Would Lord Dillon have responded differently if he hadn’t been meeting her and Jillian that day?

Then Jillian saw him and lit up, a flower opening for the sun. And the smile he turned on Jillian when he noticed her standing in the doorway . . . She’d expected a calculated smile, but the boy seemed genuinely pleased to see the girl. A point in his favor.

“This is my lucky day,” Dillon said, getting to his feet as they walked over to the table. “I get to sit with two beautiful women.”

That, however, sounded like every man she’d met who wanted to ingratiate himself enough to ask for a favor—usually a favor that required some assistance from her husband.

“Lord Dillon, this is Lady Surreal SaDiablo. She’s visiting from Dhemlan.”

Surreal held out her right hand. She had chosen to wear the ring and pendant that held her Birthright Green Jewel. Being one rank darker than his Opal Jewel, it wouldn’t make him as cautious as seeing her Gray. And she didn’t want him cautious; she wanted to let him play his game—if he was, in fact, playing a game.

Dillon bowed over her hand, almost, but not quite, touching his lips to her skin. When he looked up, she saw his anxiety, quickly hidden.

She’d seen that look plenty of times before, but usually from young men when they were testing their training in a social setting: Am I making a good impression? Am I sufficiently pleasing? In a court, it was understood that men Dillon’s age were practicing and that the witches in the court would offer gentle correction when required or acknowledgment of lessons well learned.

Had he received formal training to serve in a court? If he had, why wasn’t he trying for a position in a small court where he could acquire some polish and experience? Had he been wounded in some way during the training and was now too damaged either emotionally or physically to serve in a court?

Why invest so much time on a girl Jillian’s age?

“I’m delighted to have this opportunity to meet Jillian’s friend,” Surreal said once they were seated.

He winced at her choice of words, but he was smart enough not to claim to be something more.

The somewhat attractive girl approached their table and handed out menus that were written in a script with so many curlicues it was almost impossible to make out the words. Surreal knew ornate writing. Saetan had never written anything in any other way. But the flourishes that had been natural for him never interfered with a person’s ability to read the message.

“We’ll have the variety platter—the large one,” Dillon said. “And three coffees?” Now he looked at Surreal and Jillian.

“Sounds lovely,” Surreal replied. Was there a reason he had placed the order before she had a chance to look at the menu?

“My treat,” Dillon said, giving her a smile that made her itch to call in her stiletto. His smile, his manners, made her think of someone singing just a little off-key—nothing deliberately malicious but still grating.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “Meeting here was my idea.”

“I insist.”

She inclined her head, noting how Jillian looked at him, as if offering to pay were the most brilliant thing a boy could do.

The platter of cakes and the coffee arrived. Dillon included her in the conversation, but the effort was heavy-handed. Not that Jillian noticed. Then again, when he focused on the girl, he sounded at ease. It was like watching someone sliding on ice—moments of grace followed by flailing limbs. It made her think again of young men trying out social skills and revealing their lack of experience. It would seem Lord Dillon’s polish was still superficial, and that made her wonder why it was still superficial.

Surreal took a sampling of the cakes on the platter—nothing excessive and less than a third. Jillian, following her example, made different choices but took the same number. After a moment, Dillon took the same amount.

She wasn’t trying to read his thoughts, because that would be a serious breach of the Blood’s code of honor. But emotions flowed beyond a person’s inner barriers. Some people were better at self-control and concealing their feelings, or stood so deep in the abyss their feelings couldn’t be read. This Warlord had neither the power nor the control, and the flash of annoyance that followed her taking the selection of cakes made her wonder what game he was really playing—and what role he thought Jillian filled in that game.

Then he seemed to shrug off the annoyance and entertained them with talk about books he had read and plays he had seen.

“I saw Lord Beron in a play recently,” Dillon said. “He’s worked his way up to second male lead and was quite good in this new part.” He nodded sagely. “Quite good.”

“We go to see him whenever one of his plays comes to the theater in Riada,” Jillian said.

“I doubt he’ll be playing small theaters like the one in Riada for much longer. When we had dinner after his last performance, he hinted that he’ll have the male lead in the next production.”

“Really?” Surreal put a seed of doubt in her voice. “That seems a bit presumptuous, since he hasn’t auditioned for the role yet.” She gave Dillon a puzzled look, as if she wasn’t quite smart enough to understand him. “I’m sure if Beron was on the threshold of such a significant step in his career, he would have mentioned it to my husband. After all, Prince Sadi is Beron’s legal guardian, and the Prince also had dinner with Beron recently.” She took a sip of coffee. “Since he knew I was coming to Ebon Rih, I’m surprised the Prince didn’t mention you. He makes it his business to know about all of Beron’s friends, so he would know that you’re currently staying in Riada.”

“We’re not friends, exactly,” Dillon said hurriedly. “More like acquaintances who have some friends in common.”

“But you had dinner together.” She didn’t look at Jillian. The girl still looked at Dillon as if he were the yummiest cake in the shop—which she could believe, having tasted one of the cakes on her plate—but there was a hint of bafflement under the adoration. Good.

“A group of actors and aristos went out to dinner together, so we didn’t have more than a minute or two to talk,” Dillon said.

Surreal nodded. Now she turned to Jillian and smiled. “We know how those dinners go, don’t we? There’s barely time to congratulate the boy before he’s swept off to be hugged by someone else.”

“That’s because he’s brilliant,” Jillian said. Her eyes shone as she focused on Dillon. “One of the reasons Beron is so graceful and can do those athletic moves on the stage is because Prince Rainier taught him how to dance. Rainier served in the Queen of Ebon Askavi’s court.”

“He was also Lady Angelline’s dance instructor when she was an adolescent,” Surreal added. Then she laughed. “When Jaenelle and Rainier danced together, you could watch them all night. They didn’t just dance; they soared.” A bittersweet memory, one she hadn’t meant to share.