Chapter Forty-Five
Archer’s mother barely let Penn through the front door before swooping down on him like a bird of prey, pecking at him for answers. “How did the campaign go? Is Archer all right? Did he return with you?”
Penn clasped her hands and leaned forward to kiss each of her cheeks in an exuberant greeting.
With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “Speak carefully.” Then louder, as he pulled away, “Archer wrote a letter for you, but I ran into a bit of trouble along the way, and I’m ashamed to say I lost it.
But he’s well, and the war is over. You should be hearing news of an official alliance soon. ”
Relief washed away her worry and she smiled at Penn. As she turned her attention on her guests, the smile eased into something more reserved, though the wrinkles around her eyes remained defined. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she murmured. “I am Helena Kasen.”
Alistair stepped forward first and took the queen’s hand, pressing a gentle and charming kiss to her knuckles. “Valerian Sommers.”
“The mercenary?” she asked, one dark eyebrow arched in surprise.
He laughed, low and rich. “Everyone here already seems to know me.”
“Griselda has told a few tales.”
“None of them flattering, I’m sure.”
Every word he spoke sounded too much like Valerian, but instead of feeling like Val was closer to the surface, he seemed further and further away with every person Alistair fooled.
“Well, the general doesn’t like mages, even those she works closely with.” Helena turned her attention to Niall and asked, “And you are?”
“Reginald Paxton,” he replied, bowing stiffly. “I come with a message from Lord Edgar Slater.”
“Ah, one of our neighbors. Well, as you may know, my son is currently on a diplomatic mission.”
A muscle ticked in Niall’s jaw and his eyes narrowed.
Over the past several days, his sour disposition had tainted his glamour, until Penn could almost see his real face again beneath the illusion.
“‘Diplomatic mission’ is an interesting way to describe an invasion—” His teeth clicked shut with an audible snap.
The temperature in the room dropped. Goose bumps rose over Penn’s skin and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He shivered involuntarily and cut a quick glance at Alistair.
Too late, he realized that he shouldn’t suspect ‘Valerian’ of conjuring ice, but the mage had already noted his interest.
The chill faded as quickly as it arrived, and Niall spoke, “I apologize, that was improper of me.”
“Yes, it was,” Helena replied, her expression cold enough to be the magic’s source if Penn hadn’t known better. “If you give me your message I will send you on your way.” A not-at-all subtle dismissal.
“Very well,” Niall said, producing the message.
They were better prepared for this ruse than Penn expected. How long have they been planning to infiltrate Castle Arn? He still didn’t know what they wanted here, but the more he saw, the uneasier he became.
As Helena read the message, her lips pressed into a thin line. “This will take some time to consider.”
“I will happily wait for a reply so you won’t need to send a different messenger down the mountain,” Niall said, pressing a hand over his heart.
“Very well.” She turned her focus on Penn and asked, “How long will you be staying?”
“At least for tonight,” Penn said. Hopefully, it would be all the time he needed.
“Then will you take a message to Archer for me when you return?”
“Of course,” Penn laughed. “But I’m afraid my rates have risen since last you hired me.”
“Oh?”
Penn’s stomach growled with the timing of a skilled actor.
“A hearty dinner and a willing ear as I tell you all about my perilous quest to bring you news of your son.” He slipped his hand through Alistair’s and tugged him closer, leaning his head against the mage’s shoulder.
“And a chance to tell you about my lover’s good sides and everything else Gris probably left out. ”
Helena’s eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Well, that certainly sounds like an interesting story.”
Out of the corner of Penn’s eye, he caught Niall inching away—trying to distance himself from the small party.
Where do you think you’re going? “And our new friend, of course,” Penn said, reaching out and grabbing Niall’s elbow, yanking him roughly against his side so that Penn stood squashed between the two mages.
“We’ve grown quite close over the last few days, and I think he deserves a quality meal near a warm fire after his first experience of climbing up a mountain. ”
Niall glared at Penn, confirming that he’d planned to slip off while they were distracted.
Helena didn’t seem enthused with their additional company, but she granted Penn’s request. “Of course. I’ll see that Cook has enough for everyone. Will both men be staying with you? Or should I make other accommodations in the staff quarters for Mr. Paxton?”
The idea of spending more time with Niall was as exciting as walking barefoot over ice, but Penn needed to keep an eye on him. “He’ll be staying with me for the night.”
Now that the tables had turned and Niall was the one who couldn’t escape, he ground his teeth and stomped his feet like a child denied the chance to play outside.
Since it was close to dinner time, Helena led them directly to the dining room and asked them to wait at the table. There were no fancy sitting rooms or drawing rooms in Castle Arn. It was made to be functional and easily defensible, not to entertain nobility and laze about all day.
As soon as she closed the door between the dining room and the kitchen, Niall leaned forward in his seat and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Penn gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean, Reginald? I want you to enjoy our Arnsveldian hospitality before you return to your master.”
At the reminder of his fake name—and that Penn was supposed to be as oblivious to his real identity as everyone else—Niall stopped arguing. But he did send a few significant looks toward Alistair, the silent command clear: Tell your dog to stop yapping.
Alistair slung his arm around Penn’s shoulders and leaned in to murmur against his ear, “Did you have to invite him to spend the night with us? I had hoped for a more … intimate evening.”
While they’d traveled in Bellacosta, Penn had always shared a room with Niall—who didn’t trust him alone with his master—and in Arnsveld, all three of them had shared a tent. It had been easy to avoid any ‘intimate’ moments.
Would he fuck like Val too? The irreverent thought crossed Penn’s mind and an almost hysterical laugh bubbled up inside him. He cleared his throat and turned so that his lips brushed over the golden stubble on Alistair’s cheek. “We’ll have plenty of time for that once we get rid of him for good.”
Interest flashed in the mage’s eyes and for a moment, the right one glimmered icy blue.
“What are you two whispering about? Don’t you know it’s rude to have a private conversation when someone else is in the room with you?"
Penn turned a bland smile on Niall. “If you really want to hear our dirty talk, I’m happy to oblige. I was just thinking about the last time we’d fucked—” A hand clapped over Penn’s mouth.
“Naughty,” the mage murmured.
And that was where his impersonation of Val slipped.
Because Val would have gladly talked about sliding his cock deep into Penn without batting an eye, just to see their audience squirm.
But Alistair couldn’t resist disciplining his dog, and although he seemed to have a carnal interest in Penn, there was also an air of inexperience clinging to him.
Is the century-year-old-mage a virgin? No wonder he was so weak to Penn’s charms. He’d spent too much time studying grimoires and crafting wicked plots, and not enough time exposing himself to flirtatious advances.
When Helena swept back into the room—followed by the kitchen staff carrying plates—she walked in on the middle of their standoff. She eyed Alistair’s hand over Penn’s mouth with a furrowed brow, and the mage slowly withdrew, resting his hands on the table.
She looked at Penn, a question in her eyes: does he hurt you?
Penn smiled reassuringly and hopped up to help spread the plates all around them. When he set a fully prepared plate in front of Niall—mutton and mashed potatoes, the whole thing smothered in thick brown gravy—the man’s mouth pinched in distaste.
“Not a fan of mutton?” Penn asked as he set his own plate in front of himself and sat down.
“I am used to serving myself,” Niall replied with a sniff. His eyes skated over the other plates, finally landing on Helena’s.
Even though Valerian’s shop had been stripped bare, Niall had managed to resupply somewhere along the road. What potions and poisons had he crafted while Penn was trapped in Alistair’s dream world?
At least the single-serving plates left no opportunity to poison their food, but Penn still kept a wary eye on Niall.
“So,” Helena began, beaming at Penn. “Tell me how you and Valerian met.”
“Through Griselda,” Penn explained, sipping from his goblet of water.
“We needed a mage for a quick task, and she happened to know one nearby.” He turned a sappy smile on Alistair and altered the story slightly.
As much as he liked riling up Niall, he didn’t need to explain the transactional nature of his relationship with Valerian. “It was love at first sight.”
Helena laughed, the sound low and musical. “Penn Kaurier, I’ve never heard you say something so absurd. You really must be something special, Mr. Sommers.”
“Please, call me Val.”
Penn flinched. Hearing Alistair claim the shortened version of Valerian’s name felt like him ripping away another chunk of the real Val. Tearing him into bite-sized pieces and swallowing them down with his dinner.
Whether Alistair noticed Penn’s unease or simply wanted to touch him, he slowly grasped Penn’s thigh under the table and squeezed. At the same time, the gentle touch began probing Penn’s shields again, still searching for that weak spot.