Chapter 68
“He made us meet him on his ship last time, when all along he had this?” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.
“Are we even sure we’re in the right place? It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.” Delaynie glanced up and down the quiet footpath. Her bare shoulder brushed his arm, his skin tingling at the contact.
He swallowed. He needed to get a grip. The last thing he should do was go into this hellhole distracted.
It also wasn’t his fault that she was so damn distracting.
Someone—one of Varyn’s lackey’s, likely—had deposited clothing for them at their prison-apartment.
Quentin wore a variation of what he’d been given upon their arrival: dark, fitted pants and a short-sleeved linen shirt.
It was begrudgingly comfortable, especially with the sticky ocean humidity of the island.
Delaynie, however…
“Stop fidgeting,” he murmured. Her face tipped up to his. She was guarded and uncomfortable, but perhaps that was the whole point of this test. “You look beautiful.”
Fucking gods, did he mean it.
Panels of lightweight azure silk clung to her form, revealing swaths of her flawless, creamy skin. It clasped over her shoulders with delicate silver chains, the material scooping low on her back.
He’d been trying so hard not to stare.
He knew he was failing atrociously.
Delaynie swallowed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile as her cheeks flushed with color beneath her kohl-lined eyes. “A compliment. How unusual, coming from you.”
Quentin scoffed. “Please. I give plenty of compliments.”
“None that you truly mean.”
A seriousness landed in his gut. “I mean this, though.”
They held each other’s stares for a long moment. Maybe one that was a touch too long for friends. Delaynie broke first, sliding her gaze back to the resplendent manor.
Friends, Quentin had to remind himself. They were there as friends. No matter how close their travels had pulled them together, they still had a job to do. He couldn’t risk failing his queen.
Not yet anyway. Not when her bond had finally blazed back to life earlier that day. She’d closed it seconds after, but he could feel it there, that steady reminder of her power. A reminder of what he was here to do and just how important it was.
“What do you think this soiree is going to entail?”
Quentin frowned. “I’m not sure. Especially since it looks as if there isn’t a party happening at all.
” He glanced back down the path. The manor sat alone at the end of a road lined with palm trees, the cobbled streets making for a bumpy carriage ride here.
“I just don’t think it could be anywhere else. ”
Delaynie pushed back her shoulders. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Quentin nodded. “Into the lion’s den.”
They walked side by side up the rest of the path.
The manor was obnoxiously large—three-stories tall, with pillars carved in the shape of sea serpents guarding an ornate door inlaid with bronze and mother-of-pearl, and tropical flowers draped over the path, blossoms heavy and slightly dewy in the humid night.
They halted before the door. Nervous excitement buzzed through Quentin as he lifted his fist. He paused just before he could rap on the bronze.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Quentin said, swallowing. “Are you okay doing whatever it takes in there to prove ourselves to this deranged fucker of a pirate lord?”
“Oh.” Delaynie was quiet for a beat. Longer than Quentin liked. He lowered his fist, turning to her, about to tell her that they didn’t have to do this and that they would find another way—
She knocked firmly on the door herself, the sound echoing through the tarnished metal and into the manor. She met his stare with a resolved smirk, with that cool fire she donned when dealing with the most frustrating of Onitan merchants and politicians.
“I may not have seen much of the world,” she said, “but I was raised to play my part. No matter the game, I always win.”
Quentin simply stared at her, slack-jawed and stunned into silence.
So much so that he didn’t notice the manor door had swung open. Not until a low, familiar chuckle snapped him back to the present.
“I will admit”—Darius propped himself against the door frame— “I half expected the two of you not to come.”
“A pleasure seeing you again, Darius.” Delaynie’s greeting was cool, like a bead of water rolling down a glass.
The pirate prince turned his hungry grin on her. Quentin swallowed his growl. “My,” Darius mused. “And you even dressed up as one of us. Can’t believe you’re willing to tarnish yourself like that, little lady.”
“Fortunately,” Delaynie quipped, “diamonds don’t tarnish.”
Pride—and more than a little arousal—swelled in Quentin’s chest, burning through his veins. Little wolf, indeed.
Darius’s smile tugged wider. He nodded, stepping back from the entry and gesturing them inside.
The foyer was magnificent, if dimly lit. Dripping candles were set in sconces on the wall, their flickering light casting a moody, disconcerting glow over the gold-plated walls. The air was heady and thick, though there was no sign of anyone else.
“Are we early?” Delaynie asked.
Darius smirked. “Far from it. You’re both late. The party has already begun.” He stalked past, leading them deeper into the foyer. He turned right at the end of the hall, pushing open a heavy velvet curtain.
Instinct spurred Quentin to grab Delaynie’s hand as they followed Darius into the next room.
And gods, was he fucking glad he did.
The smell hit him first. Sweet and tinged with an acidity that spoke of some foreign substance being smoked. It masked a more distinctive scent, one that was musky and blended with sweat.
The voices in the room were a cacophony, but they weren’t speaking. Low, breathless moans and grunted pants, giggles and growls and the smack of skin against skin.
He blinked in the low, red light. Delaynie drew in a sharp inhale of breath.
Quentin again thought about how much he hated these pirates.
This wasn’t a party. It wasn’t even a casual gathering for the island’s wealthiest citizens.
It was a fucking orgy.
Quentin gripped Darius’s arm, yanking the man around to face them. “I thought you said this was a soiree?”
Darius’s smirk deepened. “It is. Do you celebrate differently in Onita?” He leaned close, smirk becoming more of a sneer. “If it’s too much for you, just say the word. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to bind chains to your ankles and toss you into the sea.”
Hot anger bubbled beneath Quentin’s skin. They hadn’t taken his weapons from him; his favorite baldric was still comfortably strapped across his chest. All it would take was one flinch, one smooth movement, and a blade could be buried in Darius’s chest—
“Perhaps it would be best if we stopped wasting time in a pissing match and greeted our host, instead.”
Quentin and Darius blinked. Delaynie’s expression was stern and almost a little bored, though the tight set to her shoulders and rigidity of her spine gave away her discomfort.
A discomfort that she was putting aside. And if she could do it, then so could he.
Quentin released Darius. “A great point.” He forced his brow and shoulders to relax. “That is, after all, why we’re here.”
Darius brushed off his chest, as if wiping invisible dirt from the black material.
“Of course,” he drawled. “He’s just through the next room.
Follow me.” He spun on his heel, sauntering into the dark, clouded room.
Quentin shared one, final glance with Delaynie, hating the anxiety slipping through her icy cracks.
He hated that this was where their path had led them. Hated that they had nowhere to go but forward. Hated that he couldn’t protect her from whatever waited for them in the next room.
When she slipped her small, soft hand into his, he hated it all a little less.
Together, they followed Darius through the “soiree”.
Quentin kept his gaze locked on a spot between Darius’s shoulders.
The exact place he’d throw a dagger to sever his spinal column.
The sounds and smells of this place intensified the deeper they went, and Delaynie’s hand tightened around his more than a few times.
He felt stares following them as they passed, heard more than a few beckoning words, but still his attention stayed right on that spot in Darius’s back.
When he breathed, he tried to shove away everything except for the sweet, soft scent of coconut and vanilla.
Darius paused at another thick curtain, murmuring something to a heavily armed guard. The guard shot a glance to Quentin and Delaynie before nodding, holding aside the heavy draping.
The room beyond was still dark, but the lights glowed dark blue, rippling like the sea at night beneath a starry sky. Low, heady music rumbled from a corner, and the air here was crisper, cleaner.
Lord Varyn Draethos lounged on a throne in a raised, curtained alcove. Quentin’s jaw clenched.
Of course, the pirate lord wasn’t alone.
Three women, utterly naked save for delicate silver jewelry dripping down their bodies, sprawled over him. They slithered around him like sea serpents, hair swaying as they moved. One of the women dropped to her knees between his thighs, the lord’s eyes feathering closed.
That was, naturally, when Darius decided to announce their arrival.
“Father. Our guests are here.” One of the women lifted her head, her eyes sparkling with interest. The pirate lord nodded to the woman, who sauntered to Darius across the pale marble floors. He said something into her ear, her answering giggle grating against Quentin’s ears.
The young lord gripped the woman’s ass, leading her to an adjacent alcove. Quentin stopped paying attention to him after that.