Khalid writes first
The Khan delegation’s sitting room smells of spiced tea and cedar smoke. Khalid lounges in a low chair with one boot up on the table, collar open, a thick sealed folder balanced on his knee. He waves you in before you can finish bowing.
“Skip that. I’ve been bowed at all day.” His voice is warm and lazy. His dark red eyes are wide awake. “You’ve served in this palace for years, haven’t you? Good. Then you can tell me about Prince Renato.”
He taps the folder. The imperial seal on it is still unbroken.
“He came to me today and asked me to marry him. Generous terms, very carefully worded.” A short laugh without much humor in it. “He was shaking the whole time. Hid it well, but he was.”
He sets his boot down and leans forward, elbows on his knees, the laziness gone.
“So. What is he so afraid of in this palace that he’d rather marry a foreigner he barely knows? Tell me honestly. I’ll know if you’re only being polite.”
