Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Lisande LaBeaumont is sitting in my seat of honor next to the duke’s.
My fingers tighten on Lachlan’s arm, and a snarl of anger ripples through the diamrhán as he leads me to the table. The duke himself has not yet joined. Perhaps I can salvage this.
Would you like me to bodily remove her? Lachlan asks.
As much as it would cheer me, I don’t think it would do much for my reputation.
If people see how willing I am to throw my considerable strength around for you, they might treat you with the respect you’re due.
Then all anyone will say is that my power rests within you. I will handle this myself. Please.
Lachlan squeezes my fingers as he removes my hand from his arm, then makes a shallow bow. I don’t think he likes how I’ve leashed him, but he doesn’t strain against it. “As you wish, my queen.”
He stalks to the other end of the table and folds into a chair next to Aowen, who’s in a lively conversation with Lady Loargann.
One of the duke’s cousins, an elegant woman with kind eyes and a long silver braid; she’s one of the few courtiers who’s been cordial to me.
But that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting in knots when she flings herself across the table to greet Lachlan.
He takes up her hand and plants a chivalrous kiss upon the back.
Is she one of his former clients? I cannot look any longer.
Instead, I steel my spine and glide to the head of the table. The slick eyes of multiple courtiers slide toward me along with stifled whispers.
“Good evening, Lady LaBeaumont.” I offer her a bright smile. Of the two of us, only I have the chance to become queen. I try to remember it as I sink into the duke’s own chair.
“That’s His Grace’s seat,” Lisande volleys.
“Yes,” I say calmly. “It appears mine has been taken.”
She swirls her wineglass. “His Grace was complaining about how dreadfully dull the dinner conversation has been this past month.”
Several courtiers snicker, and my ears burn. I can visualize the Sky Gazette’s headline tomorrow morning: Miss Charlotte Fitzroy’s Ever-Dwindling Odds Bottom Out.
I must strike back before I lose this fight for good. “He mentioned nothing of the sort to me.”
Lisande croaks out a cruel laugh. “Before or after he left you to seek out my company?”
I want to protest. I want to scream that she’s always luring him away. But the only thing left to cling to is my dignity. And if I let that go, I’m surely done for. I lift my chin, do not deign to answer.
Her responding smile is razor sharp, and chairs creak as the whole table leans in, primed for the kill shot.
“You are a bore, Miss Fitzroy. I have encountered rocks with more personality. And if you think for one second that Torvil would bother sharing his clue and entering the Wild Hunt to claim you, well, you’re more pathetic than you look in that gown.
Reeks of desperation. Even the prize of the crown wouldn’t be worth spending a lifetime in your company.
Run along to that empty seat at the end of the table.
Or better yet, spare this room your presence and dine in your—”
“Here I am!” Duke áine—Torvil, as I’ve just learned—sings out as he strolls into the hall, completely oblivious to the carcass Lisande has just made of my candidacy.
His eyebrows rise as he looks down at me. “You’re in my seat, Miss Fitzroy.”
Lisande leaps from her chair, all ruby silk and shining white curls, then presses herself against him as she whispers into his ear. And though his periwinkle gaze may have started on me, as she continues, it drifts away and crawls down her body. I can imagine precisely what she’s saying to him.
She pulls back, fluttering her lashes, and his lips curve into a hungry smirk.
“Well?” she asks.
Torvil looks back to me, not an ounce of apology on his face. “There’s no assigned seating at court dinners. You can find another place for tonight.”
His obliviousness is a physical blow to my chest. And while some courtiers’ faces are sympathetically blank, others’ are contorted with muffled laughter.
I will not give them the benefit of my humiliation.
“Of course, Your Grace. I do hope you enjoy Miss LaBeaumont’s company this evening. I know her days with you are limited. She should appreciate her position while she can.”
A low whistle sounds: one of the celestial knights who trains with Lachlan every morning.
And the fury in Lisande’s eyes is almost worth the embarrassment of my long walk to the lone empty seat at the far end of the table.
The courtiers here do not acknowledge me once throughout dinner. Afraid the stink of the shit Lisande flung at me will rub off on them.
It stings, sinking back into this familiar status of pariah. Not even the gooey butter cake being served for dessert can make me feel better.
At the other end of the table, Lady Loargann is laughing and sighing and fawning over Lachlan. He’s barely saying a word. But his quiet is one of still confidence. The kind that draws people closer. Makes them want to peel back his layers and discover what’s underneath.
Use me.
I need to learn how to do that. Seduce with little more than a fleeting look and a coy smile. It may be my only chance to salvage this disastrous visit to Tír na Lune, get my candidacy—and my reinvention—back on track.
I polish off a slice of butter cake, my appetite somewhat returned, as dinner comes to an end.