Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [188]
The decision had sealed her fate as an unmarried spinster. Rumors spread that she had led Graeo on simply to make a fool out of him, and the embarrassed young man had left the court, living the next three years holed up on his lands like a hermit. After that, no man had dared court the king’s daughter.
She’d fled Teod at that point, immersing herself in her father’s diplomatic corps. She served as an envoy in all the major cities of Opelon, from Fjorden itself to the Svordish capital of Seraven. The prospect of going to Arelon had intrigued her, of course, but her father had remained adamant about his prohibition. He barely allowed spies into the country, let alone his only daughter.
Still, Sarene thought with a sigh, she had made it eventually. It was worth it, she decided; her engagement to Raoden had been a good idea, no matter how horribly it had turned out. For a while, when they had been exchanging letters, she had allowed herself to hope again. The promise had eventually been crushed, but she still had the memory of that hope. It was more than she had ever expected to obtain.
“You look as if your best friend just died,” Roial noted, returning to hand her a cup of blue Jaadorian wine.
“No, just my husband,” Sarene said with a sigh.
“Ah,” Roial said with an understanding nod. “Perhaps we should move somewhere else—a place where we won’t have such a clear view of our young baron’s rapture.”
“A wonderful suggestion, Your Grace,” Sarene said.
They moved along the pavilion’s outer border, Roial nodding to those who complimented him on the fine party. Sarene strolled along at the elderly man’s side, growing increasingly confused at the dark looks she occasionally got from noblewomen they passed. It was a few minutes before she realized the reason behind the hostility; she had completely forgotten Roial’s status as the most marriageable man in Arelon. Many of the women had come this night expecting the duke to be unaccompanied. They had probably planned long and hard on how to corner the old man, intent on currying his favor. Sarene had ruined any chance of that.
Roial chuckled, studying her face. “You’ve figured it out then, haven’t you?”
“This is why you never throw parties, isn’t it?”
The duke nodded. “As difficult as it is to deal with them at another man’s ball, it is nearly impossible to be a good host with those vixens nipping at my hide.”
“Be careful, Your Grace,” Sarene said. “Shuden complained about exactly the same sort of thing the first time he took me to a ball, and look where he ended up.”
“Shuden went about it the wrong way,” Roial said. “He just ran away—and everyone knows that no matter how hard you run, there’s always going to be someone faster. I, on the other hand, don’t run. I find far too much enjoyment in playing with their greedy little minds.”
Sarene’s chastising reply was cut off by the approach of a familiar couple. Lukel wore his customarily fashionable outfit, a blue, gold-embroidered vest and tan trousers, while Jalla, his dark-haired wife, was in a simple lavender dress—Jindoeese, by the look of its high-necked cut.
“Now, there’s a mismatched couple if I’ve ever seen one,” Lukel said with an open smile as he bowed to the duke.
“What?” Roial asked. “A crusty old duke and his lovely young companion?”
“I was referring more to the height difference, Your Grace,” Lukel said with a laugh.
Roial glanced up with a raised eyebrow; Sarene stood a full head taller than him. “At my age, you take what you can get.”
“I think that’s true no matter what your age, Your Grace,” Lukel said, looking down at his pretty, black-eyed wife. “We just have to accept whatever the women decide to allot us, and count ourselves blessed for the offering.”
Sarene felt sick—first Shuden, now Lukel. She was definitely not in the mood to deal with happy couples this night.
Sensing her disposition, the duke bid