Shadow War - Deborah Chester [31]
Caelan felt his face go stiff. “Yes, sir. Quite satisfactory. Also, may I please ask forgiveness for not being able to attend your highness last night?”
The prince frowned. “The last thing I want from you is phony courtier pleasantries. You could not attend me because you were near death. All because of your exhibition of audacity and bravado which has offended the Imperial Guard, and possibly alienated some I may need to rely on most.”
The rebuke stung. Caelan dropped his gaze in humiliation. “Yes, sir.”
Tirhin’s eyes were dark and stony. “I did not order you to kill yourself, or to let yourself be killed.”
Caelan swallowed. “No, sir.”
“You are a reckless fool. You could have cost me—” The prince broke off and slapped his palm with his gloves. “But you did not. It has worked, I think. Thus far, at least. And because there is a rumor that you are dead, your appearance tonight should be precisely the type of distraction I want.”
“Distraction?”
“Enjoy yourself, Giant,” the prince said, ignoring his puzzled question. “Take pride in the accolades that will be thrown your way. You’ve earned the attention.”
As praise it was much less than usual, hardly anything. Yet it seemed odd coming after the prince’s sharp reprimand. More puzzled than ever, Caelan wondered at the manipulative game his master was playing. Only one thing seemed clear; the reward Caelan had hoped for would apparently not be forthcoming.
Anger surged into his throat like hot bile. Furiously, Caelan struggled to block it. If he forgot himself and lost his temper now, he would find his head on a wall spike before morning. With all his might, he fought back resentment. He had made a mistake, and this was his master’s way of punishing him.
Orlo had been right. A promise made to a slave wasn’t binding.
Trembling started in the pit of Caelan’s stomach and traveled up. Clenching his fists at his side, he swallowed hard and knew he had to control himself. He mustn’t think about it now. If he was to get through this evening, then he could not feel and he could not think. There would be time later tonight, after he was finally dismissed from his duties, when he could decide what to do.
A shout from the courtiers at the bottom of the steps caught Tirhin’s attention. A smile of acknowledgment appeared on his face, but there was nothing jovial in it.
“Come, then,” the prince said and walked on.
Silently, Caelan followed. His eyes felt hot in the coldness of his face. His gaze burned into the prince’s spine. How he would like to seize this handsome, privileged man by the neck and shake him the way a weasel shakes a rat. How he would like to say, “You cannot toy with lives. You are not a god. There are consequences for what you do, and someday you will pay them.”
Over his shoulder Tirhin added, “Mind that you understand me. This is to be your night. Do not tag at my heels. Do not attend me. I need no protection. I need no service. Am I clear?”
Scorn filled Caelan like lava. The prince was still playing his game, still taking Caelan’s loyalty for granted. Let him lay his mysterious intrigues, for all the good they would do him.
This evening the prince looked keyed up and bright-eyed, his outward gaiety a thin, brittle layer over irritation. He looked as though he was up to mischief. Anyone who knew him well could see it.
The prince snapped another look at Caelan. “I asked you a question. Are you paying heed to me?”
“Yes, sir,” Caelan replied at once, his tone flat. “Forgive me. Your highness has been quite clear.”
“Good. I want no more trouble from you. No straying from your instructions. No surprises. Do only what you are told. No more. No less.”
“I shall obey your instructions precisely, sir,” Caelan said, and his voice was flatter than ever.
The prince did not seem to notice. He strode down the steps to join his friends and resumed his strange, thin smile. He quickly added a quip of his own to their jokes