“Go away, girl!” Barnard snarls when I try to follow him into the ball. “Outside with you, with the rest of the slaves!”

I go, but not before snagging a flagon of wine from one of the tables. I can only hope he will go and get drunk during the party, euphoric from the gifts he’d given to the princes, and collapse somewhere. In the meantime, I can enjoy some wine even if I can’t enjoy the ball itself.

I circle around the palace, walking a cobbled trail around the grounds. I come to a low stone wall. Peering over it, I look out into a lush garden. Setting the flagon of wine atop the wall, I climb over, landing with a light thump on the grass. This is the closest I’ve been to my home in the mountains since I’d come south.

I grab the flagon and pull the stopper. The wine is cool and flavorful as it tumbles down my throat. It’s been too long since I’ve had a good drink.

The garden has a path curling amongst the bushes and small trees. Holding the wine in one hand, I brush the blooming flowers with my other hand as I pass them, feeling the soft petals on my skin. I gulp the wine down, draining half of it as I make my way along the path through the greenery.

I hear voices nearby, and duck behind a copse of rose bushes. The deep rumbling voice of the king reaches me, and a second, softer masculine voice. The pair stand by a small fountain, both in their crowns and finery.

“—Choose, Jasper, I know you will make a fine king,” the older man says. Jasper gives his father a shy smile. The king pats the prince on the shoulder, and disappears into the ballroom.

I watch as Jasper stares after his father. The golden light from inside gilds the prince from head to toe, making his skin and hair shine. He sighs heavily.

I shift in my spot behind the bushes, and stifle a curse as a twig crunches and the wine sloshes around in its flagon.

Jasper turns abruptly, his ears picking up on the tiny sounds. He looks right at my hiding spot, though he can’t yet see me. “Who’s there?” he asks. He squares his shoulders. “Come out.”

I stay still for a long time before he repeats himself. Cursing, I take another swig of wine and stand, stepping out from behind the bushes.

“It’s you,” he says, a crease forming between his brows. “What are you doing here?”

“Drinking,” I reply, holding up the flagon in answer.

He chuckles a little, his teeth white against his golden skin. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.

His response startles me a bit. I blink in surprise, but offer him the flagon. He gives me a lopsided smile and takes a large gulp.

I clear my throat. “I thought you’d punish me,” I say, the wine overpowering my good sense.

Jasper shakes his head, his circlet glinting. “Why would I punish you for sharing a drink with me?” he asks. He hands the flagon back to me. His green eyes are intent, but he still wears the weary furrow between his brows. I take a swig of the wine.

I shrug. “I’m a slave. And a thief. I stole this wine from your party,” I say.

His laugh is soft and raspy in his throat. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he replies. He reaches for the flagon, and I hand it back to him. He takes a long pull. “Besides,” he says. “It’s not like we don’t have plenty to spare.”

Jasper offers me the rest of the wine, and I decline it. He finishes what little there was left, tipping his head back to get the last of it.

“You needed that drink, by the looks of it,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckles a little, stoppering the empty flagon. He sits on a stone bench near the fountain with a sigh, setting the flagon next to him.

“My father is arranging a political marriage between me and one of those Tajan princesses in there,” he says, dipping his chin toward the ballroom. “How’s that for a birthday gift?”

I scoff. “How’d that conversation go?”

Jasper laughs a little. His grin is bright white in the dimness of the garden. “As pleasantly as you can imagine,” he says. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “He means well.”

I take a seat next to him on the stone bench. He sighs a little. This close to him, he smells of mint and roses. “Is it what you want? To marry one of them?” I ask. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again.

“There are worse things to be forced into,” he says, his voice soft.

I part my lips to respond, and hear a shout.

“Where’s the Ibim girl?” I hear the blacksmith’s voice faintly beyond the short walls of the garden. My skin prickles.

I sigh, rising from my seat. “My master is calling me,” I say.

Jasper clears his throat. “I’m sure mine will come for me soon too,” he says. When I turn to look at him, he has a crooked smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

I leave him behind wordlessly, climbing back over the garden wall. Barnard is waiting nearby, arguing with a guard. When he sees me, he grasps my arm and pulls me along. We depart the palace grounds, leaving the music and the scent of mint and roses behind.