There had been no hesitancy in her answer. She had said it simply, as if she’d seen the truth of it. Then she smiled at him seductively. But I want you, her smile said.

“You sound certain.” Gaborn tried to seem casual. “Is it merely my clothes? I did bring more suitable attire.”

“You may be from the most powerful kingdom in Rofehavan, but . . . how shall I put this? Your politics are suspect.”

It was a kind way to accuse him of being immoral. Gaborn had feared such an accusation.

“Because my father is a pragmatist?” Gaborn asked.

“Some think him pragmatic, some think him . . . too acquisitive.”

Gaborn grinned. “King Sylvarresta thinks him pragmatic . . . but his daughter thinks my father is greedy? She said this?”

Myrrima smiled and nodded secretively. “I’ve heard rumors that she said as much at the midwinter feast.”

Gaborn was often amazed at how much the commoners knew or surmised about the comings and goings and doings of lords. Things that he’d often thought were court secrets would be openly discussed at some inn a hundred leagues distant. Myrrima seemed sure of her sources.

“So she will reject my petition, because of my father.”

“It has been said in Heredon that Prince Orden is ‘much like his father.’ ”

“Too much like his father?” Gaborn asked. A quote from Princess Sylvarresta? Probably spoken to quell any rumors of a possible match. It was true that Gaborn had his father’s look about him. But Gaborn was not his father. Nor was his father, Gaborn believed, as “acquisitive” as Iome accused him of being.

Myrrima had the good taste to say no more. She pulled her hand free of his.

“She will marry me,” Gaborn said. He felt confident he could sway the princess.

Myrrima raised a brow. “How could you imagine so? Because it would be pragmatic to ally herself with the wealthiest kingdom in Rofehavan?” She laughed musically, amused. Under normal circumstances, if a peasant had laughed him to scorn, Gaborn would have bristled. He found himself laughing with her.

Myrrima flashed a fetching smile. “Perhaps, milord, when you leave Heredon, you will not leave empty-handed.”

One last invitation. Princess Sylvarresta will not have you, but I would.

“It would be foolhardy to give up the chase before the hunt has begun, don’t you think?” Gaborn said. “In Understanding’s House, in the Room of the Heart, Hearthmaster Ibirmarle used to say ‘Fools define themselves by what they are. Wise men define themselves by what they shall be.’ ”

Myrrima rejoined, “Then I fear, my pragmatic prince, that you shall die old and lonely, deluded into believing you will someday marry Iome Sylvarresta. Good day.”