I push my plate away as I watch her bat her thick lashes and blush like a smitten youth.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” The nobleman next to me asks.

I shake my head, looking up once more to see her eyes still on Lach.

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Braizen

It’s time for dancing. While we ate, a crowd gathered in the square. Musicians stand nearby, readying their instruments. A familiar face slinks out of the crowd.

“Prince Man,” Stig yells, holding his lute high above his head. “Nice to see you again.”

“You’ve come to play?”

“A special thanks to Aunt Deria for making it happen. I’m pretty sure in return she wants me to be her next husband,” he confides.

“Not too bad,” I say. “For a musician.”

He slaps my back and roars. He and Torr would get along just fine. After I’m sure that Aeradian and Baelliles are truly safe, I’ll see that they meet. Lorna is going to detest the friendship.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The bard calls out and climbs to the stage where the musicians are ready to play. “A special treat for you on this day. A special treat, indeed! I’ve written a song just for this occasion and have been asked by Deria Ferdal to perform it for you now! Please, quiet. Quiet!” Most of the onlookers lower their voices, apparently interested enough to see what the King’s aunt has approved for the day.

Idalia moves closer to Lachlan, wraps her arm through his, and rests her head on his shoulder. He looks down and flashes an unsteady smile before turning back to the stage.

Stig holds his instrument high, closes his eyes, and mumbles a prayer.

I do my best to focus on him and not glare at Lachlan. At their touching skin.

“Sing then, Bard! We haven’t all day!” A man shouts from the crowd, but Stig’s eyes don’t open. He slowly brings the lute to his waist and strums a chord. The song begins with a slow melody. Finally, he sings:

“Once a man had no bread, he lost his home.

He lost his head.

And nary for him was there a tear shed.”

My mouth drops open in disbelief. I hear her laugh and see Idalia holding her hands over her red face as she gasps hysterically.

“Gods, he’s terrible,” Theodore whispers over to me. Her face is contorted and likely mirrors mine. “My aunt must’ve been very drunk when she heard him.”

Stig prances across the stage on his lanky legs and thumbs the lute strings.

“Give him a coin or give him ale! Or his insanity will prevail!

Give coin to the bard that sings of his tale!”

No one realizes that the ditty is over, so Stig stands on the stage in dead silence, heaving as if he’s just returned from battle.