Return of the Guardian-King by Karen Hancock Page B

as the room itself. Ronesca and her attendants were immediately escorted to the front, of course, and Maddie was only about ten feet away when she finally got a clear look at their host.
    He was a man in his prime—tall, straight-backed, and well-built—in impeccable white robes sashed in gold. A swag of loose gold netting set with jewels and precious stones swept across his chest and a white turban covered his dark hair. A gold ring glittered in his ear against a closely trimmed dark beard. More gold stippled his cheekbones beneath liquid brown eyes lashed in black. It was the eyes that keyed her recognition and drove the breath from her chest. For this was the same man she’d served at the Gilded Ram, the one who’d caught her wrist and smelled it, who’d offered to buy her unborn child. Tiris ul Sadek, gone slumming while he waited for his villa to be prepared. . . .
    He stood and stepped off his dais to greet them.
    “Draek Tiris.” Ronesca dropped a deep curtsey, Madeleine doing likewise at her elbow. “It is a pleasure to finally meet so esteemed a man as yourself.”
    “The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness.”
    The dark, liquid eyes fixed upon Maddie and, to her vast relief, showed no sign of recognition. Of course. As many times as she’d experienced the same phenomenon, why had she even doubted?
    “May I introduce you to Princess Madeleine, my sister-in-law,” Ronesca purred, “the First Daughter of Chesedh, and widow of the slain Kiriathan king, Abramm Kalladorne.”
    Maddie held out her hand, and ul Sadek took it, the touch of his fingers on hers sending a tremor up her arm. He’d lost the grotesque claws, she noted. “My sincerest condolences on your loss, my queen,” he said soberly. She had not noticed how wonderful his voice was when he’d spoken to her in the inn’s back room, but now it made her breath catch.
    Ronesca frowned, having noted his inappropriate title for Maddie. She didn’t dare correct him though, so she diverted his attention back to herself and introduced the Countess Iolande Cheriqual. Ul Sadek greeted her with a cool disinterest that bordered on rudeness, and immediately returned his gaze to Maddie. “Your husband was a great man,” he said. “I was shocked to hear he had passed on.”
    Maddie stared back at him, shocked herself that a great lord and foreigner such as Tiris ul Sadek would have heard of Abramm.
    Ronesca was clearly annoyed. It was not often she found herself outmaneuvered in conversation. Now she smiled and intruded again. “Perhaps you have not yet heard the details of his tragic death. I—”
    “Rest assured, Highness,” ul Sadek said, cutting her off. “All in the south and east have heard by now of the death of the White Pretender. If indeed he is dead.” He cocked a dark brow at Maddie, the gold on his cheekbones glittering exotically. “It would not be the first time he has come back from the grave, now, would it?”
    “Come back from the grave?” Ronesca tittered nervously. “He was executed before hundreds.”
    “As hundreds saw him die in the Val’Orda. Or so the song goes. Is that not so, Princess Madeleine?” And he turned again to Maddie, leaving Ronesca in a wordless fluster.
    “It is, Your Grace,” Maddie replied. “But alas, I fear this time . . .” The words stopped. He stared at her, his dark eyes boring into hers, a slight twitch at the corner of his lip. But she could not make herself go on. Could not make herself say aloud the truth that he was dead and wasn’t coming back.
    Ronesca did it for her. “This time there will be no miraculous returns. Abramm’s death was a great loss to us all.”
    “I’m sure it was, Your Highness. Thank you so much for coming.” Ul Sadek gestured now toward the room at large. “I invite you now to enjoy some of my art collection, mostly sculptures today, but I trust you’ll find it as fascinating as it is unusual. And don’t miss out on the refreshments.” He caught