me,” the young man said, holding his mirthful expression a moment longer before breaking into laughter. “And your lack of comprehension is clear, friend! Your partners here are the more confused. Have I really been away for so long? I thought it just a few months!” He paused, but nobody had a ready response. “None of you has ever seen a prince in pauper’s clothing, I take it. It’s the man who makes the clothes, you know, not the other way around.” He danced in, suddenly light on his feet as if fencing. Nodding toward the councillor, he added, “Rialus Neptos, it seems, understands this better than most.”
The second guard continued to sputter, while his two companions begged forgiveness. Several of the newly arrived Marah bowed low to the ground. Rialus tried to form a question about his garb; seemed to sense the question was fraught with insult; and instead posed a series of queries, after none of which he kept quiet long enough to hear the answers to. Dariel mentioned casually that he was here to see the queen on matters of state. He should probably be on his way, but should Rialus prefer to interrogate him first … He sketched his indifference in the air with his hand. For that matter, he did not mind being delayed by each Marah who wished to question him. Of course, the queen might not like to be kept waiting. …
A moment later Dariel was striding along. Rialus shuffled a half step behind him, signaling furiously with his hands and arms and face at any soldier or guard that might possibly think to intercept them. By the confused looks the men and women sent him, it was clear few understood his antics. Not, at least, until they recognized Dariel’s face and bearing. Despite his garb the prince walked with assurance and obvious military fitness. All who might have questioned him instead stepped to the side.
“Is it true what I hear said about you, Rialus?” Dariel asked.
“What’s that, sir?”
Dariel did not slacken his pace, but looked at the councillor askance, one corner of his mouth lifted. “That you’ve found love, Rialus. That you found marital harmony in the arms of a woman who was once your servant. I’d no idea you were so liberally minded, though I had heard you were on something of a diligent search for a … well, for a wife to complete you.”
This had been a running joke for the last few years. Rialus, once he had his quarters set up in what had been a Meinish compound during Hanish’s rule, had set about staffing it almost entirely with attractive young women. It was rumored that not all of them knew much about keeping an official’s house in order, but most of them made up for it with a propensity toward buxomness. A few, it was said, came directly from houses of prostitution and served entirely to satisfy Rialus’s considerable carnal appetite. Who could blame him—pent up as he had been in Cathgergen for so many of his prime years? Dariel really felt no superiority to him in this regard. He did not even condemn Rialus for marrying a servant girl. Truth be known, he envied him the freedom to marry whomever he chose. This was not a freedom he himself had, as Corinn had made abundantly clear.
“No need to explain yourself to me,” Dariel said, cutting him off before he got fully up to speed in his sputtering explanation. He slapped a hand down on the man’s thin shoulder, feeling him wince beneath it. “Be a happy man, Rialus. Plant a child in her. Become immortal. …”
The prince’s voice trailed off. He had just mounted one of the upper stairs and turned on the patio to take in the view. As ever, the terraced descent of Acacia to the sea was a wonder to behold. Beneath him, the land cascaded down, level on level, merging together like a maze cut by stairways and fortifying walls, with great houses in the higher reaches and smaller structures lower. Corinn had ordered new paint colors mixed to announce the return of Akaran rule and to represent the new age she
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