Chapter 26
“Allow me to…tell you all a s-story.”
Duke Augustine ejected from his seat, four glasses down in the Hadrian vintage Quinn had insisted he bring out.
It was good—lightly sweet, with notes of chocolate and cherry (or so the sommeliers lauded), and it left the tongue wanting without any unpleasant effect on the gut.
I was two cups down and couldn’t seem to lift my head from the prince’s shoulder.
Nicolas stiffened at first, alarmed by the public display and still wary of Taran Banewight, but we were camouflaged by the general air of debauchery, as safe here as anywhere.
He relaxed, his hand finding mine beneath the table.
After a moment’s hesitation, his thumb traced circles around my palm, a private tenderness hidden from the eyes of the raucous crowd.
“You feel like a furnace,” he murmured against my hair. “Pace yourself, my love.”
I rubbed my head against him, humming in response. It was probably the wine talking, but lately, Nicolas was surprisingly comfortable to be around. Right now he compared to a soft bed, a heavy blanket, and a good book.
“Oh, here we go,” Queen Adelaide sighed under her breath, perhaps the only person in the room with enough self-control to only have a single glass. Still, she let the show go on, watching as the Hadrian went stumbling out to the center of the room.
“So, there we were on the deck, every one of us sick as a dog on those first days of choppy seas, hoping to catch a breath of fresh air. I speak of myself, the Banewights, and a few of my men.” He gave an acknowledging nod to Taran, who was several glasses down himself, and yet exhibited no tells of drunkenness.
“Those of us who could hold ourselves together well enough to look at a deck of cards decided we might pass the time with a round of Noble Fools. It’s a simple game, not too difficult, where the winner must secure all four members of the same royal suit without the joker.
If a joker makes it into the hand, then their cards all go back into the pile. ”
“Awful game,” Sahra Doonle commented dryly. “Takes ages to get through.”
“Hence the perfect game for passing time.” The Duke of Demagret nodded, then went on.
“Well, typically, when one receives a joker, they’re understandably frustrated.
It adds time to the game everyone wishes to end.
This time, however, as Asli was on the cusp of victory…
” Asli’s eyes widened, perhaps from the memory of what was to come.
“…this hideous creature sits down at the table with us. The daughter of the captain, and I mean she was the ugliest woman I have ever laid eyes upon in all my years of life, and I have seen all manner of them.”
This earned a few laughs. I pursed my lips in amusement, even if I did feel a little sorry for the lady in his story, as the duke paused to belch. He held up his index finger, then turned straight toward Florence, who ignored the crass display while she made herself look intrigued.
“Good gods, woman,” Duke Augustine said to her, “you must have taken every blessing meant for the poor girl.”
Florence expertly giggled, covering her perfect smile in coquettish display. The court ladies tittered behind their hands, some genuinely scandalized while most were merely being performative. Winnie rolled her eyes from her position, clearly unimpressed with the man.
The duke winked, and carried on. “I nearly threw myself overboard for fear some loathsome monster had gotten on board with us. Fortunately, I maintained my tact! And the woman opened her snaggle-toothed, half-scurvied maw, and she said…” He paused, lowering his face to grow another set of chins and altering his voice to a slow, unflattering feminine register.
“‘The winner gets to take me to their bed tonight.’ Just like that! I tell you, I have never been so glad to see a joker in my hand! What should have been groans of frustration became ululation and ceremony, and we paused the game for nightfall, picked it up again in the morning, and that game lasted five days because every one of us was cheating!”
“Who lost?” Florence asked, her voice carried away by the fits of laughter from the surrounding nobles.
Duke Augustine blinked, tripping over his own feet and catching himself against the table in front of her. He leaned in, unperturbed by the near-fall. “Come again?”
“Who lost the game?” she repeated.
A terrible smirk pulled at his lips. “Taran Banewight. Why else do you think he looks so damned dour over there?”
Taran glared from his seat, ignoring the riot of laughter and applause.
Florence bounced with laughter, allowing it to rock throughout her body as she braced herself atop the duke’s arm for stability.
That poor man didn’t stand a chance, placing his hand on hers and succumbing to a spell the Banewights could never hope to interfere with.
Duke Augustine returned to his seat, reaching for the goblet.
The queen stood. “Perhaps you should seek repose for the evening. I would hate for you to embarrass yourself.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” said the duke, turning around to find that one of the courtiers had seized his cup. He blinked. “Well, I’ll be damned. What sorcery is this? My cup has vanished.”
“Go on to bed,” Taran ordered, rolling his eyes as he lifted the duke’s missing cup. Their maritime activity had given them time to know one another, but he did not appear especially fond of the Hadrian. “Or shall I recount the tale of what happened when you mistook a slug for an olive?”
The duke gagged in reflection, backing away. He swiftly departed after that, rushing into the corridor.
Florence waited several moments, then excused herself from the merriment. No one seemed to notice her leave, not in their current state; I alone watched her go, wishing her luck in her mission.
Quinn gave a knowing grin, hiding it behind his drink.
The wine and merriment began to take their toll on me. I pressed my face deeper into Nicolas’ shoulder, the room spinning pleasantly.
Nicolas chuckled, looser and longer than his typical laugh. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to withhold his smile. “Come, Alana, you’ve had enough excitement for an evening.” He addressed the room. “Forgive us, but I must see my betrothed safely returned to her chambers.”
“Lightweight!” Angharad called out, raising her glass. “The Hadrian vintage claims another!”
Nicolas smiled indulgently, steadying me with an arm around my waist. As we passed Quinn, the prince paused. “Lord Navarro, see that the corridors are clear. I’ll come by shortly to see to your health, Alana.”
Quinn stood up and bowed with languid elegance. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The formality made Nicolas huff, a soft sound of amusement at the distance protocol demanded between old friends when in the presence of certain company. Then, with a gentle touch on my back, he guided me forward. “I must return to play host.” He hesitated at the door, studying my flushed features.
I let my lashes flutter, playing up the intoxication just a touch.
The prince’s lips quirked at the corners before he turned away.
I counted one minute, then slipped out into the corridor, heading upstairs.
The wine-warmth in my cheeks was real, but my thoughts were clear enough.
I made it to my quarters before Quinn appeared, his patrol conveniently bringing him past my chambers.
He leaned against the entryway, rapping on the open door. “You seem to have recovered remarkably. I cannot say the same for the poor duke.”
If I listened, I could hear the man’s laughter echoing even from his guest chambers on the floor above, along with the occasional sound of what could only be described as delighted groaning. He must have been quartered right above me.
I took the tablet. “How did you do it?”
“Simple misdirection.” He closed the door, leaning back against it.
The earlier darkness in him had receded, replaced by bright satisfaction and rosy cheeks.
“We keep vintages down in the cellar for special occasions. I thought if we switched it up, he wouldn’t recognize an odd taste in his drink.
The poison was sitting in his cup before we poured the drinks, but I successfully bet he wouldn’t notice. ”
“Florence—”
“Your sorceress-in-waiting moves quickly, doesn’t she?” he said as I wrote the name. His Hadrian accent rounded his vowels. “Gods, did you see how she touched his arm? The man was hopelessly ensnared in her web.”
The space between us felt smaller. I smelled the wine on him, leather, spice, and citrus all beneath. His conspirator’s glee mixed with another sort of ardor.
“We make an effective team,” he said softly, pushing away from the door.
I nodded, setting the tablet aside. The movement drew his attention to my hands, his expression softening.
“You trusted me.” He moved closer, not quite approaching but no longer maintaining that careful distance he’d typically taken care to uphold. “I’m a fool for it, but until today, some small part of me believed you still hated me because of your silence.”
He struggled with something, the wine loosening more than just his accent. I gave him a permissive look to continue, curious as to where this was going.
“I wonder what you sound like,” he said quietly, catching himself before he could stumble too far.
My chest tightened from the admission. An embarrassed flush crept up from his neck, tinting his ears, and I could feel my own features reflecting that.
“Forgive me. I do not mean to, well, I only meant to say that I’m glad to be tolerated. Your Highness.”
I eyed the tablet, but felt his presence grow closer when I wasn’t watching. Indeed he’d drifted nearer, drawn by wine and victory and another unspoken matter. Maybe I should have stepped back, yet something in me was so entranced by his statement that I remained fixed in that exact spot.