Chapter 21 #3
I choked down the natural response. Matthias’ eyes were wandering as he drank, not in a leering way, but in subtle looks that went beyond the cool politeness typical of nobility.
He was interested, and that interest was a tool.
One I didn’t quite know how to use.
I was better at fighting than flirting, and considering how sorely unequipped I was in battle…
Stop. You can do this.
“I—”
“Tell me—”
It was impossible to hope Harthon hadn’t heard our jumble of awkward sounds. Blades clashed on the battlefield, and I momentarily wished I could be transported right between them.
Matthias recovered easily, clearly practiced in speaking with socially inept women. “My apologies,” he offered easily. I waved his apology away, because I needed a temporary break from using words.
“I did not mean to speak over you, nor did I mean to speak so flippantly about battle.” Wincing, he shook his head. “I’ve participated in my fair share of fights, and I know your Territory recently engaged in one against Third. I recognize they aren’t all for sport.”
Perhaps he wasn’t an ignorant weed, after all. Eying the breadth of his shoulders, I recalled the calluses on his palms. “Are you in Aric’s army?”
“No, but I have engaged in disputes before. I train so that if I’m ever needed, I’m not a useless fool whose only value is his jewels.”
An inkling of respect rose—something I never thought I would feel toward a nobleman. “That’s unusual among your kind,” I stated honestly.
He huffed a short laugh before leaning closer. “Just because many go about things a certain way does not mean that way is right.”
This close, his perfume filled my nose. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, nor was the curve of muscle that appeared beneath the open vee of his tunic. “No, it does not,” I agreed.
“Though you are one of a kind,” he said, blue eyes twinkling as they flicked between mine. “You don’t even have to think about the way others go about things. You get to set the standard yourself. How—” he exhaled wistfully— “freeing.”
His words gave me pause. I’d never viewed my situation like that before.
My tongue chased after something to say, and I found my gaze drifting to the stubble across his jaw. His face was rounder than the one I was so familiar with, but not in a displeasing way.
Matthias was handsome.
He cleared his throat. “I’m apparently tripping over my tongue today. I didn’t mean to strike a chord.”
“You didn’t,” I quickly reassured, though I couldn’t blame him for thinking that. I’d left his statement dangling in the air, unanswered. “I, um—just a lot on my mind.”
Really eloquent there, Etarla.
“I have been there myself, many a time.” He took a long pull from his goblet and set it down. “Fortunately, this means I’ve learned a few trustworthy methods for shutting the mind off.”
When he winked, I understood where this conversation might be going. Then my attention shifted to his mouth, which was tilted up in a pleasant grin, and I became more certain.
In a shocking display of tact, I asked, “Would you like to share them?”
He swiped his thumb across the side of his mouth. “The thing is, there is some value to these methods. It’s taken me years to acquire them, so as I’m sure you can understand, I can’t give them all away freely.”
A more practiced woman would know how to match his coy response with something equally demure. Knowing my limitations, I simply lifted a brow.
Better than saying something stupid.
It may have been better than saying anything at all, because Matthias’ lips widened, revealing a flash of straight, white teeth. “I’ll show you one,” he acquiesced, winking. “A gift, in celebration of this alliance.”
In my periphery, the man speaking with Harthon abruptly departed.
It took every ounce of willpower not to glance his way and see if he watched.
But nothing ever occurred in Harthon’s surroundings that he wasn’t aware of.
And even if he wasn’t paying us mind, I would still carry through with this, because Matthias’ attention…
It wasn’t the worst thing.
He gracefully offered his palm, and I took it.
“A dance without music?” I asked as I stood. He took the goblet from my hand, placing it on a small table.
It was Aric who answered my question. “There are many types of dances in life.” His gaze flashed to Harthon for a moment, his lips twitching as he murmured, “Not all require music.”
Missing Aric’s meaning, Matthias added, “None of them do, in fact. You can either play the melody in your mind, or make it with your feet.”
With a delicate grip on my hand, he led me to a small, empty space beside the chairs, opposite where Harthon stood.
His free arm skirted behind my back, fingers splaying at my waist, but not so low as to be familiar.
In fact, everything about his hold was polite, from the space between our chests to the way his warm gaze remained on my face.
My shoulders slowly relaxed. “I must warn you, I am not very good at dancing, and that is with audible music.”
His soft grin was disarming. “Allow me to lead.” He dipped his chin to bring his eyes more level with mine. “This is to clear your mind, remember?”
I nodded, and he began to move. With sure movements and light pressure, he guided me effortlessly, the combination of steps easy. Elementary, really.
“When you said you were not very good, you were lying,” he remarked.
“You are taking it incredibly easy on me.”
Some of the distance between us vanished as he leaned to my ear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“You may.”
The rest of his body followed his head, closing the space between our chests and feet. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, the nearness. It wasn’t the same as I’d felt in Harthon’s arms—skies, not even remotely close—but I was curious.
“I’m not taking it easy on you,” he whispered.
“And my eyes are not violet,” I scoffed.
“Really. This is as well as I can dance. Anything more complex, and I’d trip over my own feet.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or cosseting me.
He drew his head away, but the rest of him remained close, his woodsy scent enveloping me. We’d slowly rotated, and now I faced the chairs, Harthon’s bulk a shadow at the edge of my vision.
Don’t look.
“That surprises me,” I told him. “Were you not trained to dance since you were a young boy?”
“I was not always a noble,” he revealed. One of his fingers trailed across the back of my hand. “I worked my way into the position I’m in now.”
Again, he surprised me.
“How did you do it?”
The hand on my waist shifted, like it was settling in. I wondered if I should lean into it.
“That is a rather long story.” The stubble across his jaw bumped my ear as he privately said, “I’ve found it’s best told over drinks, beside a fireplace, without the company of my peers. Many of them do not appreciate a self-made man.”
A whisper of arrogance. Harthon could be arrogant, too. But on him, it translated as an earned confidence, while Matthias’ wavered on self-importance.
The familiar tone of Harthon’s voice rolled through the space. His words were indecipherable, but I felt him moving closer, striking up a conversation with Aric.
Well, then, my decision was made. “If that is an invitation, then ye—”
“Do not approach unless I summon you.”
An angry, grating voice abruptly cut me off. Before I could spot its source, a wash of liquid sloshed over my side, followed by the piercing sound of shattering ceramic. Matthias froze, wine dripping across his neck and down the sleeve of his fine tunic.
Then he burst into action, yanking me behind him. I spotted the wide, scared eyes of a young woman standing above the broken pitcher, a pool of wine staining her worn shoes.
An older cabinet member stood behind her, sneering. “See what you’ve gone and done, girl?”
Her mouth hung open in abject horror as she took in the liquid that dripped from us. Every eye on the terrace was riveted to us.
I made to move around Matthias. “Here, let me help—”
“Not only have you made a terrible mistake, but you are continuing to do so as you stand there.” I froze, because now it was Matthias addressing her, and he sounded menacing. “Get on your knees and bow.”
It was my turn to gape as I struggled to reconcile this with the easy-going man he’d been moments ago. His rigid posture and the red creeping up his neck told me this was no joke.
The woman didn’t move quickly enough, because Matthias suddenly lunged, shoving her to the floor. She landed in a slump amidst the wine and ceramic, terror painting her face as she cowed beneath him.
This isn’t happening.
I reached to pull Matthias back, but before I could make contact, he was yanked away from me.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he seethed at Harthon, who fisted the front of his tunic, veins straining in his hand. Harthon wasn’t much taller than Matthias, but his presence dwarfed him.
“I think the better question,” Harthon began, “is who the fuck do you think you are?” His question was eerily calm, the soft volume a terrifying contrast to the aggression in his stance.
Matthias met the challenge, proving how much foolishness founded his arrogance. He gripped Harthon’s fist, meaning to shove it away.
To his humiliation, it didn’t budge.
“I’ll tell you who you are,” Harthon supplied, almost casually. “You are a cowardly, selfish waste of space, parading as a man of honor.” No doubt every ear on the terrace was riveted to every scathing, enunciated insult.
I sucked in a breath, wondering if Aric or Torr would intervene, but a quick glance showed the Princeps remained a captive, seated audience.
Giving up on physically removing himself from Harthon, Matthias resorted to insults. “I find it curious why such a formidable, renowned Princeps is getting his pants in a twist over a stupid servant who does not know how to walk.”