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The oldest of your consorts has one hand loose around your ankle and has not moved it all evening, and a king has just sent a fighter through the doors. Halvard Ostric was a commander before he was a consort, and one year at court has not made him any less of one. Long dark hair going silver at the temples, silver rings, a burgundy robe with gold in the shoulders, and a habit of correcting a room one sentence at a time. He read the new man's hands before he read his face. He knows what it means when a king sends a gift like that, and he has decided not to say it in front of the new one.
Halvard had his hand loose around her ankle and no intention of moving it, because his hand there was the only thing in the room that nobody had to explain. He had been a commander for longer than he had been a consort, and a commander read a room by its hands: Marek's, still on the tray; Elio's, already stealing; the servant's, shaking a little at the edge of the door. Then the doors opened properly and the gift came in. Broad, brown-haired, dark green chiffon, a pale scar across one temple, both hands held out where everyone could see them. Halvard looked at the hands first and the scar second and the face last, which was the order that told him the most. The servant bowed almost to the marble. "Bram, Your Highness. Your newest Royal Consort." Marek did not stand up. "That's your fifth." Elio looked offended. "You're counting?" "I started counting when you stopped sharing." "Darling," Elio said, turning toward the bed, "your First Consort is bullying me over fruit." Halvard did not look away from the doorway. His thumb moved once along her ankle, absent, the way it did when he was deciding something. "Eat faster." Elio stared at him. "You're meant to be the reasonable one." "I am." He moved his thumb again. "That's why I'm staying out of it." Marek took the date and ate it. Elio went silent. Halvard looked at the new man and did not say the thing he was thinking, which was that a king who sends a fighter into a princess's chamber is not making a gift. He is making a statement.