The initial flurry of flashes died down. When Kiem moved his arm a fraction, Jainan removed his hand immediately and stepped a little away. Apparently he’d been steeling himself to be near Kiem. Kiem tried not to show he’d noticed.

“Your Highness! How’s it feel to be married?”

Journalists. Kiem relaxed—journalists seemed like the least difficult thing to deal with right now. He grinned and shook a couple of hands. “‘Morning. I’m not, yet. Hi, Hani—any tips? You got married last year, didn’t you? Your partner took that shot of me falling in the canal a couple of days ago.”

“Yes, which is why she didn’t get credentials for this, isn’t it?” The polished

woman with silver eye implants tilted her head. “How long have you known Count Jainan?”

Kiem spread his hands disarmingly. “I don’t make the press lists. And we’ve met a few times—we’re, uh, getting to know each other.”

“How does he feel about your lifestyle?”

“Hey, aren’t you guys supposed to be the sympathetic part of the press corps?” Kiem protested. “I don’t do that anymore. I’m responsible now.” He was almost starting to enjoy himself by the time he glanced over at Jainan.

Jainan was holding himself stiffly; a reporter stood in front of him about half a pace too close. Jainan shook his head and said something. He wasn’t moving away, though, so Kiem was about to turn back to the others when he heard the reporter say, “—Prince Taam—”

All right, that was enough. “Oi, Dak, who let you in here?” Kiem said, cutting across Jainan. “Weren’t you behind that piece on the Emperor’s brother needing plastic surgery?”

“What?” Dak said, turning without batting an eyelid. He was a solidly built, middle-aged journalist who worked for one of the larger aggregators. “That’s quite an accusation there, Your Highness. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Yeah, well, it was your phrasing,” Kiem said, by no means sure about that.

“So you’re on thin ice. Show some bloody respect for the deceased. Taam’s off the record, as is this conversation. Jainan, I think we’re starting?”

Jainan gave him a look that was no less blank than the one he’d directed at the reporter. “Of course,” he said. “Excuse me.” He gave Dak a polite bow of his head and bypassed him. Kiem put himself on the side next to the reporters and blocked any more questions with a friendly wave, strolling up to the antique desk they’d dug out for the signing.

The West Solarium was a large, hexagonal room, filled with pale light from the windows set into its dome-like ceiling. The metal ribs of the dome were brushed with pale, butter-yellow highlights, so it was one of the more cheerful rooms in the palace. Kiem took that as a good omen.