Chapter 16
sixteen
Isahn sees the truth.
Two days later, George and Isahn lounged on poufs in her sitting room. He leaned back, legs outstretched beneath the low table, arms splayed wide behind him with George tucked into his armpit.
She nibbled on a piece of cheese before deciding she wasn’t interested and offering it to him. Letting his tongue linger, he took the bite from her fingers.
“Gross,” Hildy faux-gagged from the sofa. Wynnie curled up at her side, head on Hildy’s lap and Hil’s fingers running through her hair.
Curious.
What started as an opportunity for Wynnie to update George and Hildy on the movements of viceroys over the past weeks shifted into a forward-planning discussion.
Isahn found himself overwhelmed by the lists of noblemen George ran through, the tiny details, and a brief aside about berries and herbs and flowers that confused him until he realized they were discussing poison.
“Is that how you’re planning to... do the thing?” he asked during a lull in conversation.
George nodded, her curls brushing his shirt. “Adda’s finalizing the recipe. It needs to be something I can transport and administer—and it needs to work. Perfecting it is difficult because of... what it does.”
“Understood. Why poison over a magical attack?”
“Because none of us are strong enough,” Hildy replied.
“Not even all together?”
“Maybe, but a group would be obvious, and he’d call in his guards.”
“And they’d act? They can’t all be on his side.”
George sighed, leaning forward to cut a cream-filled pastry in half. “They may not be, but fear is a potent motivator. If we weren’t already the sure victors, I don’t have confidence they’d come to our aid.”
He nodded as she leaned back and ran her tongue through the filling while he watched over her shoulder, eyes going wide. Extra cream squeezed out the opposite end, and George lifted her coated finger to pop it in Isahn’s mouth.
“Ew,” Hildy grumbled. “You two are repulsive.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Wynnie offered, twisting her head to look up at Hildy. “Feed me, Hil.”
Stiffening, Hildy shoved Wynnie away before they both burst into laughter.
“This is delicious, what is it?” Isahn asked, reaching around George to snag his own pastry and catching her eye.
“Maritozzi, sweet buns. Compliments of Adda,” she explained.
“If he makes the pill taste like this—”
George chuckled. “He would, he might. Adda can make food taste like happiness if he wants to, and I mean that literally. His magic is something else. But the poison, at least as far as we can tell, needs to be dissolved in a liquid and taken before food. Otherwise, we fear it won’t be strong enough. ”
“Can we go back to the happiness thing?” Isahn checked.
The ladies explained a bit more about their friend’s sensory magic before he worked them around to answering his favorite question when it came to George, “How did you two become friends?”
“Oh, it was years ago,” Georgie offered dismissively, snuggling in against his side.
“How’d you help him out?”
Wynnie laughed. “She does do that, doesn’t she?”
“You too?”
“Oh, yes.” She grinned at Isahn, tossing her sleek hair so hard a clump got stuck in Hildy’s mouth.
With a half-hearted grumble, George admitted, “It’s a silly story. Adda and I were already friends. I think we met when I was eight or so, and his father came on as head chef? Doesn’t matter.” George waved off her stray thoughts with a dainty jeweled hand.
“Anyway, we were both around seventeen when we really became friends. Adda wanted to get out of the back rooms, where he was stuck doing the tedious tasks, like prepping dough before dawn. His father wanted him to rise from the bottom. But his fears of nepotism led him to treat Adda worse than the rest of the staff. He’s a good man though.
..” George trailed off, looking across the room at her friends, waiting for their approval on her read of the palace chef.
“Definitely.” Hildy nodded.
“Anyway, we came up with a plan. Hildy helped,” George offered as she stood with a stretch and crossed to the bar.
“I did,” Hildy continued the tale while George poured two glasses of wine.
“I ordered an obnoxious menu for cena that night, under the false pretense that Georgie was dining with me. That kept Adda’s father occupied.
Then, when I requested Chef Carozza’s attention to answer some questions, George rushed into the kitchens demanding a meal to her apartment immediately. ”
“It wasn’t a whole meal, just dessert,” George corrected, returning to the sitting area and handing Isahn a glass. “A satura.”
He side-eyed her with his brows raised in question.
“It’s a cake, but a complicated one with lots of nuts, fruits, honey, and spices.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“I’ll ask Adda to make you one,” George purred.
She leaned in, pressing her lips to his forehead, and he stretched his neck out, asking for a kiss on the lips. She obliged.
“Bleh, stop that,” Hildy scolded. “Anyway, George placed her order and really played up the bratty spoiled princess schtick—”
“What’s that mean?” Isahn pinched his brows as he made space for George to slide in beside him again.
“Schtick? I dunno. I guess it’s a word from the faeries. Like a bit? Acting?” Hildy shrugged the shoulder Wynnie wasn’t leaning against.
Isahn nodded. “Elf or pixie word?”
“I don’t know. Why do you care?” Hildy pursed her lips, highlighting her already well-defined cheekbones.
“I don’t really, but I know my friend Kas is going to ask when I tell him about this place—”
George cleared her throat and gave him a look.
“Eventually,” Isahn clarified. “When I’m allowed.”
She relaxed, leaning back against his chest.
“I’m finishing this story. Georgie helped Adda earn his father’s respect when she waltzed into the kitchen the next day and declared Ceadda’s baking better than Chef’s.”
“Always helping, always collecting,” he rumbled into George’s ear, and she turned to face him, brushing her lips over his again.
“I know I supported this, but, ack, I don’t think I can any longer. You two are so gross,” Wynnie bemoaned.
“Thank you.” Isahn flashed her a cheeky grin.
“Georgie, as your oldest friend, I demand you knock it off.”
The princess’s husky laugh rippled through the room, warming his chest.
“Well then, what’s your story, Wynnie? How’d George help you?”
Wynnie sighed, her lips pulled into a tight smile.
She sat up beside Hildy, putting an inch of space between them.
“When we were around seven, Georgie and I became best friends. I was at the palace with my father when I was accosted by a lecherous old viceroy, De Palma. Long dead now, thank the goddess. He’d done it once before.
I got away and told Georgie. We were becoming friends then, but we didn’t know each other too well.
The next visit the same godsdamn thing happened, but George was there. ”
His heart clenched, and he regretted asking for the story. All abuse was inexcusable, and that type was particularly horrific. His palm, splayed across George’s back, tensed involuntarily, and she patted his thigh, leaving her fingers there reassuringly.
“George hid beneath the lectus, and when the man tried to touch me agai—” Wynnie’s voice faltered.
Georgie picked up the story, “I popped out, braver than I had any right to be, and kicked him right in his balls.” She flashed Wynnie a quick grin, and winked, earning a smile in return.
When Hildy placed a palm on Wynnie’s shoulder, she leaned into it with a sigh.
“We started learning to weaponize our sight magic straight away. And we’ve been friends ever since.”
George nodded and turned her cheek against his chest.
He stroked her hair, offering to everyone, “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Don’t be,” Wynnie said. “It’s my past, and it’s in the past. I’m safe now—or safe enough for here.”
“We’ll all be safe soon,” George said.
Clearing her throat with a cough that sounded almost childlike, Wynnie said, “Isahn, I owe you an apology.”
He glanced up and found her dark eyes already on him.
“I overstepped and didn’t realize how serious you two were. I’m sorry for what I did. You know...” She waved a slender hand vaguely in the air.
He did know. Those were insane visions she sent him when they first met. Isahn accepted her apology with a dip of his chin while George practically growled at his side.
Not long later, the women departed. Hildy was meeting a fellow former legionary in the gymnasium, and Wynnie needed to get to her home in Hepikoru. Many guests were arriving for the Great Assembly, and unless one was required to stay inside the palace, it was best to be gone by nightfall.
The next evening, Isahn lazed on the sofa in George’s sitting room with the princess wrapped tightly in his arms.
“I’m not in the mood for this year’s assembly.”
“Are you ever?” he murmured into her hair.
“No.” George tipped her head up.
Leaning over her shoulder, he captured her mouth in a scalding kiss, sucking gently on her lower lip as her nose rubbed against his chin.
George moaned, and his hands slid up the soft curves of her waist to cup her heavy breasts.
A distant pounding interrupted them, and she swore, pulling away.
“What is it?”
“I’m not expecting anyone. And that sounded like the main door. Wait here,” she ordered, standing from the sofa and sashaying out into her dining room.
Isahn popped up immediately to tuck himself against the wall near the door, ensuring he couldn’t be seen from beyond.
“Gianis, Marinos, Eanraig,” George greeted her visitors loudly.
“The king requests your presence.”
“Ah, wonderful. When?”
“Immediately,” a low voice grumbled.
“Now is not a great time.” She laughed tightly.
The faerie said something Isahn couldn’t make out.
“Immediately,” the same man intoned.
“Oh, fine,” George gave in with a sigh. “And where am I to meet with Father?”
“His triclinium,” a man with a gruff voice replied.
“I just need to grab my palla,” she explained, her voice growing closer as she finished the statement.