25
Pandora came when the main course was being served. It was quiet enough, but it was hard to miss Princess Jacira’s fingers working between the girl’s legs when they were seated directly across from her.
Valine pretended not to notice the girl shuddering in her seat, the way she subtly rolled her hips against Jacira’s hand. She was good at hiding it. Biting into the bread roll to disguise her moan was clever. The assassin was under the impression that she was the only one who noticed, because while she wasn’t the only one looking for ulterior motives, she was the only one who noticed the subtle cues that could bring down the Mayar name.
Jericho’s face was red with drink, and his voice was increasing with every drop. Valine wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly broke out in sermon, professing undying loyalty to the Stygian Ones, and the unequivocable promise he solely possessed.
“A toast!” the king declared, liquor bright. “I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” Valine bit down on an unladylike sound as he continued. “It is a pleasure to share the wonders of this kingdom. To new friends and longstanding allies, may our faith in each other and the gods be unwavering.”
He just had to add that last part in there, didn’t he?
Valine joined the toast as she caught the flare of embarrassment that was blooming on Pandora’s face—or maybe that was the lingering effects of her orgasm. Valine wasn’t sure.
Alastair leaned into her, the scent of blackberries and sunshine more potent with the deluge of alcohol the redhead was imbibing in. “I didn’t hallucinate that, right?”
“What?” Valine questioned low, popping a mint leaf from her flavored water in her mouth. “That pathetic toast or Jacira fingerbanging Pandora right across from us?”
Alastair choked on his drink. “Come again?”
“I’d rather she didn’t.”
He continued to splutter. “When did that happen?”
“Mm, right when we were getting our lamb courses. She reached completion right before the toast.”
Alastair glanced in dismay at the recently pleasured woman, noticing her still rosy cheeks and the fine sheen of perspiration at her temples.
“And I didn’t notice this, how?”
“She was very discreet. It was quite commendable, really.”
“Saints, and I thought this dinner was becoming a bore.”
“Alastair, dear, it’s only just beginning.”
The scents of roasted lamb and herbed potatoes were drifting off as the empty—or near empty—plates were whisked away by attentive servants. Valine slipped her attending a ruby, one she had stolen from the Desdemon vault twelve years ago. The servant’s eyes widened at the weight and worth of the stone. Valine smiled as he enthusiastically poured her another glass of plum wine. Unbeknownst to everyone else, but her wine was severely watered down, and she was not nearly as tipsy as she’d played. Inhibitions lowered together were foundations for tête-à-têtes including salacious secrets, which Valine was greatly anticipating. Only dessert remained before she could lay her traps.
As her attending servant placed before her a decadent cake of chocolate and rum, she slipped him a note, tucking it into his sleeve as she reached for her water. His eyes widened only an increment before he stepped away against the wall once more. Unruffled, she returned to her cake, forking a rich mouthful with a slight moan. Jericho noticed the sound. So did Malik.
“So, Jacira, as a crown princess, have you any advice for a companion attending for prospective brides?” Valine inquired, drawing the blonde into conversation.
Jacira blinked in surprise, and her brows furrowed as her eyes flickered between Valine and Malik. “I thought—that is, I had assumed—that you and King Malik were perhaps involved.”
“No, but even so, has that stopped a man from taking a bride before?” she joked and immediately bit her tongue. Her saints-damned father was a king, and she just implied rake-like behavior.
“A comment in poor taste, but you are not wrong.”
Valine exhaled slowly.
“I suppose you will have to make it clear to these women that you are not after the king yourself and that they can trust you with secrets that they may need relief from. However, they will feel threatened by your status; you are a Desdemon, and as such, you have just as much potential to be queen as they do.”
Valine swallowed her water sharply and took a long pull from her plum wine. She hadn’t wanted to think such thoughts. When she was a common assassin and necromancer, she was powerful and dangerous, yes, but when she donned the Desdemon name, it was a badge that brought a different level of reverence. One that could turn that pin into a crown. Should she enter into anything with Malik, it would be little more than a dalliance, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to break away from him should that come to pass. His marriage would always be a political one, and she owned no sway with Runell any longer. She may have the title, but she did not have the connections.
“I doubt they will think that when I am but a lady amongst princesses,” Valine demurred.
“I would not be so quick to dismiss the power you hold. Do not forget it because they will not.”
Jacira had no idea how true that was.
Before she departed, she twisted her fingers beneath the table and slowly let her necromancy trail below the tablecloth and up silk. Carefully, Valine let her magic seep into a chest, and tentatively, she sank in her hooks, tying the knot quickly. She busied her recently magicked hand with a glass of cucumber-mint water, watching her mark rub their chest ever so slightly—she hoped they dismissed it as heartburn.