Chapter 10
I’m among the first to leave the dining hall after dinner, and my goal is to find a corner of the drawing room that gives me a good vantage of the rest of the room so I can try to find some kind of clue to take me to the next step.
The party got us to the auction, the painting got us invited to this dinner, but so far I haven’t seen any sign of our next move, and that’s unacceptable.
I only make it partway through the room before an arm wraps around my waist and pulls me flush against a solid, warm body, drawing a gasp out of me.
With my back pressed to Hex’s chest, I feel his steady heartbeat on my shoulder blade, and for a moment I can’t help but imagine this being real.
I’ve wanted him for so long, and my fantasies over the years haven’t compared to the real thing.
“Eager, are we, Prince?” I say, horrified when my voice comes out husky. Get it together, Storme.
Hex presses his nose into my hair. “Eager for some good company, yes. If I have to listen to Helena Vardane talk about the importance of a good leader on the throne for any longer, I may die of boredom.” As his warm breath on my neck sends a shiver down my spine, his arm tightens against my stomach, pushing some air from my lungs.
All I can focus on is the feel of his hard muscles against my back.
But then he lets go and spins me to face him, wrinkling his nose. “I suppose talking to you will have to do, Storme,” he teases. “How was dinner for you?”
I do a quick sweep of the room to make sure no one is close enough to be eavesdropping on our hushed conversation. “Enlightening.”
He cocks his head. “What does that—vitte.” With his curse, his eyes jump to something over my shoulder, and he ducks down like he might try to hide behind me. He’s far too tall for that, something he seems to realize quickly as he straightens up again and pulls his shoulders back.
Looking behind me, I lift my eyebrows high when I see Bellgaard’s son, Lord Northam, striding into the room with a gorgeous woman on his arm.
A woman I recognize, which explains the sudden wave of jealousy that slams into me.
Eloise Blackmere. Not only is she the daughter of a duke, but she and Hex were once a thing.
I don’t know how serious it was, but I know all too well that Eloise has been in Hex’s bedroom.
Mostly because I caught Hex sneaking her out of it.
“What does he think he’s doing?” It isn’t Hex who growls that but Blackmere, his expression frigid as he glares at Northam from just a few feet behind Hex. Clearly he isn’t pleased to see his sister here tonight, though his ire is for Lord Northam.
In fact, no one looks particularly pleased to see Northam. His father, Lord Bellgaard, is pinching the bridge of his nose and looking completely exasperated, while Greywick listens to something Lord Vardane says to him with a tight jaw.
“Prince Hendrik!” Northam says far too loudly. He stops a few feet from us and offers a small bow of his head before pulling Eloise against his side and grinning. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
I highly doubt he means that; his smile is positively victorious, like he is so pleased to have the likes of Eloise Blackmere on his arm after she and Hex didn’t last.
“Hex,” Eloise croons and holds out her hand to him. I want to slap her hand away, but I refrain. Barely.
To my delight, the prince ignores her hand and takes mine instead, lacing our fingers together as he smiles politely at Northam. “No hard feelings about that painting the other night, Toby?”
Something like fear flashes through Northam’s eyes, but it’s gone quickly as he glances at the woman beside him. “Of course not, though I didn’t take you for an art collector.”
“I bought it for her.” Hex presses a kiss to my temple, lingering there longer than I expect him to and weakening my knees.
I have to lean into him to keep upright, and I feel ridiculous.
Of all the times he’s gotten close to me like this, standing in front of his ex should be the most obvious time for me to remember that all of this romance is a farce.
It’s all for show.
It’s not real.
“What are you doing here, Eloise?” Blackmere asks gruffly, coming up beside us. He narrows his eyes at Northam. “With him?”
Eloise rolls her gray eyes. “Why should that matter to you, Alaric?”
“Eloise. You shouldn’t be—”
“Since you’re here, Your Highness,” Northam says before Blackmere can order his sister to leave, “perhaps you’d be interested in a little rematch tonight?”
Hex tenses, and I hold back a groan. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never been able to resist a challenge, and even if I have no idea what a rematch with Northam would entail, I know he’s going to say yes.
But maybe that’s a good thing? Northam was the one bidding on the painting the other night, and we need to find out why.
Swearing under his breath, Hex looks down at our clasped hands before lifting his eyes to me. There’s a question there, but I have no idea what he’s asking.
“We could place a wager on it,” Northam says with a sneer. “Unless you’re too scared to lose again.”
Hex swears again, and he almost looks nervous. His words, on the other hand, are anything but. “I’ve never been scared in my life. But I don’t think you’re prepared to lose to me twice in one week, Toby.”
Northam barks out a laugh that catches the attention of the entire party. “You refuse the challenge like a coward, then?”
“Never,” Hex growls and steps forward, out of my hold. “As soon as your father’s party is over, we can—”
“Now,” Northam says sharply. He looks around the room when murmurs break out among the other guests, some of the color draining from his face. “If we’re putting money behind this, we’re doing it now.”
“Tobias!” Bellgaard snaps. “This isn’t the—”
“What do you say, Your Highness?” Ignoring his father, Northam holds out his hand toward the prince.
Northam looks desperate, and a little wager shouldn’t have this much weight to it.
Between bidding on a painting he can’t afford and challenging a prince to a competition with a monetary prize, the man is clearly up to something.
Based on the way Lord Fennor and Greywick are both watching Northam warily, it could be connected to the anti-royalist scheme.
“Hex,” I murmur, stepping forward and putting my hand on his shoulder. Rising up on my toes, I whisper in his ear. “Take the challenge. Get him talking about the auction.”
With a firm set to his jaw, Hex nods once and holds out his hand. “State your wager, Toby.”
Northam blinks a few times, staring at Hex like he can’t believe he accepted. Only when Eloise elbows him in the ribs does he snap out of his stupor. “Right. Er, two thousand euros?”
That’s steep for a simple contest, but not as high as I was expecting. According to the RIA’s file, Northam is deeply in debt, and two thousand euros would barely scratch the surface of that.
Several thoughts flash through the prince’s eyes as he studies Northam. “Make it four,” he says, his expression more curious than malicious. It’s like he’s testing Northam’s limits.
Though Northam swallows and pales even more, he nods. “Done. Shall we?” Freeing himself from Eloise’s hold, he leads the way from the room, pausing when his irritated father grabs his arm and gives him a heavy look. Northam clenches his jaw, and a silent conversation passes between them.
Eventually, Bellgaard lets him pass, and I’m not the only one to follow Northam and Hex deeper into the house.
Most of the guests join me, too curious not to watch the challenge unfold.
Conversations buzz all around me as we make our way down the large corridor, but nothing stands out enough for me to catch what people are saying.
I doubt Callum will be able to parse anything from the recordings either, which means this challenge had better lead somewhere or I’m going to get an earful from Virek when I get back to headquarters.
I’ll get that anyway, but it’ll be easier to stomach if I have something to show for tonight’s efforts.
“Your prince is a fool,” a low voice says beside me.
I lift an eyebrow as I look at Blackmere. His sister has disappeared, and I have to wonder if she had any interest in Northam to begin with or if she came just for another chance with Hex. “Reckless, maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But he’s no fool.”
Hex glances back at me, but only for a second. Just long enough for me to wonder if it was surprise or pride I saw in his eyes.
When we reach an impressive indoor shooting range, I can’t help but laugh.
With a dozen different bows on the wall—from traditional wooden longbows to fiberglass recurve bows and a couple of compound bows—it looks like Hex’s idea of paradise.
Northam must really be desperate if he thinks he can win an archery contest against Hex Alverra.
“Choose your weapon,” Northam instructs, gesturing to the wall.
Though he lingers on a fiberglass recurve bow that looks like the best of the bunch, the prince picks one that, in my limited opinion, is highly inferior to the other.
He strings it with ease and smiles at Northam, and I’m guessing his choice of bow is as much a challenge as Northam made in the drawing room.
If Northam loses with a superior weapon, he’ll look all the more foolish for issuing the challenge.
“Shall we set the terms?” Northam asks with less confidence than he had before. He grabs the finest bow and preps it with almost imperceptibly shaking fingers.
“Three shots,” Hex says calmly. “Cumulative scoring. Highest score takes the victory.”
“And four thousand euros,” Northam adds and holds out his hand to shake. “I accept.”
As long as Hex actually tries to get Northam to talk, I don’t care how the contest ends, but it’s easy to guess the outcome all the same. Hex never loses.
Northam shoots first, his arrow landing on the outer edge of the innermost circle of the target. It’s a solid shot, but Northam isn’t particularly happy as he glares at the target.