Chapter 13
Drinks are flowing, and Hex looks like the slightest thing might set him off. If I thought I’d ever seen him nervous before today, I was dead wrong because this is a level beyond anything I thought he was capable of feeling.
He’s putting on a good show, smiling and laughing with the other guests on Fennor’s back patio Friday evening before dinner, but I can see through his mask now that I know what to look for.
If it gets any worse, I won’t be the only one to see the tension in his shoulders, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the table in front of him, the way he keeps looking at his phone.
He’s cracking.
As long as he can keep things together for a few more hours, I can—I don’t know—talk him down?
Honestly, it’s unnerving to see him unnerved, and already this weekend has me on edge.
There’s too much we don’t know, and with limited resources from Callum, I can’t afford to spend any energy keeping a prince calm.
Hex was fine when he left the bakery two days ago. What changed?
“A toast!” Northam says, loud enough that he breaks up the conversations around him. He holds up a glass of whiskey toward Lord Fennor. “To the man who brings Candora together.”
Fennor isn’t the only one to scoff. Mr. Crowell adds an eye roll to his derisive laugh, and Bellgaard looks like he regrets joining his son for the weekend.
“You think too highly of me, my friend,” Fennor says but lifts his own glass all the same.
Vardane, Hex, and a man named Rourke join the toast, raising glasses of water because none of them have chosen to imbibe yet. In fact, it’s mostly just Northam and his father who are good and truly drunk to start out the weekend.
That makes my job easier in one sense. Drunk men are more prone to bad decisions, and my instructions from Greywick are to ensure no one ends up injured or in a place they shouldn’t be.
Right now, that means standing at the back of the patio and hoping this toast has distracted Northam from the real reason everyone came outside: another shooting contest, this time with rifles.
I was doing an initial sweep of the property—and planting the few listening devices Callum gave me—when Northam suggested the competition, and one of Fennor’s staff came to inform me of the choice of activity.
When I arrived at the back of the massive house, the guns were already out, Hex was already riddled with anxiety despite being here less than half an hour, and the awkwardness among the seven men was practically tangible.
Since there’s no way Fennor’s retreats are always this uncomfortable, based on the positive way various aristocrats have been talking about them over the last several months, I’m more convinced than ever that this weekend is more than a holiday in the country.
“And now the challenge!” Northam practically shouts, then drains his glass. “Unless, of course, His Highness is unwilling to risk losing to more than just me.”
Hex forces a laugh. “What makes you so sure I’m not better with a rifle than I am with a bow?”
Northam points at him. “Ah! Perhaps you are, but you need to prove it.” He picks up a rifle, and I tense until he also picks up a box of ammunition and begins loading cartridges with practiced motions.
He isn’t so drunk that he’s dangerous yet, but Fennor’s well-trained staff has another glass of alcohol ready for him.
I start counting cartridges as he loads them so I know exactly how many shots are in that rifle.
“I propose a bet!” Northam says.
“Of course you do,” Vardane grumbles.
Fennor gulps down the last few swallows of his drink and jumps up to join his friend, far more smiley than I expected after the way he was acting at Bellgaard’s dinner. “What are you proposing, Northam?”
The two of them start up a hushed conversation mixed with laughter as they prepare their rifles, so I shift my attention to Hex as he leans closer to Crowell in the chair next to him and says, “Which one do you think is more likely to end up shooting one of the rest of us?”
Crowell chokes on a laugh. “Maybe they’ll end up wounding each other and put us out of our misery.”
“One might wonder why you’re here if that’s your opinion of them.”
That’s too blunt of a question, and I have to stop myself from glaring at Hex. He may not have any impairment from alcohol, but his nerves could easily get in the way of natural conversation. I might not be able to wait a few hours before I ask him what’s gotten under his skin.
Thankfully, Crowell chuckles and takes a sip of his water. “Sometimes it’s worth subjecting yourself to imbeciles like those two in order to take advantage of their connections.”
Well, I’ll definitely be paying attention to Crowell this weekend, though he doesn’t have much in the way of wealth so he can’t be a primary funder of the anti-royalist movement.
“I know what you mean,” Hex says with a haughty lift of his eyebrows. He’s generally confident, but arrogant isn’t his usual MO.
I clear my throat, and though Hex doesn’t look back at me, his head does turn slightly in my direction.
I suppose I could text him to tell him to be more careful with what he says, but I doubt he’ll appreciate being managed like that.
Virek isn’t in our ears for once, and I don’t want to become as bothersome as my supervisor.
“Winner has to sing the national anthem and put video proof on the internet!” Northam says, lifting his rifle in the air with one hand. Thankfully his finger isn’t on the trigger, but he’s still being careless.
“I think you mean the loser,” Fennor corrects with a snort, then looks at Hex. “Are you joining in, Your Highness? I’d wager you have a fighting chance, what with all that training with the Guard.”
“That depends on whether he chooses to win,” an all too familiar voice says behind me.
I turn, unable to hide my surprise as Alaric Blackmere slowly approaches the party with narrowed eyes.
“Lord Blackmere. I wasn’t expecting you.
” I silently curse as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Who am I to question who might be on Fennor’s guest list?
Granted, I did get a list from Greywick to help me prepare, and Blackmere wasn’t on it.
What happened to the tail Virek set up? Does the RIA even know Blackmere is here?
With a pleased grin, he bows his head to me. “Miss Storme. Greywick told me he hired you to look after this lot, and I confess I was too curious not to come see you in action.”
“Glad you could join us!” Fennor says and points a rifle at Blackmere.
Blackmere’s smile fades to a glower. “Best watch where you’re pointing that, Fennor.”
Hex’s phone buzzes on the table, and he snatches it with impressive speed. He almost immediately deflates, and I wonder if he’s been expecting a message but hasn’t received it. But a message from whom?
“Why the disappointed face, Prince?” Fennor asked, now holding his rifle toward the sky. “Missing a lady friend back in Invem?” But then his gaze shifts to me, and he chuckles. “Ah, right. She’s here with you, isn’t she?”
“Or is she still making you fight for her attention?” Vardane mutters into his glass.
I don’t love how they’re talking about me like I’m not standing a few feet away, but I’m curious to see what Hex says. He looks at me, his brow furrowing, and asks a silent question.
At this point, I don’t know if we’re better as a pair or if I should keep making him chase, and I badly want to hear his opinion of our relationship. From the looks on their faces, the other men want to hear it as well.
Hex takes a breath, glancing at each man in turn.
“Out with it, Your Highness!” Northam says jovially. He’s holding his rifle in a relaxed shooting stance now, though he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to where he’s pointing it as he shifts and turns. Is his finger on the trigger now? I take a step closer. “We’re all dying of curio—”
I swear as Hex leaps forward and shoves the barrel of Northam’s gun upward right as it fires, thunderously loud. Everyone freezes, me included, and the prince stares wide-eyed at the rifle he’s still holding on to.
“Ah.” Northam swallows.
“Looks like your reputation isn’t all tales, Your Highness,” Crowell says and makes eye contact with Blackmere, who shrugs as if to say ‘I told you.’
“Not all of it, no,” Hex mutters, slowly peeling his fingers from the rifle. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, but not before I see them tremble.
Recovering from the near-disaster later than I’d like, I stalk forward until I’m standing next to the prince. “Maybe you should sit this one out, my lord,” I tell Northam.
He wrinkles his nose. “I hardly think—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Hex snaps and tears the rifle from Northam’s hands. He works the bolt to release the spent casing, then does it over and over until the remaining cartridges have been ejected. Only then does he relax as he hands the weapon to me.
I take the rifle but put my hand on his arm before he can sit back down, silently asking him if he’s alright.
He only meets my eyes for a second, but it’s long enough that I catch his equally silent reply. No.
“Well,” Blackmere says brightly, “as fun as that was, I’d still like to see if you’re all talk, Your Highness. Care to show us how it’s done?”
With his breath catching in his throat and a panicked expression he can’t fully hide, Hex looks like there’s nothing he’d like to do less than fire a gun right now.
“I need to borrow the prince for a moment,” I say before he can choke out some poor excuse.
“But don’t worry, boys. I’ll return him in time for him to beat the lot of you.
” Setting the gun down and tucking my arm through Hex’s, I direct him far enough from the group that we can have a private conversation while still sticking close enough to step in if Northam tries to pick up another rifle.