Chapter Eighteen
ChApter
Eighteen
The common room of the inn has been transformed—at least, as much as a common room can be.
The wooden tables have been pushed aside to make way for a single long one, polished until the waxed surface glows in the flickering lamplight.
The innkeeper cleared the space himself, having barked orders to his staff with military precision, and now oversees the evening like a general watching over his prized battalion.
His shirt is freshly laundered, his apron crisp, and he moves between bar and table with the focus of a man determined to impress.
He doesn’t sit—wouldn’t dare. But every time a platter is brought out or a cup refilled, he is nearby, murmuring to his staff with a hand at his hip and a hawk-like eye on every detail.
The air smells of roasted pheasant and rosemary potatoes, warm bread and sweet apple glaze.
The fire in the hearth crackles steadily, throwing gold and amber light across the beams overhead.
Outside the inn’s mullioned windows, the sky has turned a deep indigo, the first stars already visible between the branches of the tall trees that surround this edge-of-nowhere village.
Guards sit at the far end of the room, near the windows, eating from heavy, wooden plates and keeping their voices low.
I catch sight of Sir Holden among them, speaking quietly to Sir Donovan as he saws into his meat.
None of the servants dine with us, though I don’t know if they eat somewhere else or not at all.
I’ve changed out of my traveling clothes into something simpler—still dark enough to befit mourning, but less suffocating than the gown from the road.
A high-collared tunic in black velvet with long, flowing sleeves, and a long skirt that flows to my boots.
No veil. No fanfare. But the mask of sorrow is still present.
Ezra sits beside Farvis, the two of them already deep in conversation when I arrive with Nadya. The king is at the head of the table, relaxed, confident, like he’s already conquered this village just by arriving.
I slide into the seat across from Dante.
He’s dressed in black again, though his tunic is looser now, the collar open enough to show the edge of his collarbone. His hair is damp and curls slightly at the ends, where it brushes the backs of his ears. I try not to look too long, but I catch him holding his gaze as well.
The chatter rises slowly around us. The king compliments the inn’s cider. Farvis offers some veiled opinion about the road being better maintained than he expected.
One of the waitresses—a curvy young woman with honey-blonde hair and a flush that suggests she’s had a few sips of that cider herself—leans over Dante, her hand resting on his shoulder as she sets a bowl in front of him.
“I hear you’re the future prince,” she says, her voice too sweet to be accidental.
Dante’s mouth curves slightly, but he keeps his tone polite. “Only if the king has his way.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” she says, her eyes darting to Silas and back. “If there’s anything you need tonight, my lord, anything at all…” She leans a bit closer, and her bodice shifts just enough to reveal her intent.
On the outside, I keep my expression neutral.
On the inside, I’m already calculating the exact angle I’d need to throw my dagger into the back of her hand without nicking Dante’s skin.
It wouldn’t take more than a flick of my wrist, and it would be embedded in her flesh before anyone realized what had happened.
But I don’t move. I reach calmly for my cup and sip the watered wine.
The king chuckles. “You’ll have to grow accustomed to such attention, my son. Royal blood draws many eager eyes.”
Farvis doesn’t laugh. He wipes his mouth with the edge of his napkin and turns toward Silas.
“Your Majesty, if I may—there’s word spreading through the merchant routes.
Whispers of the tsar’s beasts crossing more borders than we realized.
If the carnoraxis reach Podrosa, or gods forbid, Bastos, the alliance will fracture.
The nobility there already mistrusts Hederan steel. ”
Silas waves his hand lazily. “Then we remind them that Hederan gold speaks louder than fear.”
Farvis frowns but says nothing more.
Beside me at the table, Nadya’s already locked eyes with the barkeep. He’s behind the counter, pretending to wipe mugs with a cloth that’s clearly just for show. His gaze is fixed on her, and when he nods once, slow and deliberate, I know something’s coming.
Sure enough, one of the waitresses delivers a drink with a sprig of mint tucked in and a tiny, blue flower balanced on the rim. “Compliments of the bar,” she says, then she glances quickly at Nadya and scurries off.
Nadya grins. “Well. It’s not quite a royal ball, but I do love local charm.”
I shake my head at her, but it’s hard to hide my amusement.
I lift my fork and eat, but the warmth in my chest has little to do with the food and everything to do with the pair of storm-grey eyes that meet mine when no one else is looking.
Another waitress arrives with a tray of glazed duck.
She lingers a little too long when she sets Dante’s plate down, her fingers grazing his bicep.
“Do let me know if you require anything else,” she murmurs, looking at him through her lashes.
“Our cook goes easy on the salt, but don’t hesitate to ask if you need something with more spice. ”
If she doesn’t get her hands off him, I’m going to find the nearest salt dispenser and shove it up her—
“Thank you,” he answers flatly.
I keep my gaze fixed on my cup. Pretending not to notice. Pretending it doesn’t matter. But my fingers tighten around the stem of the goblet just the same.
Across from me, Dante catches my eye. And his lip fucking twitches. Like he’s amused. Like he can sense my jealousy and it’s fucking pleasing him.
But there’s something else. A look in his eyes that reminds me of the night we spent together. My body warms.
That’s right.
He doesn’t need some desperate waitress to get his fill of spice. He’s got me.
I hide my smirk in my cup and avert my eyes.
Farvis speaks again, turning his attention now to Ezra. “Would it be possible to predict the tsar’s next move? Through maps or magic? Anything?”
Ezra lifts a brow, sipping from his cup before answering. “Magic rarely lends itself to straightforward strategy. But pattern, movement—those are things we can observe. If the beasts behave with any consistency, we may be able to anticipate the next strike.”
“Then this tour must accomplish more than handshakes and gift-giving,” Farvis mutters.
“Oh, we’ll offer more than that,” King Silas says, lifting his own goblet in a mock toast. “We’ll remind them of Hedera’s wealth, as well as its strength.
After all, we’ve got Delasurvia’s regiment, the most skilled in Terre Ferique.
Knowing that, no ruler will wish to stand on the wrong side of a war. ”
Of course he would use his guardianship over me to claim an army that isn’t his.
But it’s all part of his plan to strengthen Hedera.
Aside from needing me to secure an heir, the king needs my regiment.
And those are the only reasons he hasn’t sent me away.
He could easily find another noblewoman to procreate with his son, but my soldiers are unmatched in skill, and he knows it.
Another platter of steamed greens and herb-roasted duck is set down, and I glance toward the fire.
Its light plays against the flagstone floor, throwing dancing shapes along the walls like ghosts circling the room.
As the conversation continues, the waitresses circle time and time again to refill our cups—especially Dante’s.
The voices blend in my head, and I find myself wishing I could shut them out.
After dinner, Nadya and I go back to our room and spend over an hour holding our stomachs and not moving. It’s good to fill our bellies with warm food, but we may have overdone it.
After another hour, I’m feeling back to normal, and Nadya must be too because she’s changing into one of the dresses she usually wears when she she’s planning to see a lover.
“Don’t tell me you’re meeting up with that barkeep.”
Nadya grins. “Okay. I won’t tell you.”
“He won you over with that drink, didn’t he?”
“He had me the minute his eyes sparkled. No dressed-up drink necessary. Though the little cornflower was a sweet touch, don’t you think?”
My heart flutters. “I prefer peonies.”
Her brows draw together. “Okay. Anyway, I’ve got to go. He may or may not have hinted that that busty waitress would be joining us.”
Hmm, well I guess the busty waitress took the hint that Dante wasn’t interested.
“Cover for me,” Nadya adds, “in case Indira comes looking.”
I follow her to the door. “Absolutely.”
She leaves, and after hooking the latch, I wander over to the window. The night sky is clear, and as I gaze at the sky, I get the feeling the stars twinkle brighter here than they do at Ivystone.
A gentle knock sounds at the door. I steel myself, thinking up a lie to tell Indira. Unless it’s Nadya, having forgotten to douse herself with perfume. With a sigh, I stride across the room, unhooking the latch and pulling open the door.
But it’s not Indira or Nadya.
Dante stands in the dimly lit hallway, his expression unreadable in the flickering glow of the lanterns.
I almost gasp, instinctively darting a glance past his shoulder to ensure no one sees him.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, reaching for his sleeve and yanking him inside before anyone can take notice.
The door clicks shut behind him as I turn, breath unsteady.
“How did you get past Sir Greystone, Sir Holden, and Indira?”
He smirks, stepping closer. “I have my ways.”
I narrow my eyes. “You used your glamour on them, didn’t you?”