To Janto’s surprise, Rhianne, whom he’d expected to be a silent observer, spoke up often. Since Florian had never involved her in matters of state, her knowledge was limited. She was careful not to display her ignorance, but she intervened when discussions became too heated. She had a knack for smoothing ruffled egos and speaking sense in simple terms that couldn’t be denied. It made Janto desire her all the more, not just as a lover, but as a diplomatic asset for Mosar. Three gods, Florian, you’ve wasted this woman.
However, Rhianne never spoke up for the Riorcans. Janto understood her reasons. Lucien would not survive as emperor if he appeared weak. To give the impression of strength after Kjall’s crushing losses, Lucien had to take a hard line somewhere, and Riorca, the only country accessible to him by land, was his unlucky target. Admiral Durgan grew furious as the negotiations proceeded, and Janto felt bad for Riorca, but there wasn’t much he could do.
By suppertime, they’d hashed out most of the important points. The delegations were growing tired and irritable, so he dismissed the group until morning.
The next day, when they reconvened, they worked out some sticky points regarding the use of the Kjallan-controlled Neruna Strait. After that, Janto proposed some changes in the treatment of Riorcan slaves, which Lucien firmly shot down. Admiral Durgan barely paid attention. He seemed to view the negotiations as a farce.
“Are we finished?” Janto turned to his clerk. “Cialo, when will you have a document ready for signing?”
Cialo lifted his head from the paper. “Very soon, sire. I’m copying the final passages.”
“There is one more matter to discuss,” said Admiral Llinos.
“Speak,” said Janto.
Llinos turned to Lucien and Rhianne. “Kjall has long been an insular nation, rarely if ever marrying its women outside its own borders.”
Rhianne’s eyes narrowed. Lucien took her hand protectively and glared at Llinos.
“My delegation believes, as does the Mosari delegation, that this practice contributes to Kjall’s culture of war, and that if the Imperial Princess Rhianne were to marry outside the empire, that gesture would further peace among our nations.”
“Admiral Llinos, you are out of line,” said Lucien. “It is not your business whom the princess marries.”
“With respect, Emperor, you do not have a vote at this council,” said Llinos. “Now, the Sardossian First Heir has expressed a desire to wed the Kjallan Imperial Princess—”
“The First Heir has fourteen wives already,” said Lucien. “It is an insult to suggest that the Kjallan Imperial Princess, the highest-ranking woman in Kjall, should be one of fifteen.”
“By our laws, she would be his First Wife and thus of superior rank to any of them,” said Llinos in a tone of practiced patience that suggested he’d explained this to ignorant foreigners before. “Rhianne’s firstborn son would thus be First Heir to the First Heir.”
Janto struggled to hide his annoyance. If he survives to adulthood. Ranking sons in Sardossian hive-families had a high mortality rate.
“However,” added Llinos, “since Mosar has suffered the most in this recent war, I move that she instead be married to King Jan-Torres.”
Everyone turned and looked expectantly at Janto. He opened his mouth as if to say something and closed it again. Rhianne folded her arms and glared at him.
“I second,” announced Admiral Durgan. “Let the princess be married to the king of Mosar.” He smiled. “That’s a majority, Jan-Torres. We don’t even need your vote!”
The delegates chuckled. Rhianne stared down at her lap, but he knew she was fuming. Lucien showed no emotion, not yet. He was waiting for Janto’s response.
Which was going to be . . . what?
He’d planned to vote against the arranged marriage, in accordance with Rhianne’s wishes. But he hadn’t expected to be outvoted before he even opened his mouth. Both Sardos and Riorca wanted the marriage to take place. Durgan was probably trying to cause mischief with the Kjallans, but Llinos’s vote was sincere. Could Janto throw his hands in the air and say it wasn’t his fault? He was outvoted.
No. Rhianne wasn’t going to accept that explanation.
She’d made a mistake when she’d turned him down. He was certain of it. She felt she didn’t know him and couldn’t trust him, but the man she’d fallen in love with, whom she’d trusted implicitly and offered her body to, was the real Janto. In time, given half a chance, he would prove that to her. A marriage would give him that time, that chance. Otherwise he would sail home to Mosar, and they might never see each other again. Should he not correct her mistake?
If he accepted the results of the vote, Rhianne would be his. Lucien would bluster, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Kjall had no fleet. Mosar would be untouchable to him for years, and by the time Lucien had rebuilt, Janto would have won Rhianne over. She would no longer want to return home.
Rhianne trembled in her chair, avoiding his eyes. Could she not understand? Her experiences with Florian and Augustan had left their scars, but Janto was not like them. He would not abuse her. She would be happy on Mosar. Wouldn’t she?
No. She’d run away from him, like she’d run from the others. Three gods, who was he kidding? If he forced her into this, she would never love him again.
“Respectfully, I must decline,” said Janto. When Durgan opened his mouth to protest, he held up his hand. “I’m outvoted, I know, but this is my life we’re talking about, and you two cannot vote me a wife, much as it may amuse you. While I greatly admire the Imperial Princess, I believe she does not desire this match.”
Kal turned to Janto, his eyebrows raised expressively. Janto shrugged in response.
Lucien spoke. “King Jan-Torres, I am glad someone in this room possesses some sense.”
Janto smiled wanly. He might have earned Lucien’s respect, but inside he cursed himself for a fool. Now he and Rhianne would never have a chance to reconcile. It might be years before he paid a diplomatic visit to Kjall, if he ever did. By that time, who knew? She might be married to someone else.
He looked up to see Rhianne’s eyes on him, warm and soft, and his breath caught in his throat. How long had it been since she’d looked at him like that? It wasn’t love, though; it was gratitude. Gratitude for removing himself from her life. What was he supposed to say? You’re welcome? Must she twist the knife? He turned away.
“Since the Mosari king refuses the match,” said Llinos, “I move that Rhianne be married instead to Sardos’s First Heir.”
Durgan smiled. “Seconded.”
Llinos’s ruddy cheeks warmed. “Once again, Jan-Torres, we have no need of your vote.”
Janto started to protest, but Lucien leapt up. “This is outrageous! My cousin the Imperial Princess will not be bartered about like spices or salt cod! Kjall will exact its vengeance on any nation that attempts to take her by force.”
“With what fleet?” drawled Durgan.
“I must remind you, we will not always be without a fleet. And while our ground forces are far away, they remain strong. Furthermore,” said Lucien, “Rhianne is in no condition to marry at this time. She was previously betrothed, and her fiancé was killed during the invasion. She is in mourning.”
Llinos shrugged. “It is no object. We are prepared to wait the length of the traditional Kjallan mourning period before the marriage takes place.”
“Admiral Llinos,” said Janto, “may I speak with you privately?”
The admiral locked eyes with him. “Certainly.”
Janto led him to a side room and closed the door. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No, I’m not,” said Llinos. “Lucien’s bluster is just that. Bluster. By the time he has a fleet capable of attacking Sardos, Rhianne will be fully invested in the Sardossian First Family, with children of her own. Kjall is not going to declare war on us. Marrying Rhianne into the First Family will make war less likely.”