Chapter Seventy-Seven
Drill
“We have a plan.”
Varic’s promise resounds in my mind to keep me from screaming every time Drusilla tugs on my hair, forcing my strands to cooperate into a long single plait.
My neck muscles strain as she pulls to coil the braid into a tight knot at the top of my head, her expression remaining neutral as she shoves the pins in to keep it in place, poking me no less than three times while I grit my teeth.
Malin pointedly catches my eyes in the reflection, glancing from my hairstyle, then up to his own, distracting me from the pain in my scalp with his playful comparison.
“You will accompany His Majesty for Dragon riding drills,” Drusilla says.
I release a breath when she turns away to step atop a small stool to grab hold of the training leathers, which I will wear for ornamental purposes, hanging from the open mouth of a gold Dragon hook.
She drops down to the floor and grabs hold of my robe, and tugs it down from my shoulders, her nails catching and pulling the nightgown with it so each falls to the ground as I rise to stand from the chair before the mirror.
She shakes the leathers to indicate it is time for me to step inside the skintight riding uniform.
I brace the back of the chair to steady myself as the soft interior caresses my skin when she draws it up and over my hips.
Once my arms have been forced within it, she steps behind and secures me inside all the way up my spine and the back of my neck.
Then spins me around to inspect its fit.
Heat erupts in the center of my chest, hidden by the higher cut of the leather until the pink hue creeps its way up my otherwise pale white neck, beckoning my gaze to land on Varic as he stares at my reflection.
I follow the line of his eyes while my own widen at the tighter-than-usual style.
I startle when Drusilla pats my shoulder, wishing I could hide the flush in my cheeks from her.
Yet she wordlessly helps me into my boots, and I assist her as best I can, then clear my throat, trying to encourage Varic to shift his attention.
His eyes rise to mine before scanning the room, while Fray barely stifles his laughter by turning away and staring out the window.
“Come on,” Drusilla says. “We can’t leave His Majesty waiting.”
She leads our party into the hall as five Imperial Guards trail ahead of us and another five follow closely behind.
Regardless of the extra eyes on me, an uncommon sense of confidence thrums through my being.
While the only real change is what I am wearing, feeling more myself in these leathers than in any of the dresses they make me wear.
We march down the stairs and wind through corridors before entering the dimly lit Dungeons while Guards pry the first Emperor’s portrait away from the wall and allow us entrance through the hidden passage.
Malin and Lars take their places ahead of us, and Varic sticks to my side while I try to swivel around to glance at the soon-to-be-interim Guards—none of whom seem the least bit concerned with Varic’s proximity, despite the Emperor requiring a hundred paces between our bodies.
Varic’s throat bobs the closer we draw to the catacombs.
His eyes flit around in assessment, though not only for my safety—but for any semblance of his own.
I collect some threads of calm and focus, then cautiously send the bundle into his chest. My heart thrums heavily as I try to decipher his needs.
After ensuring that no one is looking at us, I turn to Varic, and my flush deepens with his gratuitous study of my being.
While I am grateful for this ability to distract him from his panic, a spike of that same emotion strikes my chest with the risk he’s taking by being so obvious.
I release a breath and jab my elbow near his ribs.
He playfully evades me, angling away until I lower my arm.
“You could be less obvious,” I say, while failing to hide the smile in my voice.
“Are you going to make me guess your meaning?”
The path narrows, requiring us to walk closer than the Emperor would prefer.
“You can’t be serious,” I jest, though his expression falls and his brows knit in the center. “Are you truly so obtuse?” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, and I lean in to whisper, “I’ve caught you staring at me at least a dozen times already. And I thought you were ‘the distraction’—not me.”
A grin pulls on the corners of his lips as that deep pink flush blooms across both cheeks to meet in the center of his nose, highlighted by the flames of each torch we pass.
He leans over my shoulder, tickling the side of my neck with the cast of his breath.
“I am incapable of denying your claim, nor can I apologize for my behavior.”
A shiver runs down my skin as I rub the affected area of my neck, inadvertently brushing my knuckles across the plush center of his lips.
I swallow when he keeps pace with me, pressing his side into mine, regardless of the widening space around us.
A heady sensation overtakes me, and my eyelids grow heavy.
“Can you blame me?” His posture and tone both radiate confidence as he straightens.
The torchlight dances across the brightness of his irises, and I feel more desperate than ever for twenty minutes alone with him in some dark corner.
“You saw yourself in the mirror.” His eyes cast down over my body before rising to pin mine.
“Can you honestly say you did not admire your own reflection? That you did not notice how tantalizing you look wearing these”—My eyes flare wide as his fingertips swipe a line over the curve of my outer thigh—“skin-tight leathers?”
“Shh,” I warn. “They could hear you.”
“You think his spies reporting your Lead Guard for staring at you will make the Emperor do anything worse?” He raises his brows for emphasis. “I happen to appreciate the fact that my role requires I look at you.” His mouth tips up in a smirk. “Constantly.”
“Not in the way you’ve looked at me today. Not after he commanded you to remain one hundred paces away. That and the way he demanded to know whether or not I had slept with the Prince leads me to believe he would not be happy with how closely you and I are walking.”
“You think he expects me to walk so far behind you I cannot see to keep you safe in these dark and narrow passages? He is a force sorcerer. He knows I have to be able to imagine where I project my shield if I cannot see the target well enough. He could have commanded me to stay farther away before we followed him into the Dungeons if he wanted to negate my role by doing so.” He studies me before adding, “Or do you truly believe he would punish me more were he to learn I complimented your appearance after he specifically commissioned your wardrobe to entrance all those who gaze upon you?”
I clamp my jaw shut and refuse to answer, since we are clearly incapable of preventing any sort of mutual flirtation from occurring when speaking on this topic. Regardless, I scan the faces around us and pull in a breath when each seems to be focusing on taking their next step.
Varic maintains his position by my side as we cross the landing toward the Stairway to the Stars.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth when he holds his arm out to catch me when we reach the top stair and prepare to descend.
Silence envelops us as I study the reliefs and he does the same with me, only ever briefly turning to look where we are going.
We reach the bottom without incident, then take the short walkway to the secret entrance where the sunlight is dimmed by the thick cloud cover.
Excitement and anticipation stir in my chest as we move toward the dens, where even Malin wears the hint of a smile at the promise of spending time with his blood-bonded Dragon.
Then my stomach twists the moment his expression falls, with his brows meeting in the middle.
He nods to Imperial Marshall Bradick, who strides toward the Emperor with a sense of urgency, which cannot mean anything positive.
We come to a halt when His Majesty jaunts past us, walking at a much faster clip than usual. He takes Wyrth’s arm in hand and drags him off to the side. Both sets of Guards form a circle around them as Imperial Steward Garth makes his way through to engage in a heated discussion.
Lars turns to Varic. “That can’t be good.”
“Agreed. Can you hear anything they’re saying?” Varic tilts his head to stare over at the Emperor as Lars closes his eyes—an action he dare not do anywhere he could be caught for using his heightened sense of hearing.
“They said, ‘forest’, ‘patrol’, and ‘missing’. But not all in the same sentence.”
“Well, if those words weren’t in the same sentence or in that order—” Varic begins.
“That is the order I heard them in,” Lars corrects.
Varic’s eyes dart around while his hand rises to swipe through his hair. “I was just going to say, hearing those words in that order—"
“Seems ominous,” Malin says, while Lars nods in agreement.
“Stop making excuses and find out,” Emperor Aldritch commands, sweeping his gaze over me as he returns to the front of the procession.
Wyrth strides past with a grave expression as my Guards and I begin to march behind the Emperor.
I startle when the coarse warmth of Varic’s hand brushes over my own, imparting a modicum of comfort which I cannot take the risk of reveling in. He lowers his gaze to my hand as I clasp it within the other, and I pull my lower lip in to gnaw on it like the guilt roiling in my stomach.
Every member of the audience bows the moment the Emperor approaches, though he pays them no attention as he strides toward the stage.
Our banners wave from all four corners, with each golden signet on display to represent our Empire, the Emperor, myself, and Wyrth—while those hanging from the back are for each of my Anomalous Guards.