if they had truly taken into account his dislikes, they would know he disliked this exceedingly.

“Ah, here is Sir Ravaneaux,” his mother said. He turned to see her private secretary approaching the dais. “Sir Ravaneaux will see to it that the introduction to Lady Eulalie is made.”

Would he not be allowed as much as a glass of wine before the task of strengthening the ties between Alucia and Wesloria began? “Should I not congratulate the happy couple first?”

His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But you’ve congratulated them, darling! We all have. Sir Ravaneaux, if you would,” she said, and waved Leo away like she did when he was a boy and he’d become bothersome. A flick of her wrist and a firm Off with you now, Leo.

Ravaneaux led Leo across the crowded ballroom with the two footmen trailing behind. It was a spectacle, people stepping out of the way to allow him to pass. Leo was keenly aware of the number of eyes on him, the low hum of whispers around him. As they neared the opposite side of the ballroom, an attractive woman came forward in the company of a man who looked to be about his father’s age. He was fit, with strong features, his clothing that of an aristocrat. The woman was as small as he was large. She was dressed in silk and jewels, and when she curtsied, she sank low in the way young ladies were taught at finishing schools. She wore the Weslorian dark green pinned to her breast. The gentleman likewise wore the band of green around his arm.

Ravaneaux said to him, “Your Royal Highness, may I introduce Lady Eulalie Gaspar of Wesloria,” he said. “And her father, the Duke of Brondeny.”

Leo bowed. “Your Grace,” he said to the duke. “My lady.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries, and the duke offered felicitations on the occasion of Sebastian’s marriage, then deftly stepped away under the pretense of speaking to Sir Ravaneaux, leaving Leo and Lady Eulalie alone...except for the attendance of dozens upon dozens of onlookers.

Lady Eulalie had small brown eyes and full lips, and her hair was the color of English tea. She arched a brow as she gave him a very thorough once-over, as if he were the milk cow she was considering purchasing. “I understand we are to befriend each other, Your Highness, and do it rather quickly.”

He appreciated her forthright manner and that she’d dispensed with the tedium of asking how he found the weather this time of year or mentioning how grand the ball. “I understand the same.”

“I’ve only recently been made aware of this friendship, so if I may make one small request?”

He nodded.

“I should like it to be quick.” She glanced away from him and across the ballroom.

Leo followed her gaze and noticed a stately Weslorian captain staring back at her. Well. At least she was open about her true intentions. He didn’t know how he felt about such openness, but he couldn’t help but admire it. “I will make this initial meeting as quick as the horse your ambassador boasts about.”

She laughed with surprise. “He does boast. I’ll go first, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“May I compliment you on how well your brother looked today? His bride is lovely.”

“Thank you. Very kind of you to say.”

“She is an English commoner, is she not?”

It was not a question, but a comment that Leo supposed he was to confirm or deny. He didn’t suspect Lady Eulalie was doing anything more than attempting to make small talk as the situation required, but the question rankled him nonetheless. He hated that sort of question—it was not meant to inform, but to get at the heart of the matter: who outranked whom. He wished he was at the Foxhound with a tankard of ale instead of playing this game. Mercy, how soon he’d forgotten his vow not to drink. “She is not,” he said politely. “At least not anymore.”