Two junior stewards came up to do more practical damage reduction with handkerchiefs and pieces of paper. Kiem extracted his hand with only a moderate amount of red ink smeared on his sleeve. The judge, annoyed, waved at the press corps to stop the suddenly frantic photo-taking, and Kiem abruptly had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. He looked around for Jainan.

Jainan had knelt to pick up the inkpot. He was still crouched on the floor, the pot clutched tight in one hand, frantically dabbing at the carpet with his handkerchief. He glanced up at Kiem. “S-sorry,” he said. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

Kiem crouched down, sobering up. “Don’t worry about that, they’ll get it cleaned up later. Here, I’ll take the pot—it’s going all over your hand.” He nearly had to pry it out of Jainan’s grip. “Are you all right? Get much of it on you?” He stood and offered Jainan a hand.

“I’m fine,” Jainan said. He took the hand. “I’m sorry for the disruption.” His grip was warm, with callouses on the fingers, and for a moment Kiem was distracted. But when Jainan was on his feet, he tried to pull his hand away as soon as politely possible. Kiem let go hurriedly. A steward offered Jainan a wipe for his hands.

Kiem jumped as Bel tapped him on the shoulder. She passed him a handkerchief. “Don’t say anything,” Kiem muttered.

“Just try not to get it on your face; the press will think you broke your nose again,” Bel murmured. She gestured to two of the stewards, who had magically produced a tablecloth to hide the stains. A third laid out a fresh set of contracts, which Bel straightened then stepped back with a meaningful look at Kiem that said, Try not to have any more disasters.

“We resume the ceremony,” the judge said.

“Right,” Kiem said. He tried to ignore the after-impression of Jainan’s hand on his, like a ghost touch. Before there could be any more accidents, he grabbed the quill and signed his name with only a minor blot. Beside him Jainan dipped his own quill in the remaining pot of ink, taking great care. His hands were shaking. That must be adrenaline; it hadn’t been that embarrassing.

There was a round of polite applause. Jainan set the quill back and straightened, turning to Kiem.

Oh shit. Kiem had managed not to think about the fact he was going to have to kiss him, whether Jainan wanted it or not. All right, he told himself, taking a wary step away from the table. Just keep it impersonal. Jainan stepped in, and

Kiem’s gaze was caught by the unconscious elegance of the movement, by his dark eyes and the slight natural crookedness of his mouth.

No, Kiem told himself. Just because Jainan was his type didn’t mean Kiem couldn’t act poised in front of the cameras.