Kiem had the photo in his head, but it was still a shock to see that grave stare right in front of him. Jainan’s dark eyes gave a hidden spark of electricity to an expression that was otherwise entirely proper and neutral. His clothes were Thean, a half-sleeved tunic with a blunter, looser cut than Iskat styles, in a muted blue that split the difference between a formal outfit and mourning grays.

Jainan cut his eyes away and bowed. It was a formal bow, a shade more correct than what was required from a count to a prince. Kiem realized with a spike of embarrassment that it was probably a polite way of telling him he was staring.

He snapped himself out of his frozen moment and stepped back, bowing formally himself. “Welcome! Glad you could make it, my name’s Kiem, nice to meet you. I mean, properly. I know we’ve sort of seen each other in the distance at functions. Thanks for, um, agreeing to all this. Come in, come in.”

Jainan rose from his bow and looked at Kiem thoughtfully. Kiem wasn’t given to blushing, but he almost felt his face heat as he heard his own voice sounding even more inane than usual. My name’s Kiem, like Jainan wasn’t aware whose room he had visited. And thanks for agreeing to all this? Jainan knew as well as Kiem that it wasn’t as if either of them had a choice.

But all Jainan said was, “Jainan. A pleasure, Your Highness. It is more than an honor to be invited.” As he stepped over the threshold, he took in the tall windows and the gardens outside with a quick dart of his eyes. He moved gracefully, almost soundlessly, and Kiem suddenly felt clumsy and awkward in comparison. Even more so as he lumbered back out of Jainan’s way and Jainan’s eyes went to him briefly, then cut away again.

“Sit down, please,” Kiem said hastily, when he realized Jainan was politely hovering. He waved to one of the chairs clustered around his coffee service, a samovar with an old collection of cups that he had always ignored in favor of the

dispenser, but it was traditional to have it for guests. Jainan sat on the edge of a chair, highly composed. The blue-gray of his uniform drew the color out of his face but didn’t take away from the smart shape it cut around his shoulders—

Kiem stopped staring. “I, uh. I hope you didn’t have to interrupt anything to come?”

“No,” Jainan said, soft and measured. “My last appointment was the one-month Mourning for Prince Taam, which finished yesterday.”

Wrong question, wrong question. “Ah. I didn’t realize that had already happened.”

“I apologize,” Jainan said. “I should have sent you a reminder.”

Kiem winced. He’d gone to the public first-day and ten-day Mournings, but protocol said he wasn’t close enough to Taam to still be going to memorials a month later—he couldn’t remember speaking to him in years. That was before he was engaged to marry Taam’s ex-partner, though. He should probably have badgered someone for an invitation after yesterday’s bombshell. “Right. Yes.