Chapter 9
It’s just my luck that my placecard, which simply reads, “Guest of His Royal Highness,” is nowhere near Hex’s seat. Lord Bellgaard placed him at the head of the table, a sign of his standing, while I’m very nearly at the opposite end.
Hex’s grip on my hand tightens when he realizes. “Ridiculous.” He turns toward Bellgaard, angry fire in his eyes, and I have to physically hold him back to keep him from trying to fix the situation. That fiery gaze turns to me, making me shiver.
Why is everything affecting me so strongly tonight? If anything is ridiculous, it’s the way my body keeps responding to things the prince does.
“Astrid,” Hex says under his breath, giving me a look full of meaning.
It’s the same look he had in the alley the other night, when he protected me from the men in the rain, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
It was strange enough then; him being ready to defend me tonight twists up my insides.
It’s so unlike his usual regard toward me that it almost feels like he’s a different…
My stomach does a flip. There’s an actual possible reason Hex feels like a different person tonight, but that thought is mad.
I’ve always been able to tell the twins apart.
Swallowing, I touch my palm to his chest and shake my head.
I need a moment to wrap my mind around the possibility that just hit me.
Besides, we’ll have more conversations if we divide and conquer.
I just hope he understands what I’m trying to tell him with my gaze, since we’re surrounded by other guests who are all far too invested in the two of us for me to say anything.
The prince glances at Bellgaard one more time, then sighs and pulls out my chair.
I’m as startled by the gesture as I am by the fact that he understood my silent plea.
Most often he willfully misunderstands me, which only adds to the argument that it might not be Hex Alverra brushing his fingers across my shoulder as he moves to his end of the table.
My eyes stay glued to the prince as he takes his seat.
He looks like Hex—of course he does—and he relaxes into his chair with the swagger Hex always has.
But what if…? His eyes meet mine, and I’m hit with the same cool indifference I’ve gotten used to from him. The knotted feeling in my gut loosens.
I must be losing my mind.
Dropping his gaze, Hex scratches his ear, and I’m almost positive he plucks his earbud out at the same time, but I don’t get a chance to glare at him because in the next moment he’s pulled into conversation by Lady Vardane.
A middle-aged man sits across from me—one of the men who was talking to Lord Fennor—and my attention instantly shifts to him.
Based on the fact that he’s seated near me and his picture has never shown up in our files, it’s easy to assume he’s not among the nobility.
Though his suit fits him well and would be considered rather fine in any other situation, his clothing pales in comparison to that of the others at the table.
His skin is weathered from being outside, and his posture doesn’t carry the sharp angles that everyone else’s does.
Still, no matter how out of place he looks, his body language doesn’t display any hints of discomfort.
I can’t know for sure without talking to him, but I would guess he comes to things like this often despite his lower station.
He wasn’t afraid to engage in heated discussion with Lord Fennor either. Who is he?
As staff place the first course in front of us, I look at the many cutlery items in front of me and smile awkwardly at the man across from me. “I’ve never felt so ill-equipped before. Is there a trick to knowing which fork to use?”
He eyes me sharply, saying nothing as he takes me in.
“I guess that question is a bit too cliché, isn’t it?” I say with a chuckle.
When I’m almost certain he’s going to ignore me like everyone else, he lets out a small sigh and picks up the fork farthest to the right. “It barely matters,” he says, keeping his voice low. “No one will be paying attention to you anyway.”
He’s not responding as freely as I’d like him to, and my gut is telling me he could be important; I need to dig deeper and get him to trust me.
“Do you know this from experience? I’m Astrid, by the way.
” I hold my hand across the table, ignoring the bewildered glances I get from the nobles around us. “Astrid Storme.”
Though he looks at my hand for several uncomfortable seconds, he slowly reaches out and takes hold of it despite the distance between us. “Greywick.”
“Greywick,” I repeat with a smile. I’ve never heard his name before, and I’m hoping Callum can get me some intel.
“We’ll look into it,” Virek says, his tone thick with irritation. Apparently his connection has been restored. “And tell His Highness to stop ignoring me.”
I glance quickly at the prince, hiding my smile with a sip of water.
Without his earbud, he’s doing a lot more than simply ignoring Virek.
“What is it you do for a living, Greywick?” I ask the man across from me, glad I have a good excuse to ignore Virek’s directive.
Hex is too far from me anyway, but I have more important things to focus on.
Greywick’s gaze sharpens as he takes a bite of his salad. “Would you have asked that question of anyone else in this room, Miss Storme?” His question isn’t angry; he knows how poorly he fits alongside the assembled guests.
Virek hums in my ear. “Tell him that you’re still getting used to the nobility having income from their lands rather than occupations.”
My brow pinches in bewilderment before I can school my features.
He can’t be serious. “No,” I say to Greywick, though I also hope Virek understands it’s for him too.
“I wouldn’t ask anyone else, mostly because none of them would acknowledge my presence in the first place.
Maybe you haven’t noticed, but this is not the sort of gathering I’m usually a part of. ”
Greywick’s gaze jumps to Hex, who sits relaxed in his chair, his salad untouched and his attention on Lord Vardane a couple seats down.
Hex’s eyes meet mine for half a second before flitting to Greywick, but then his attention returns to Vardane.
There’s nothing off about his demeanor now, so I must definitely be losing my mind.
Hex has been pretending to like me from the start of this, and it’s dangerous for me to read into anything he does, regardless of the conclusions I come to. My focus needs to be on saving Candora and her queen, not on the strange dynamic between the prince and me.
“Being on the arm of a prince must get you into all sorts of places that aren’t your usual scene,” Greywick says with a soft scoff.
I genuinely can’t tell if that was an insult or merely a statement.
For how easy it was to place him outside of the aristocracy, Greywick is difficult to read.
But not impossible. His isn’t the first mask I’ve seen in this investigation, but he isn’t completely hiding the way Blackmere did at the auction.
Greywick’s expression is guarded, but there’s something genuine about his irritation.
He might be more willing to talk if I figure out where his sympathies lie.
“I caught Prince Hendrik’s attention when I was working for the queen,” I tell him with a soft laugh, “but I have to admit I’m more comfortable standing in the background than being in the middle of the excitement.”
“Be careful what you say,” Virek warns, as if I might tell a stranger my entire history.
Greywick sits up a little straighter, a spark of interest in his eyes as he studies me more closely. “Storme,” he says thoughtfully, like he’s processing my name for the first time. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“Do you spend a lot of time around the queen?” I ask, hoping the question is innocent enough. I want to know how high his connections go without making him suspicious.
Greywick chuckles. “Hardly. My company oversees operations for several estate owners around the country.”
“Anyone I would have heard of?”
Though he looks like he’s debating continuing this conversation, he nods at Lord Bellgaard at the other end of the table. “Lord Bellgaard is one of my clients, as well as the Earl of Vardane, Lord Fennor, the Duke of Rensvik.”
He works for Fennor? Now I really wish I’d been able to hear that conversation.
But the other names are interesting as well.
Bellgaard is hosting tonight and was at the art gallery.
Vardane was also at Lord Markell’s party.
And the Duke of Rensvik? My eyes find Blackmere on Hex’s end of the table.
Once his father dies, Blackmere will be the Duke of Rensvik.
We’ve been trying to figure out which single member of the nobility has gone dirty, but what if there are multiple offenders?
I can understand some of the aristocrats not supporting all of Freya’s decisions, but that doesn’t explain why they would give money to an organization determined to dismantle the bulk of the government structure, including the nobility.
Before I turn back to Greywick, my eyes catch on Hex. He’s looking at me again, a furrow in his brow as he looks at Blackmere and back to me. Blasted skies, that looks like…jealousy?
I’d better not let that thought get away from me. Focus, Storme.
“That’s quite the résumé,” I say to Greywick and lift an eyebrow. “So, not the royal family, then.”
“Logistics for visiting royalty can be…” He glances at Hex. “A royal pain.”
“Keep the conversation going,” Virek says with some excitement in his voice. “Ask him what he means by that.”
How Virek expects me to have a normal conversation with him jumping in every other exchange, I have no clue. I envy Hex for the easy way he removed the irritation; he doesn’t have to report to Virek at the end of the night.
“Storme.” It’s Callum who says that, and something tells me he’s using a private channel so Virek can’t hear him when he says, “You and I both know you work better on your own. If for some reason your earbud happens to fall out of your ear, I’ll tell the boss it’s a bad connection again, just like Hex’s. ”
Bless you, Callum Doyle.
I can’t keep playing Virek’s game if I’m going to get anywhere tonight.
Though tension fills my chest at the thought of doing something that could endanger my career—again—I lift my hand to brush my hair to cover my ear, then pretend to scratch my head as I pluck the earbud free and slip it into my clutch on my lap.
Virek is going to be furious if he figures out the truth, but I might actually be able to do my job now.
“I’ve spent enough time dealing with royal logistics that I completely understand that pain,” I tell Greywick. “That must take a lot of energy, working with so many different nobles.”
He starts to roll his eyes but stops himself and takes a sip of wine, like he’s regulating his emotions before he says anything. “My network is large enough that I don’t handle it all myself. I have plenty of associates to keep things running smoothly.”
Nothing he’s saying is explicitly incriminating, but it doesn’t make him innocent either.
Working so closely with members of the nobility and having control over their estates would put him in a prime position to play middleman between the nobility and the anti-royalists.
Especially if more than one person is funding the movement.
“Is attending fancy dinner parties a common part of the job?” I ask, then offer a discreet smirk and lower my voice. “I don’t envy you if it is.”
Though he doesn’t smile, the hard lines of his face soften just the slightest. He takes in the guests around us, all absorbed in their own conversations, then meets my gaze again. “You’ve attended more than one ‘fancy’ function lately, so you must not dislike them as much as you pretend.”
A spark of discomfort zings through me. I know people have started to pay more attention to me, but I didn’t see Greywick at either of the events I’ve attended this week.
Has he been watching me from the shadows, or have I been a topic of discussion?
I’m not sure which one is less unsettling, but at least my plan is working.
Taking a slow breath, I will my heart rate to slow so I can keep my head. Regulate my own emotions. “I think it’s a good thing to have more people like us up here at the top,” I say as lightly as I can. Picking up my water glass, I raise it in a toast and take a sip.
Something in Greywick’s expression cracks.
I’m not sure what it is—interest, suspicion, confusion—but I feel the change as much as I see it.
His eyes travel over my face again, and though neither of us say much else as dinner continues, his attention remains fixed on me until he looks down at his phone to send a message to someone.
I think I’ve rocked this boat as much as I can afford to tonight. If I blaze forward too quickly, the anti-royalists are likely to become suspicious, and I need them to want to bring me as close to the inner circle as I can get.
So I keep my eyes on my food and listen to the conversations around me.
No one says anything very interesting, and my mind begins to wander.
Sorting through the information we’ve gathered so far and trying to figure out which pieces fit where.
Virek has his own puzzle he’s building, but mine is far bigger, and not all of the pieces belong.
I’m just not sure which are extra and which are crucial to the final picture.
Bellgaard, Vardane, Fennor, Blackmere… There are still so many moving pieces, and nothing so far fully fits anywhere. I don’t have any definitive answers, which means I don’t have any idea how to protect the crown.
Unless we start finding real, tangible evidence of who’s behind the plot against the monarchy, we’re likely to keep walking in circles. We can’t keep lurking around parties and hoping we overhear the right conversation. As long as we’re stuck in this pattern, Freya and the throne are in danger.
But what can I do to move forward?