Chapter 10 #3
“That explains the ink stains,” I said, turning his palm over in mine. There they were, the black splotches that nearly always mottled his porcelain skin.
“I’m sure the business you’re bringing to me can be shared in front of Miss Erramun,” he said, finally addressing the Viscount Harring who hovered merely a few feet from the edge of the desk.
My cheeks burned. I had nearly forgotten he was there.
“What is it this time?” Mordric continued.
“Lost another shipment of saffron down the river?”
“I’m afraid I must insist once again on a private audience, Your Majesty,” said the vampire, his nose in the air.
“And I must deny one, as I am growing increasingly weary of your presence,” Mordric replied, a hint of ice on his tongue. “Now, speak plainly or be gone.”
“Surely you don’t think it’s appropriate to speak of business in front of her.” The viscount gestured in my direction.
Mordric’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”
“Because she’s … she’s a servant for godssake.”
The King stiffened, an uncomfortable silence descending upon the room.
The quiet was broken only by the crackle of cinders smoldering in the fireplace.
Lord Harring’s eyes widened as if he’d realized too late what he’d said.
Even without tapping into my magic, Mordric’s displeasure was palpable.
“You question my judgment?” he asked finally, his tone laced with venom.
I watched with bated breath, not daring to move.
The viscount wiped away the pearls of sweat that glistened on his brow. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I misspoke.”
The King watched him like a lion just before it pounced. “Misspoke, did you?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
“Good, because if you weren’t walking back rather unconvincingly on your poor choice of words, it might lead me to believe that a pitiful viscount, one who can’t keep his own wife by his side let alone a useless shipment of saffron, thinks that he knows better than his king.”
The vampire bowed deeply, his nose practically touching the floor. “Begging your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Miss Erramun is here because I desire her to be,” Mordric said. My heart fluttered.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The silence drew out for so long that it was nearly unbearable. “Your shipment, that’s the matter of which you wished to speak, Cyril?” he repeated.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Frederick mentioned to me yesterday evening that thieves are rumored to be operating along your merchants’ usual route. I will send a patrol to look into it.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the viscount.
“Leave us,” he commanded in a low growl. “Now.”
The viscount thanked him profusely, retreating rapidly from the room without straightening from his bow.
I released a breath as the door closed, glancing sideways at Mordric.
I’d never seen him like that, but I supposed I hadn’t known him very long.
To my surprise, he leaned back in his chair, tossing his crown onto the desk with a clunk.
“My apologies that you had to witness such unpleasantness,” he said. “My father taught me long ago not to allow that kind of behavior from my subjects. My great-grandfather would have just fed him to his wyverns.” Catching my eye, he winked.
I laughed nervously, finding myself extraordinarily grateful that I had never invoked his ire. And that he didn’t keep his wyverns in the castle. “I suppose that’s only fair.”
He took my hand in his, running a thumb along my knuckles. “Unfortunately, I’m due back in the throne room in less than an hour, but how about I arrange for your friend to dine with you in your quarters tomorrow evening?” he asked.
My brow creased. “Maxence?”
He laughed. “No, your friend Niamh. It would be my pleasure.”
I beamed at him. “That would be perfect,” I said.
“Perfect indeed,” he replied before pulling me gently by my chin to meet his lips.
I had insisted to Mordric that it should just be a casual supper, but he still had the chef prepare close to a feast, and so Niamh and I shared roasted cod slathered in a butter sauce and sprinkled with fresh parsley.
She had practically screamed when she set eyes on the bottle of wine that had been left open to breathe on the table.
“Max is constantly talking about this,” she said excitedly. “He had a sip once at a tasting for one of the King’s state dinners or something and said it was heavenly.” She took a long, slow sip. “I agree.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So he’s Max now, is he?”
She flushed. “I know, I know. It’s the strangest thing, but he’s actually quite charming.”
I grinned. “As long as he treats you well.”
“He does,” she assured me. “I’m thinking of introducing him to Mama soon.”
My eyes widened. Adele could be formidable, and I’d pay considerable coin to see Maxence go toe-to-toe with her. “Really?” I asked, holding back a grin.
“He’s going to take us out to dinner I think,” she mused. “To a little bistro on the river.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“I know, right?” she gushed. She took another swig from her glass. “I find myself imagining the craziest things with him. Getting married, having children.”
“Perhaps you’ve been reading too many romance novels,” I said.
“Just because you’re not a romantic doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be,” she quipped, her words slurring together ever so slightly.
I frowned. “I’m not not a romantic.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? How are things going with the King then?”
I ducked my head, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. “He kissed me last night.”
She choked on her wine. “He what?”
I grinned. “He kissed me, Niamh. And not for the first time.”
“How did you,” she spluttered. “I mean what did you— Wait, you kissed him back, right?”
I shot her a wry look. “Of course I did.”
“And?”
My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know, it’s difficult for me to put into words, but I feel like this could be something really special.”
“It’s more than special, Finn, you’re going to be a queen!”
“Whoa,” I protested, holding up my hands. “That’s a massive leap.”
“No it’s not!” she insisted. “After the summer solstice, you’ll be a member of his council, that makes you one of them. There will be nothing stopping him from making you his bride.”
“What about bloodlines?” I countered. “What about the part about me not being a vampire?”
She frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? The baker below Mama is married to a vampiress. They seem pretty happy.”
“They have no children,” I reminded her.
“Oh, right,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “It’s not common, I suppose, but is it impossible?”
I shrugged. From what I knew, humans and vampires couldn’t conceive. Perhaps that was why so few of the nobility married across species. They had their dalliances, sure, but to them, inheritance was everything.
“Well, that’s a problem for the future,” she said. “Vampires live forever, anyway.”
“Not forever,” I corrected her.
“Forever, for a thousand years, what’s the difference? You’ll live nearly as long, won’t you? Plenty of time to try.”
I huffed, ignoring the unease that spread in my chest every time I was reminded of my newly discovered longevity.
“Besides,” she continued, “if you love each other, what does any of that matter?”
My cheeks burned brighter. “I don’t know that I love him. I care for him, but isn’t it too soon?”
“Who’s to say?” she insisted. “Sometimes you just know it no matter how, er, short your time has been together.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you saying that you love Maxence?”
It was her turn to flush, the air around her going pink.
Images of Maxence as she saw him spilled into my mind.
A Maxence who kept her company now that I was hardly around.
A Maxence who shared with her stories from his isolated upbringing in the south, the reason he wanted to become seneschal in the first place—to prove his father wrong about him, apparently.
A Maxence who held her hand when they walked into the city together under the guise of errands.
My jaw dropped. “You do?”
A giggle escaped her as she nodded. “I suppose I do.”
“Niamh!” I cried, squeezing her hand. “Shall we begin wedding preparations?”
“No,” she insisted with a chuckle, her eyes gleaming. “At least, not until he’s met Mama. Do you think she’ll like him?”
I grinned. “As seneschal’s apprentice, he’s surely a master of conversation. I think they’ll get along just fine.”
“Enough about romance. How’s training? Are you a master witch yet?”
I groaned. “Not quite. The prince is driving me crazy.”
“Oh?”
“He’s impatient, arrogant, and seems determined to make me hate him.”
“Is it working?” She giggled.
I paused, my eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know, it sounds kind of exciting.”
“Mordric is exciting,” I pointed out. “He saved me from a killer for godssake.”
She grinned. “I know.”
“Okay,” I said frustratedly, swiping the bottle of wine from the table. “That’s enough for you.”
“No!” she shrieked. “I’m perfectly sober.”
“Oh please!” I cried. “I should call for Maxence to come and collect you as you’ve clearly had enough.”
“Truce?” she said, flicking a grape at my head, I stopped it midair, sending it spinning around the room.
I grinned. “Truce.”