She shone bright, altogether the enchanting princess, but Venkat knew her, and to him, that sheen was brittle—a patina of iron pyrite for those who expected to see true gold and wouldn’t bother to look any deeper. If his hunch about the announcement was right, it wasn’t anything she wanted.

Even so, she could have given him a heads-up it was happening.

Sandwiched between her parents, Asha mirrored Nayan’s greeting. “Your Majesties,” she said, smooth and practiced.

The nagarani granted her a benevolent nod before turning to Nayan. “As you were.”

Nayan opened his arms in invitation. Asha’s parents led her forward from the right, while Chintu’s uncle escorted him from the left, until they both stood before the king and queen. Then Asha’s parents placed her hand in Chintu’s, offered up by his uncle.

“The clans of Anant Shesha and of Vasuki join hands today in betrothal: Prince Chintan and Princess Asha are to be wed in a month!” Nayan announced. “The ceremony will be held here on the palace grounds.”

Their parents and uncle scarcely waited for him to finish before flinging handfuls of marigold and rose petals over the happy couple.

While Chintu grinned out at the spectators, Asha demurely cast her eyes down.

Though Venkat had already presumed she was faking, that single gesture only drove it home. If demure was one end of the emotional spectrum, Asha was the other.

Her duty was to put the clan’s welfare first. Venkat couldn’t fault her for that.

But why hadn’t she told him? Why hadn’t Nayan?

And then it was hard to think, because waves of people surrounded him, cheering and dancing, and the gardens themselves had blossomed into extra greens and blues, as if their foliage were living gemstones, with flowers growing larger and lusher and even more fragrant—the palace grounds’ reaction to their rulers’ proud state of mind.

He’d known any event that centered on Asha would mean drama; he just hadn’t predicted this.

Suddenly Venkat was eight again, lonely and despondently circling the borders of naga society. All he wanted was to be in his workshop among his dreamstone vials, or in his room, reading one of his favorite books. At least there, he knew what to expect.

Fireworks boomed against the nocturnal sky, forming pink lotuses and intertwining serpents in gold and green, and lively music streamed from the shadows. People called out questions and congratulations and chattered in excited knots. Up on the balcony, Nayan and the rest of the royals waved. Asha, her bejeweled head held high, even blew kisses.

She knew her duty. Probably she always had.

Disgruntled as he was, Venkat knew his duty, too. As he pasted on his smile and readied himself to dole out the rest of his dream scraps, he reminded himself that Asha wasn’t the only one who knew how to pretend.

7