Laurent's iciness reappeared almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room of courtiers mingling before dinner. A servant passed with a tray of drinks and Laurent reached for one, a bad habit that he'd increasingly indulged, wanting the alcohol to ease the misery of the court.

He'd hardly taken a sip before he was ambushed by an entitled and pushy lord who had recently decided that Laurent was an easy mark if he could only be worn down enough. "Prince Laurent," he greeted, stepping too close and reaching to take Laurent's arm, never caring about the way Laurent tensed.