Maric entered the main hall with Brayan at his side and Dara following one step behind him and was immediately the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to speak to him, whether or not they actually had anything to say.

That was what Maric disliked most about playing the role of a prince outside of the military. In the military, people respected his time. Only the people who knew him well engaged him in inane chatter, and they only did it when there was nothing more important any of them needed to be doing.

By the time Maric managed to make his way through the crowd and into the banquet hall, he was already exhausted. Maric found his seat at the head of the main table and sat down. Brayan sat to his right, along the length of the table, and Maric gave Dara a minute nod of his head to indicate for him to kneel on his left. He complied.

As they had been getting ready, Maric had started to doubt whether bringing Dara to this event was a good idea, but he seemed to be doing fine now. Then again, what did Maric know about how Dara was doing? He had thought the way Dara had been sulking about having to let someone else bathe him had been cute, until suddenly Dara had reached his limits and Maric had realised the situation had been genuinely upsetting him.

Maric split a fig in two and put one half in his mouth and offered the other to Dara. He felt a tiny brush of tongue against his fingertip as Dara took the fig with his mouth and he shot Dara a fond smile. He was going to miss him.

It was for the best, though. Brayan had been right about that. Situations like the one with the bath only further cemented that in Maric’s mind. Keeping Dara with him was cruel.

Lord Hobbs approached the table and Maric braced himself for more diplomacy. He was one of the six members of the council that ruled over the city in the king’s stead. All members were supposed to be of equal standing, but power seemed to have shifted towards Lord Hobbs due to seniority. Maric thought age was a ridiculous way to allocate power.

Lord Hobbs bowed as low as a moderately overweight, elderly man could, which wasn’t very low at all. “Your highness.”

Maric dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Lord Hobbs claimed the seat along the table to Maric’s left, and Maric found himself reflexively placing a protective hand on top of Dara’s head.

“How have you been enjoying Broven so far, your highness?” Lord Hobbs asked.

“It’s a lovely city,” Maric responded. He had said those same words at least a dozen times already tonight and he was worried they were beginning to sound flat.

“We benefit from being so close to your beautiful city.”

It took Maric a moment to realise he meant Crevia. Maric had been born there, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of it as his city. He avoided it as much as possible and would continue to do so as long as his father sat on the throne. “And we benefit from the trade you bring us.”

“Not so much this year, I’m afraid,” Lord Hobbs said. “We’ve had a terrible growing season.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about that,” Maric said. “Hopefully the rains will be better next year.”

“It does tend to be cyclical. I understand that. The peasants who tend my fields have been getting restless over the matter, however.”

“Why? Have you not paid them?”

“I pay them in a percentage of the yield to encourage hard work. They had no quarrels with the arrangement in all the years the harvest was good, but when things are no longer falling in their favour, they suddenly want to change the deal.”

“Do they have enough to feed themselves and their families?”

Lord Hobbs’ lips pressed into a tight line and Maric knew the answer to his question. “It’s irrelevant. This is what they agreed to when I hired them. They can’t expect to change the terms now.”

Maric moved a bunch of grapes onto his plate. He popped a grape into his own mouth and fed another to Dara. “True, but if all your workers starve to death, you won’t have anyone left to work your fields.”

“There will always be more peasants desperate for work. They’re like vermin.”

Maric pressed another grape between Dara’s lips and then gave his hair a stroke. “Okay, how about this. People don’t sit back and starve to death quietly and politely. Especially not when they have somewhere to direct the blame for it. You may be willing to deal with whatever consequences come your way, but I’d rather not have a target painted on this city’s leadership.”

Lord Hobbs frowned. “What are you saying, your highness?”

“I’m saying you need to either not be a target or you need to not be in a position of leadership in this city.”

“I see,” Lord Hobbs said carefully. “And how would you propose we make me no longer a target of angry peasants?”

“Satisfy the peasants. Create a new deal and make it apply retroactively so that they get the food they need to feed their families. Perhaps you could give them a guaranteed quantity of the harvest, plus a bonus when yields are high.”

“No, absolutely not. Why would they work hard if they were already guaranteed everything they need?”

“Because you’ll give their job to someone else if they’re lazy? It’s an insane premise. I’ve never once had to threaten any of my men with starvation to get them to do their jobs.”

Lord Hobbs sighed. “Fine. I’ll think it through.”

“Good. I’ll expect a resolution before I leave.”

To Maric’s surprise, Lord Hobbs actually smiled. “You know, I’m not sure I like you, your highness, but I do respect you.”

“That’s okay. I don’t like you either.”

Lord Hobbs’ smile tightened at the edges, but he let it go with another sigh and turned his head to look down at Dara instead. “Your slave. He’s a very pretty boy.”

“Boy? He’s not much younger than I am. I’d like to think I’ve been a man for longer than two years.”

“Oh, it’s about more than age. He has very boyish features.” And then, before Maric could react, Lord Hobbs had reached his hand down and hooked it under Dara’s chin to tilt it up.

Dara’s head did come up, his gaze meeting Lord Hobbs’, and Lord Hobbs’ hand jerked back as though Dara was a dog who had just growled at him. As Dara turned away and dropped his head back down, Maric saw the edge of an absolutely venomous expression fade from his face.

Before Maric could process what had just happened, Brayan was on his feet, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Perhaps etiquette is different here, but where we’re from, my lord, you do not touch another man’s slave without his permission.”

Lord Hobbs’ eyes darted between Brayan and Dara, seemingly unsure which was the biggest threat. Eventually they settled on Brayan and he raised his hands in a gesture of pacification. “Yes, of course.” He turned to Maric. “I apologise, your highness. I’m afraid my manners are a bit out of practise. We’re not used to having such a prestigious guest.”

“He wouldn’t be yours to lay your hands on regardless of what my status was,” Maric reminded him.

“Ah—true, yes. Again, my sincere apologies, your highness. I wasn’t thinking.”

Maric dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand and Brayan sat back down. He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t worth causing an incident over.

“Thank you for your understanding, your highness,” Lord Hobbs said. “But I do have to say, he’s surprisingly… ah… feisty?”

Maric reached a hand out and combed it through Dara’s hair, and Dara leant into the touch. “He knows who he belongs to.”

“True. That’s true. Loyalty is a good trait in a slave.”

“It’s a good trait in anyone.”

“I absolutely agree. You have my loyalty, your highness.”

“Good,” Maric said, and then brightened when he saw the first servants begin to approach with plates ladened with food. “Ah, and even better. It’s dinner time.”

They hadn’t let the poor growing season affect the banquet spread. There were plates piled high with roasted vegetables, meats, fish, cheeses, and dainty cakes. As a prince, Maric was hardly deprived when it came to food, but he appreciated a good feast. It wasn’t like they had a proper chef out at the border.

Dara seemed interested, too. He was doing his best to behave appropriately, but Maric saw him raise himself up slightly so that he could get a better view of what was on the table. Maric offered him a small piece of the fish and Dara sucked the marinade off of Maric’s fingers as he took it with his lips. Maric took his eyes away from him only long enough to break off a chunk of cake and offered that to him as well.

Lord Hobbs laughed. “You seem more interested in feeding him than sampling any of the food yourself. It’s good, I promise.”

Maric didn’t bother acknowledging him, but he did take a mouthful of pork and potato. Lord Hobbs was right. It was good. He offered some of that to Dara as well, and it was accepted with just as much enthusiasm. Maric smiled fondly. He was a hungry young man.

And then the smile slowly dropped off his face. He did seem quite hungry, and Maric hadn’t actually fed him anything but scraps these past two days. Surely the men had been giving him food. But… what if they hadn’t been? He hadn’t told anyone to…

Maric bent down until his face was close to Dara’s. “Have the men been feeding you?”

Dara’s eyes met Maric’s for a second, and then leapt away as he gave a minute shake of his head in response.

Maric pressed his lips together and swallowed as he sat back up. He had hardly fed his slave in two damn days, and Dara had just silently tolerated it. He didn’t want any of the food in front of him anymore. He didn’t deserve it. No wonder Dara had been so on edge this evening. He was hungry. What else had he done to hurt Dara without even realising it?

“Your highness?” Brayan murmured, and Maric turned his head to see his captain watching him with concern. Maric made a beckoning gesture to Brayan and he got out of his chair and leant in close to Maric so that they could have a hushed conversation.

“Nobody’s been feeding Dara these last two days,” he told Brayan. “It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I forgot he would need me to take care of him in ways the rest of you don’t.”

“Ah,” Brayan breathed out. “Well, two days isn’t that long, and he got a little bit of food last night.”

“I know he’s not going to die of starvation, Brayan, I just—” Maric took a breath and forced himself to speak more quietly. “I am so tired of hurting him.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need you to get him out of here right now, back to my room where he can eat a proper meal. Good food. Food from the banquet.”

Brayan nodded.

“And then I need you to find a place for him where he’ll be taken care of properly, because I can’t. I just can’t do this anymore, Brayan.”

Brayan gave him another nod, firm, and straightened up.

“Dara,” Maric said, and Dara’s head jerked up. He looked so worried. Maric did his best to soften his voice. “Go with Brayan, okay?”

Dara stood, but he looked terrified, his eyes darting between Maric and Brayan. 

Maric pulled him in close and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Maric pressed his eyes shut and let out a sigh as Brayan led Dara away. Now he was going to have to endure the event on his own.