Chapter Five #2
Drusilla proceeds as if nothing happened, rinsing the suds from my hair before running the razor over my skin, removing every bit of body hair that could be visible through the slit in a skirt or a sleeveless dress.
I wince each time the blade knicks me, and Cirrin’s nostrils flare in frustration as he repeatedly sends me wisps of healing.
Finally, Drusilla stands to hold open a large black towel for me to step into, securing it over my shoulders before I follow her to the vanity where a second black towel is dropped over my face, obscuring my vision while she dries my hair.
“First, you are to attend breakfast. Then you will accompany His Majesty to a meeting of the Generals, after which you will attend a special luncheon.”
Blood drains from my upper body as stars invade my vision.
My pulse pounds so loudly I cannot make out if she says anything more until I can get my thoughts in order.
General Varic is not known to leave his unit for a mere meeting, having become emboldened over the years in learning which Imperial summons he can ignore without consequence, using the excuse his unit requires his supervision.
“The Emperor will hold court this afternoon.”
I sigh when a knock sounds on the door, and both Hendry and Malin use their magic to answer it, welcoming two Imperial Guards who watch over twice as many Imperial servants, each one carrying golden trays overflowing with delicacies.
My Guards are required to meet their basic needs behind closed doors, despite their status and regardless of my argument against said practice.
“Glory to the Dragons, to whom we owe everything,” my Guards state in unison, offering thanks to our benefactors as is our tradition before eating when others are present.
As unaffected as usual by the circumstances surrounding the method by which he must obtain sustenance, Fray smiles at my reflection while I stare back, watching the way his jaw works over the enormous bite of pastry he didn’t need to consume so hastily.
I lift my shoulders in feigned indifference at the news Drusilla has just provided.
Her voice grows distant as she leaves to fetch the bowl of hot wax. “This evening you are to attend the General’s dinner.”
Fuck. Even Varic cannot find a way out of a formal dinner summons, and I am not strong enough to cope with him smiling at me from across the room.
The last dinner he attended was disastrous enough, with His Majesty noticing my inability to keep from looking at Varic.
Regardless of where he is, and no matter how hard I try to remain focused on the Emperor and his needs, my eyes always seem to find him.
Tears prick along my lash line as the back of Emperor Aldritch’s hand smacks my side. “Witch, pay attention,” he chides, and I bow low in apology.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He nods and releases an exasperated breath before ignoring me to speak with General Sal about pressing business in the North region.
And even though he only just caught me looking, it’s impossible.
I cannot stop myself from seeking Varic.
His being. His presence. So I glance over at the Emperor who is now engaged in conversation with Imperial Grand Philosopher Wyrth, giving me just enough courage to turn to find the only sorcerer in existence with the power to excavate the emotions I keep buried deep.
Prickly heat builds in the center of my chest, a reminder of when Varic’s eyes sear a path as they trace my skin.
Though no flush appears the way it does anytime his gaze is upon me, this strong of a reaction to a mere memory does not bode well for this evening.
I need more time before we are forced to breathe the same air again.
Even if we manage to avoid interacting, I cannot control the way my body registers his presence.
The sting of the hot wax above my upper lip pulls me back into the present.
“After dinner, His Majesty will entertain the guests in the dungeons.” Drusilla’s voice is even as she rips the strip of fabric away, yanking the hair from my skin along with it.
My heart pounds from the location she mentions, meaning too many possible ways His Majesty could choose to close out the evening—none of which include approving of Varic and me commingling.
“Hold still,” Drusilla grits, as she plucks my eyebrows with a pair of gold tweezers.
Pressure relents as I release a breath, thankful for the lack of other beings in the hallway so I might have a moment of reprieve with my ever-present Guards behind me.
I drift toward the arched windows to look out on the Citadel when boots smack along the marble behind me, and I freeze—because the pattern of those footsteps...
I spin to face Varic, and my heart leaps at his striking appearance.
I take my time to study the way he looks wearing his newly earned General’s uniform.
He smiles so broadly—the expression is infectious—exhibiting such genuine joy upon seeing my visage.
His real smile, the one he reserves for when we do not have an audience.
The one I first witnessed when my protectors were obscured behind a canvas partition in that giant tent on the outskirts of his encampment.
The brightness behind his irises bewitches me, and I stare back at him, utterly transfixed.
My chest constricts with the urge—the growing need—to gather up my skirts and run to him with the awareness he would not waste a second, nor ask any questions before joining me.
“Stay,” Drusilla commands, bracing a hairpin between her incisors while forcing my head into position. Reality sinks in like a poisoned salve on my skin, amplifying that insidious belief in the back of my head that I need to escape Varic’s influence.
The one trying to convince me I need to keep my distance if we are to survive this.
But I can’t. It’s impossible. I’m powerless when it comes to him.
Because, if given the option, I would always run toward Varic.