Knight, Heir, Prince. Morgan Rice

General Haven said. “I tried to persuade his majesty to let me head this one, but he decided on Olliant instead.”

      Probably because the man was capable of organizing something more than a long-winded speech. Stephania had heard that Haven had once been a competent general, but now he hung onto his role only through his connections.

      “Well,” Stephania said, “I’m sure your wife will be happy to have you home. I know I’m glad that Thanos isn’t going anywhere.”

      The old man drifted away, and Stephania turned to Thanos.

      “We should go and mingle,” Stephania said. “I should go and hear all the gossip the women of the court have to tell, and tell them how glorious their choices of dress are. You should go and pay your respects to the king. People have been muttering about how little you’ve been there for formal audiences lately.”

      “I’ve just been busy,” Thanos said. “Enjoying married life, for a start.”

      Stephania knew her husband better than that. She still laughed though. “I’ve been enjoying it too, but you know you can’t afford to offend the king. Think of it as a game, Thanos. A big game, where the prize is getting to live happily, and where you don’t get a choice if you play.”

      “Is that what you do?” Thanos asked.

      Stephania spread her hands. “Why do you think I’m about to go and tell General Haven’s wife how lovely her new necklace is?” She kissed his cheek. “Please, Thanos. I love how honest you are, but whatever happened when you spoke to the king, you can’t get on his bad side.”

      “I’ll try,” Thanos said, heading off in the direction of the king and queen.

      Stephania watched him go. She loved watching him. Even as she started making her way through the room, she kept glancing back to keep an eye on where Thanos had gotten to. She’d never thought that she would be like this, giddy as a milkmaid swooning over him. But that was love, and Stephania wasn’t going to allow anything to jeopardize things.

      “Do we have any information on the boy, Sartes, yet?” Stephania asked one of her handmaids in a whisper. She made sure that none of them ever knew all of her affairs, but she also made sure that she picked clever girls, drawn up from the lower end of the acceptable classes. Girls who would owe her everything, in other words.

      “We know that after his escape from the army, he joined up with the rebellion,” the handmaid said. “I believe I know which group, my lady.”