Ithacles had been standing in front of the mirror for at least six minutes. Completely still, staring at his face until it looked like a stranger. The way you could repeat a word over and over again out loud until it lost its meaning. He focused his eyes so intently on their reflections that they looked completely foreign and he forgot where he was.
Because he didn't want to be there. Unfortunately for him, Ithacles actually believed in honest marriage. He knew that other men--other royal men, that is--were married as soon as possible. But their women meant little to them, other than expanding title and deed. And they provided heirs. Kings and Princes didn't enjoy their brides--that's what mistresses were for.
His arm moved of its own accord. Or maybe he'd ordered it. Either way the motion jarred him awake. He took a sip of the wine he'd raised to his mouth, his reflection shook its head, and he turned and walked from his chamber.
It was Lethe's fault, the whole beautiful circumstance. She was the one coordinating sculptures and food and musicians and guest seating and introductions. His mother liked to watch this sort of thing but it wasn't like her to actually create them. Lethe was the obsessed mastermind at play here.
Ithacles wandered down the hall, polished boots falling with dull clicks on the thin tapestry-cloth carpets. He passed a guard, a man in shining breastplate. And then he retraced his steps, leaned down in front of the man, and adjusted his medal sash in the reflection on the armor.
The guard made absolutely no sign that he noticed.
Ithacles kept moving. He could hear people laughing. Some of the more important guests were roomed near him, and they were busy preparing themselves. There was an open door ahead. A woman's voice inside. Ithacles stopped short of the portal.
"He is charming, but in a very...How would you describe it, Honna?"
"Quiet."
Ithacles hunched down and sped by their door. He took the next turn as quickly as he could, drained the rest of his sparkling wine, and dropped the empty flute into a flower arrangement.
"Captain Uthral," he said quietly. And then he knocked gently on a door. "Are you in there?"