The Ball #3
Samira gives a short laugh. “Then follow me so we can get started.”
SAMIRA WHISKS ME DOWN through the kitchens and into the wine cellar. And since she’s made good on her promise of wine, I make good on my promise of telling her about Feisal. If anyone notices our absence from the latter half of the ball, no one comes looking.
After a few glasses of wine, Samira’s ready to throttle Feisal herself. It takes another to talk her down from that plan, as tempting as it is. Because at least in this, my plan’s better.
“Don’t underestimate him, Olbric,” Samira says over her half-empty cup of wine. We’re seated on the polished wood floor, backs resting against the intricate shelves that hold the Shykhdar’s grand collection of bottles.
“You think I can’t handle him?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. I haven’t bothered with a cup, sipping straight from the bottle.
Samira snorts, amusement tugging at her lips. “I’m sure you can handle him, but make sure you don’t get bitten,” she says. “He’s cunning and single-minded. He’s also very, very good at the Shykhdar’s games.”
“He managed to get me home, so I believe that,” I say, my annoyance leaking into my voice. Unease chases at my heels. After his botched kidnapping, I thought that was the end of it. But not only is Feisal good at the game, he’s patient. It’s a dangerous combination.
“I don’t know how he’s going to try to get you into Ada’s seat. Shame hasn’t been effective, so I’m not sure what tactic he’s going to try next, but...” Samira grins at me over the rim of her cup, “if there’s one strategy he won’t be prepared to counter, it’s the one you’re best at.”
I preen, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a slut.”
Samira nearly chokes on her sip of wine before she gently kicks me with one sandaled foot. “Just... be prepared. And don’t get yourself into a spot you can’t get out of.”
I smile and nudge her shoulder even as I hide my doubts. “I promise, I’ve done much more dangerous kinds of assignments. Hopefully this one will be easy.”
IT’S LATE, AND I’M happily tipsy by the time I finally return to the Strae delegation’s quarters. The doors are locked, but at my quiet knock, one of Thermilious’ attendants opens it for me. The poor woman’s in her sleeping gown, and I give both my thanks and an apology as I slip in.
The main room is empty, dark and quiet. The singing of frogs and insects wafts in from the courtyard on a gentle breeze to rustle the curtains drawn over the windows. Yet as I approach my room, there’s a flicker of light under the door.
When I open it, Alix is still awake. He’s reclined comfortably on his bed, still in the fine clothes he wore to the ball.
He’s reading a book by candlelight, but as I step into the room, the glint of the silver-handled knife he used at dinner catches my eye.
It dangles casually between the fingers of his free hand, catching the candlelight as he turns it.
“Long night. You’re lucky I’m patient,” he says, but his tone stops me in my tracks. Between the ball and the wine, I fully forgot about Alix’s earlier promise. Yet that smolder behind his honey eyes has gone nowhere since dinner.
I close the door behind me and lean against it. “Sorry. Got distracted.”
Alix hums. He sets his book aside before he slips off the bed. Slowly he steps towards me, deftly flipping the knife in the air before catching it again. I watch the glint of silver like a hypnosis charm, my heart suddenly racing.
“Then let me redirect your attention,” he says just before he brings the point of the knife into the wooden door left of my head with a sudden thud.
Even though the blade landed nowhere near me, I still jump, my hand flying to my neck for spells that aren’t there. “F-fucking hell, Alix!”
Alix smirks up at me as he presses his chest to mine. He’s shorter than me, but I cower under the weight of his presence. God, I really have forgotten what a beast of a caster he is.
“Focused now?” he asks, voice low.
Fear boils up as light glints off the blade out of the corner of my eye, but I stamp it down. This is Alix. Not a group of cutthroats in the alley in Straetham. Not Isa slicing through my spells to set that blade against my neck. Alix is safe and always has been.
“Damn right I am.”
Alix’s hand wraps around the silver handle of the knife as his nostrils flare. His honey eyes widen before he steps back, taking the knife with him. “Nope. Absolutely not. You’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk!” I protest. My nerves are taut with fear, but I surprise myself when I realize that I’m not ready to be released from that grip.
“It’s still a no,” Alix says firmly. He returns to his bed, stripping off his tunic as he does.
The fear fades, leaving me feeling unsatisfied and conflicted. I reach back to loosen the corset of my dress, stripping off the gold chains and rings. By the time I get into bed, Alix is already under his covers, his back to me.
“Night, Alix,” I mutter before I blow out the candle, but as darkness settles, I don’t get a response.