Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
THE HIGH TABLE
I search for my father, ignoring the undivided attention of bored vultures—though I begin to think vulture too dignified; magpie is more appropriate—as I wade through viscous stares.
Curiosity, disapproval, amusement or disdain in various degrees beat against my neck, a battery of pitiless gazes. All the attention would be daunting if I gave even one fuck but alas, I have less than zero to give. I leave that to my Lord.
With the gazes come indiscreet whispers.
The Prince gave her permission to use his name.
The Prince dances with her, touches her, indulges her.
A halfling, but comely enough. She must taste sweet.
Perhaps he thinks to humiliate Faronne by taking her as his leman.
Sly girl. Clever strategy.
“I don't blame her, he's absolutely fuckable. I'd take my chances too.”
That last comment is too close. And too deplorably stupid.
I pull on a trickle of my power and their attention slides away. Another gaze tracks me, impervious to my little Skill. I still don't understand how.
My father stands in a cluster of officials, presumably in pre-negotiation schmoozing as I approach, strides turning into a stalk.
Jules and I played a jump scare video the year Baba came himself to pick us up in New York. He sat on the couch sipping Turkish coffee from a tiny cup as everyone else shrieked or jumped. Baba just smiled at me as if to ask if I was done playing yet.
I blink into sight. The officials jerk but my father excuses himself, unfazed, Numair and Juliette tense but calm at his side.
We retreat down the forest path and halt under a tree. I hope it isn't listening. Juliette's restless gaze travels through the crowd, a sneer on her lips. Numair's expression remains stony as he hovers in silence.
Baba's enigmatic gaze studies my face for several long moments then touches on the Prince, standing a distance away, silent as courtiers grapple for the right to kiss his ass first.
Renaud stares at me, his attention gaining me enemies. My nails sharpen. My palms itch. He thinks like a spoiled only child who wasn’t punished enough, if ever. I long to correct the oversight.
He smiles .
“What’s his issue ?” Juliette mutters in English—American at that.
“Blink, damn you. Blink. You two looked creepy together, by the ever fucking way. Watching you dance in silence for sixty minutes was like watching murder dolls. I had no idea you had that level of creepy in you. Remember Bride of Chucky? It was on par with those feels.”
I stiffen. We hadn’t danced for sixty minutes, certainly not where everyone could see, though it’s nice she confirmed the silence. That was a Prince and I only conversation.
“Everyone watched us?”
She glances at me, blonde brow lifting a little. “My Lady, what would be of greater interest?”
My current grim reality darkens. He can take me away and no one will notice. No wonder he’d been so certain Baba wouldn't send my guards for me—to them I'd been present this entire time.
I tell them and Juliette curses while my father's brow creases. Numair is stone.
“That's just great,” she says. “When we get home, we're going to develop a protocol.”
“Why did he want you alone?” Numair says softly.
I open my mouth, close it.
“Aerinne, did he?—”
“Not here,” I cut him off. “We’ll debrief when we get home.”
Numair shifts closer, blocking Renaud's view of me.
“He hasn't ordered my execution yet,” I say, shifting the conversation. “So far, so good.” My chevalier is on edge and the last thing I need is another male pissing on me.
Indeed, Darkan says in his silky tone. There seems to be a steady surfeit of snakes in this city who piss on what belongs to someone stronger.
I frown, craning my head. “Did Tereille decide to come?”
Numair gives me an odd look. I shrug.
Juliette lowers her voice to the barest whisper. “Do you think he knows about him ?”
“I don't know.”
“I don't think it's an execution he has in mind,” Numair says, an edge in his voice.
No shit. That’s blatantly obvious even to me. . .but he still doesn’t know everything, and it’s not like Fae don’t kill things they’ve fucked.
Numair eyes Prince Renaud with the kind of challenge that sparks street duels. I smooth my expression, hoping no one sees my guilt. I haven't shown any of my family the letter and I should have—I should have warned them.
My father's face tightens imperceptibly, tension around his eyes and mouth. “You've drawn his notice, Maitū. Lay low the rest of the negotiations.”
He is so human, even after decades as the consort of a High Lord. I think my mother coddled him. No. . .she must have wanted to preserve him. Everything I love about him, she loved. Even Faronne’s enemies gentle in his presence.
. . .sometimes I suspect it’s witchcraft. He never has revealed what shape the magic in his blood takes, but we know it’s there. Tata Fatma, M?r?ngar?, and Lela are witches.
Your mother may have elevated a pretty mortal pet to favored concubine but wed him? As her equal? We thought she’d finally fallen to an Old One’s madness.
Because of course she simply couldn’t have loved him .
There must have been a good reason—stop thinking like a puerile human. No, Muri knew something, or had devised a deeper plan. It is why I watch him. I will find out.
But you like Baba, Darky.
Irrelevant. I often like my enemies as well. If you call me that again, it will become a significant regret of your lifetime.
Internally, I shrug. He did knock her up.
Darkan’s silence is withering. I almost think she was breeding him. It’s incomprehensible Muriel Kuthliele fell accidentally pregnant to some lovely young ? —
He was forty.
—doe-eyed mortal courtesan ? —
A University Lit and Poli Sci professor pursuing a doctorate?
—I think not. But I am uncertain why. I cannot argue with the subsequent result, I suppose. It came out well enough.
I know he's just needling me but still. Realms, my subconscious is. . .interesting for lack of a better term.
Baba glances at me. I reach out and take his hand, squeezing. The tension clears from his brow a moment as he smiles down at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. I don’t tell him the Prince will not allow me to lay low. Let him hope a little while longer. He needs it even more than we do.
He slides an arm around my shoulders and draws me to him, tucking me at his side. “You’re doing very well. My only regret is that we didn’t have more of you.”
Juliette wheezes. “Mwana wa Tata. ? 1 My throwing stars. One of her is more than enough.”
I go cross-eyed. “Numair, pinch her.”
“Ahhh. . .I’m not sure if?—”
She bares her teeth at him. “I’ll bite your nose off, boy.”
“Ciana ciakwa,”? 2 Baba murmurs. “Court faces now.”
Dinner is called and we leave the forest courtyard to walk down another flower-strewn path.
The palace peeks through the trees, white and black stone at the base washed to gray in the setting sun.
Twinkling white lights weave through tree branches, adding ambience.
Cloth-covered tables with white branch and crystal centerpieces await us, one table on a low dais long enough to seat twenty people.
The Prince's table. The other House Lords will sit with him tonight.
I nod at my father, who releases my arm and leaves me, Numair at his side. Juliette and I wander around the other small tables scattered around the clearing, looking for a place card with my name.
I shrug when I don't find one. “So that's my punishment. No dinner. Could have been worse.”
Juliette snickers. “Clearly he doesn't know you. Like you wanted to sit through a formal banquet anyway.”
“If we start drinking Numair will sulk for a week.”
“What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Sobriety hurts me.”
About to turn and leave, I try to catch Baba's attention so he'll know what’s going on, but when I meet his gaze, I pause.
He’s rigid, an empty, smooth smile on his face. He lifts a hand and gestures to me.
Come on, what did I do this time?
My steps are leaden as I ignore the flutter of wings in my core and approach, Renaud’s taste lingering on my lips, the phantom caress of his hands tormenting my skin.
I stop next to my father and channel one of my mother's cool indifferent looks—though I flick a venomous glance at Lord Sivenne—to prevent me from whirling around and hissing at everyone who stares.
Baba indicates the seat on the left of the Prince, then moves around the table to stand behind the chair right of the Prince, as the Prince moves into the place my father just vacated.
It’s all a very nice choreographed dance and as I follow the steps, my suspicions are confirmed when I glance down at the place card with my name in gold lettering.
What is this fresh shit?
Numair, positioned at my father’s back, gives me a brief warning glance.
“Aerinne, please be seated,” my father says.
Prince Renaud's sharp gaze and sweet smile dare me to refuse. “My Lady?”
I narrow my eyes, taking his dare and raising it. As I open my mouth, he lowers his head and the leviathan in his eyes snatches my protest and eats it whole, then goads me to feed it some more.
Then I rethink the cost of losing this skirmish.
No murmur of conversation. Watching us is far more entertaining. If only they had popcorn .
“Aerinne?” My father smiles, unnecessarily jovial—one of his many poker faces.
Renaud pulls the chair out for me; he’d indicated he would stake a public claim. I give him a fulminating look angled so no one at the table sees, then drop into the seat. The Prince tucks it in, patting the back of my clenched hand where it rests on the tablecloth.
My thighs tense with the effort to remain seated. The Prince patted my fucking hand like one might a child or a pet—with the air of a male who knows full well he’s provoking me.
Somehow I never thought males his age would be so petty.
Perhaps he only reflects you, Darkan says, as the moon reflects the sun.
I give Darkan a mental middle finger.
The Prick of Everenne takes his seat, surveying us like a conquerer his hoard, and signals for the banquet to begin.
What fun this will be.
1 ? Son of my mother’s sister. It’s the closest form of address Juliette can get to saying Uncle, and she still may be getting it wrong.
She's probably using it here to emphasize that she's joking.
Since they're all speaking in the personal inflection, she doesn't have to use “Lord.” Once he says, “court faces” that’s a signal to shift back into formal speech and she does then have to use his title.
2 ? Loose term for “my children”