6. Winter #3
“Good. That’s good,” Chace said, sounding far from pleased.
Winter ran his gaze over the room, searching for the missing face. The one he’d planned on seeing today but for some reason hadn’t yet thought to ask after. “Where’s the old one?”
Aoes slowly raised his gaze to Winter and shook his head with a grief-stricken expression.
He received the wordless communication like a spear through his throat, which widened his eyes and stole his words. The old codger, Mr. Aldine, was dead. When had this happened? And how would he break the news to Raven?
Chace spun and strode toward the door.
“Hey.” Aoes’s back straightened in his seated position, and his full attention jerked to Chace. “Where are you going?”
Chace reached for the pub door. “I’m going to talk to her.”
Aoes darted like a bolt of lightning from his chair and grabbed hold of Chace, yanking him away from the exit. “You can’t do that. Have you forgotten everything that happened?”
Winter took a step in their direction. “What happened?”
With you, your capture, the elder’s passing.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Chace snapped, and the healthy twin, Kira, handed Winter the drawing of Chace in a prison.
The prince was familiar with the image. Had shared a similar one with Raven. That picture had served as the catalyst that drove them into the tunnels in search of the male now standing before him. The tunnels where Winter had become ill or afflicted, and Raven had managed to somehow save him.
But Chace was no longer imprisoned, and they had not been the ones to free him.
“How did you get away?” Winter asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Chace said again, this time with a tone that told Winter the conversation wouldn’t happen anytime soon, if ever.
Aoes dragged Chace to the back of the pub where they spoke in whispers. Winter wanted to charge over to their location and demand answers, but he doubted such behavior would win him any favorable responses. Definitely not where Raven’s coworker was concerned.
And Aoes… Aoes was always good at dodging truths when he wanted to.
Camilla’s delicate hand pressed to his cheek, turning his gaze to meet hers. “You’re jealous. You fancy her, don’t you?” Her gaze searched his features, seeking his unspoken reply. “Is that why you want me to whip up a new wardrobe for her? So that she may dress appropriately for a royal consort?”
“I fancy her enough,” he said of Raven, his response and demeanor softening. “And I do not wish for her to pretend to be anything other than herself.”
“Glad to hear it.” She shifted a step closer and lowered her voice. “Because you cannot mold a person into any vision you seek. You must accept them whole for what they are.”
“Like you did with my brother?”
Camilla noticeably flinched but held her head high.
“I never pretended that August was anything other than what he was. Is. He once consumed me, owned my very thoughts. Even now, I admire his curiosity, playfulness, and zest for life. He is and always shall be the father of my precious children and, as such, a part of me shall always love him.”
And look the other way when it comes to all the others; women, men, whoever and whatever August chose to bestow the focus of his adoration.
Thoughts Winter would never share with Camilla.
Instead, he merely smiled grimly. “You’re a good woman. My brother was lucky to have you.”
And a fool to leave you. Love anyone other than you.
“You know…” she continued. “In as many ways that you and August are different, you are also alike.”
Winter stared at her, unsure how to respond. Did he even want to know in which ways Camilla thought he was like his brother? Sure, he had chased his fair share of females…and males… throughout the years, but nothing to the extent his brother had.
And as far as Winter knew, he didn’t have a single illegitimate child. His actions had been distractions, and he’d taken care to make sure no consequences came of them.
“So…” Camilla drew out the word. “You’d like me to design something Raven can wear to the birthday celebration?”
Her cheeks flushed, and her gaze fluttered downward, clearly attempting to redirect the conversation.
“Can we help?” Kira chirped, Myla perking up at her side. “We can design pretty dresses.”
Their mother smiled. “I would very much enjoy that.”
Winter leaned into the table and gave the twins a conspirator’s grin. “I’m going to need you two”―he glanced back at Camilla―“and your mother to come to the palace for this particular task.”
Camilla gasped. “The queen will never stand for it.”
Winter warmed his smile and added a gallon of compassion, with several dashes of understanding. “That was a long time ago, Cam. I’ll handle her, and everything will be fine.”
Kira tugged at his jacket, and he dropped his gaze to meet hers. “Can you get us new parchment? We’ll need them to draw our dress designs, and Ace took our last couple of blank pages.”
Winter’s brow wrinkled. Why would he—
At the back of the pub, a boom sounded, the back door having slammed shut.
Aoes stood alone, and Chace was gone.