“Countess Odelia was always such a prim young woman. An utter bitch,” she added in a mumble. “I don’t know how she raised a girl who doesn’t even understand how low to curtsy.”
A valid thought. The countess was notoriously pretentious so it didn’t make sense for her daughter not to possess certain skills. Noble children are trained to bow and curtsy from the moment they learned to walk. I filed the information away for later so I could study how Karina behaved.
“She’s in good hands with you,” I told Fransabelle.
“Lady Karina,” the duchess crooned. “This is the Prince’s Wing, Lord Saer Tufaro. I believe you met last night.”
She jerked her chin up in a slight nod and spoke from between clenched teeth. “Yes, he was at dinner with Prince Bastian.”
“Are you purposely testing my patience?” She banged her cane on the floor once. “Curtsy, appropriately, and greet him.”
She hesitated before bending her knees slightly, the green skirts and emerald beads shifting. I smirked, knowing exactly what the duchess had done. As Bastian’s future wife, she wasn’t required to curtsy to me at all. It was a courtesy done by some at court to gain Bastian’s favor, but in reality, no one needed to lower themselves in greeting, despite my being a lord. I was meant to be invisible—an extension of Bastian.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Karina said in a voice entirely different than the one she used in the garden.
“The pleasure is mine,” I replied with a stiff bow.
“I give up,” the Duchess muttered, walking stiffly toward the doors to a rounded porch. “Warn your prince not to get his hopes up.”
When Fransabelle lowered herself into one of the chairs facing a bubbling fountain, I turned my full attention to Karina. In the garden, she had seemed lighter. At the dinner, she had seemed terrified. But here, in the previously-unused Women’s Palace, faced with a well-intentioned, grouchy duchess, she seemed… lost. Her rich green gown was covered in matching stones and sea glass that clinked as she moved, and her hair was partially tied back with a satin ribbon. They’d painted her face again, though less than they had for dinner. Only a touch of pink on her cheeks and red on her lips. Lips I very much wanted to kiss again. To slide my tongue against hers and taste how sweet she was. Because I was a selfish bastard. But it was her eyes—the overwhelming confusion with a hint of anger—that pulled at something in my chest.
All I should be feeling is rage.
Where had my anger gone? Why was I having so much trouble summoning it back to the surface? She was an Aster or being controlled by an Aster. It was my job to find out why. Just like it was my job to stay the fuck out of this rebel scheme.
“You’re not meant to curtsy to me,” I said in a low voice.
She scowled. “You’re a lord.”
“Yes,” I conceded, stepping closer. “But, before I’m Lord Tufaro, I’m the Prince’s Wing. Something you knew from the first moment we met.”
The color in her cheeks had nothing to do with the makeup now. Scarlet raced up from her neck, bringing small beads of sweat across her brow. “Not from the first moment.”
“No?” I lowered my voice in case any servants were lurking nearby, unseen. “I think you did. And that’s why you found me in the garden.”
“I didn’t know until you told me,” she whispered almost in a panic. “The first time we met, yes, but not until just before I left.”
“Liar,” I hissed. There it is. The familiar scratch of suspicion and hostility. I wanted her to admit it. To confess that she had sought me out. Acted unafraid. Crawled under my skin on purpose. Kissed me back on purpose.
Her eyes finally rose to mine and I immediately wished they hadn’t. Fear glistened behind tears as her chin quivered.
“I swear,” she said, barely loud enough to hear. “I only wanted a moment alone that day.”
My lips curled in distaste. Was she pretending even now? Fooling me with tears, hoping I’d take pity on her? I would not. Doing so would mean trusting her word and I’d long ago had the trust beaten out of me. “And the days that followed?” I snarled. “What of those?”
“Bring tea,” Duchess Fransabelle yelled, likely knowing a servant would hear. “A full set. We’ll see how her table manners are.”
“I don’t know why I kept going back,” she whispered quickly. “I know I shouldn’t have.”
“You must’ve had a reason,” I prodded.
She drew two rapid breaths, seeming to search her mind. “I felt like I could finally relax next to you, even if it was only for a minute.”
Her words were a blow, and I scrambled to remind myself that Karina was a good liar. The truth was that I understood the sentiment. After my suspicion waned, I had even felt the same around her. Like I didn’t have to pretend. Not entirely anyway. It was the same around Bastian, but with Karina, there was no undercurrent of guilt… until now.
Karina took a single step closer. “Please don’t tell anyone that—”
“That I kissed you? That you kissed me back?” A small, derisive laugh left my mouth. “I don’t particularly feel like losing my head, Lady Karina.”
“Saer, stop harassing the girl. That’s my job,” Fransabelle called. “Are you joining us for tea?”
I shook my head. “I have to meet the prince.”
The duchess grunted as she stood and hobbled her way back to my side. She reached up and patted my cheek. “You’ve always been such a good boy.”
I cut a sideways glare to Karina, then smiled down at the frail woman. “You’ll damage my reputation with talk like that, Duchess.”
She let out a short laugh. “You’ve spilled enough blood that no one would dare believe me.”
Sobering words. Because I was a killer. A cold, distant shadow that followed the prince. “That I am.”
With a tap of her cane on my ankle, she pointed at a round table. “Bring that away from the wall for us and you can be on your way.”
“Anything for you,” I assured her and lifted the table with ease. She pointed to a spot on the floor where she wanted it. I set it down and returned for two chairs, holding one out for her.
“Good boy,” she repeated as I slid the chair under her and up to the table.
Standing behind her, I stared across the table at Karina. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths as she twisted her hands in front of her stomach. My steps were light, my movements fluid, as if I were approaching an enemy. Because I was. She was a threat to Bastian and, thanks to my own foolishness, to me.
As Karina lowered herself onto the seat, I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “This conversation isn’t over.” Then I stepped away, allowing the serving girl to approach and set the tray of tea down. “The prince asked me to see how you were settling in,” I said loud enough for the entire room to hear. “What would you like me to tell him?”
Karina licked her lips and the motion went right to my cock. Fuck. She was Bastian’s fiancée and possibly an assassin. There wasn’t anyone more off limits as Karina was.
“Tell him I’m settling in well and thank him for his concern,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice.
I held back a snort at how well she hid the fear I knew she still carried. All it would take was a single word about what happened in the garden, and the entire Aster plot would unravel. But it was that portrayal of someone composed that told me everything I needed to know. It would be interesting, dragging the truth from her pretty lips.
“He wants me to keep him updated so I will see you again soon,” I told the duchess.
“Wonderful news. Now—” she leaned her cane against the arm of her chair “—if you aren’t staying, there’s nothing I hate more than cold tea.”
“Of course.” I purposely ignored Karina as I gave the duchess a bow. “Enjoy your tea.”
I left then. Strode back the way I came so I could wait outside the Main Palace for Bastian. Today Karina would drink her tea with the duchess, but tomorrow she would spi
ll her secrets to me.
Chapter Ten
When I reached Faramond’s window, it was already cracked open. He wasn’t expecting me, but he must’ve been expecting someone so I would have to make this quick. The last thing I needed was for someone to discover who I was and, if they were caught, use my name to save themself.
The soft sliding sound of the wooden frame alerted the Aster leader as I slipped inside without knocking. Faramond sat at his desk with paperwork again. He didn’t bother looking up as I approached the desk and continued scratching his quill against a sheet of paper. “Report.”
“King Jonty’s daughter arrived at the palace and was introduced over a dinner with the governors.” My tone told him that I suspected he already knew.
Faramond took a deep breath. “I didn’t put you beside the prince to give me public information. What else?”
It wasn’t exactly public information. It wasn’t a secret, but nothing had been announced to the people of Eradrist yet. There would naturally be leaks, but rumors weren’t the same as confirmed truths. “Edric is giving Bastian more responsibility, but he hasn’t said what his new tasks are. He’s fine with marrying the girl.”
More than fine, in fact. He was cautiously excited, which made me feel like the biggest piece of shit in all of Eradrist. I swallowed hard against the shame burning in my chest.
“As if he has a choice,” he said with a snort.
Of course not—there was only the illusion of a choice. And that was sometimes worse than being forced into something.
“Is that what you risked coming all the way here for?” Faramond looked up at me without moving his head. “Don’t you have a governor to kill?”
I forced myself not to lash out, slowly exhaling instead. “Pevran brokered the engagement for you.”
“For me? No. She brokered the engagement for the good of Eradrist.” His forehead wrinkled as he raised his brows. “If you have no relevant information, get out. I have other meetings tonight.”
“If you could just tell—”
“You know what you need to know. Leave.” He leaned back in the chair and glowered. “Now. And don’t come back unless you’re summoned or you have something real to report.”
My hands balled in and out of fists as I met his stare. I couldn’t go against him—not without bringing myself down. Unless I was willing to kill him. Which I wasn’t. Just because I’d killed people before didn’t mean that I wanted to. It was always to protect Bastian and myself—rebel assassins or servants seeking revenge against the crown—but never in cold blood. Though, I supposed murdering the Aster leader could be considered protecting the prince…
I bowed and left without another word. There was no arguing with Faramond, no compromise. He had pulled me from certain death, thanks to my parents’ stance in the war, and convinced King Edric to take me in. So, in Faramond’s eyes, I owed him.
After scaling the building to the cobbled street, I turned toward the palace amid flickering street lamps. It was a different city at night. Quieter, of course, but less hostile. Most of the people on the streets of Ora Et right now weren’t trying to scrape out a living, but trying to live. A cheerful tune drifted from more than one tavern, some on fiddles, some from talented singers, as others clapped a beat or danced. I saw them through the windows, spinning around with carefree steps, smiling and laughing. Moans of pleasure drifted from more than one dark alley. A group of girls traveled down the center of the street, arms linked, giggling as they played some sort of game where they tried not to trip on each other’s feet.
A handful of city blocks from Faramond’s, all the merriment snapped something inside me and I ducked between an inn and a bakery. And punched the brick. “Fuck!” I screamed. And punched again.
I wanted this. All of it. I wanted… a life. One that was my own. But I would die long before that ever became a possibility. Either at the hands of an Aster or defending the prince—which would also be from an Aster. Faramond and the rebellion he’d forced me into had destroyed any trace of hope I ever had.
“Sir,” a young voice called.
I spun around, ignoring the sting of my bleeding knuckles, to find a young boy wearing pants inches too short and a shirt that would fit someone twice his size. A worn, leather strap wrapped around the back of his neck to distribute some of the weight from the wire tray he carried. A handful of paper sacks still sat on its surface.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Maybe some roasted nuts will make you feel better,” he ventured.
His innocent act wasn’t fooling me, but the kid knew what he was doing. Bat his huge eyes at a noblewoman while pretending to be shy and it was almost a guaranteed sale. It was late though, and he had so many sacks left. Digging a gold coin from my pocket, I lifted the boy’s hand and pressed it to his palm.
“Make sure you spend it on food,” I instructed before grabbing one of the sacks. The boy’s eyes went impossibly wide when he peered at how much I’d given him. “Off you go.”
He ran off before I could change my mind, not that I would have. Flexing my sore fingers, I wiped some of the blood on my brown tunic—one I wore to blend in—and popped a few nuts in my mouth. The hint of cinnamon came as a surprise, but it wasn’t what I needed.
I needed ale.
A lot of ale.
So I slunk from the shadows and went straight for a questionable tavern near the edge of the capital. One nowhere near Faramond’s office. One where the only music was that of masculine shouts as two patrons pounded on each other. Their cheers were for blood, not singing. The dancing done with fists, not feet. Here, there was nothing to want except a drink… or several.
✽✽✽
Hours later, I was far too drunk to sneak back into the palace, so I stumbled through the lesser used pathways, only losing balance a few times. The walls caught me before I could hit the ground, but by the time I made it to the Prince’s Palace, I was never happier to have my small, personal building behind Bastian’s. Somewhere I could crash without being seen.
But candlelight flickered in the prince’s rooms. I stopped, leaning on the now-open gate for support and glared at the guard who’d opened it. If he told anyone I was drunk—another forbidden activity—I’d find a way to make him pay.
“Who’s visiting the prince?” I asked in a surprisingly steady voice. At least, it sounded fine to me.
The guard kept his eyes averted. “No one, my Lord Wing.”
I grunted and brushed past him to see what the prince was doing up so late. Slipping inside, I followed the light to Bastian’s sleeping chamber where the prince sat behind his desk, reading letters. “You should be sleeping,” I mumbled.
“Should I?” he asked without glancing up. “Tell that to my father.”
I stepped into the room and my boot caught on the corner of a large fur rug, pitching me sideways into a chest of drawers. “No one can do that.”
Bastian snorted. “I’m being punished for disappearing earlier. This entire stack of correspondence must be ready to dispatch before the morning meeting.”
“I can help.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” The room spun and I eased myself down onto the thick rug before I fell. There was a very comfortable-looking lounge a yard away, but I wasn’t sure I’d make it. “I have wonderful penmanship.”
Bastian held up a letter. “If you were to answer Duke Stoll’s letter about grain prices, what would you say?”
“Dearest, Most Benevolent Duke,” I began. “The prices would not be so high if you hadn’t supported that idiotic law in the first place. Also, stop fucking your wife’s cousin, you disgusting prick.”
A loud laugh filled the room as Bastian set the letter down. “Exactly my point, though someone really should call him out on the cousin-in-law bit.” He turned in his chair and paused. “Are you… drunk?”
I bristled. “What makes you ask that?”
“To begin with, you’re lying in the middle of
my floor in peasant clothes.”
Ah. The clothes. I should’ve changed first. Become a Wing again so Bastian didn’t think I snuck out. Not that he would care. I think. What did he think about it? Too late to worry about that now. I should worry about those guards outside seeing me like this though. And I would. Tomorrow. Or maybe toss them a coin tonight on my way to bed. I patted my pockets. Oh. I almost forgot I tipped the bar maiden the last of my coin. She had been very pretty, but not as pretty as Karina…
“You went into town, didn’t you?” he continued, brows raised.
“Maybe I had an ale or two at a tavern,” I admitted.
Bastian smirked. “One or two?”
“Shhh. Don’t worry.” I placed a finger to my lips, then reached into my cloak pocket and tossed him the half-eaten sack of nuts. “I brought you these.”
Bastian caught them midair and peeked inside. “Roasted nuts?”
“For the royalist of squirrels.” I chewed on my bottom lip and made a quick rodent sound. “Next time we are ambushed on an ill-prepared journey, you’ll have a snack.”
“You’re a fucking mess.” Bastian slowly put one of the nuts in his mouth and chewed. A moment later, his brows raised in surprise and he ate two more. “You better not vomit on my floor.”
I wasn’t entirely sure I could promise that. I flung an arm over my eyes and took shallow breaths to try easing my rolling stomach.
“Are you going to tell me why you snuck out to a tavern?” Bastian asked curiously.
“It sounded like a good idea at the time,” I grumbled. “I’ll stay here until you’re finished working.”
The creak of Bastian’s chair and the rustle of papers followed along with a mumble. Much to my relief, the prince didn’t push the issue so I closed my eyes. I was quite possibly drunk enough to say more than I should. To divulge my suspicions about Karina or reveal what happened in the garden. But I slowly drifted to sleep, secrets intact, because Bastian wasn’t one to take advantage of anyone. Unlike both his father and the rebels.
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