CHAPTER 22 #2
“Yes, it is a beautiful Rite,” I answered tersely.
To my surprise, he handed me a glass while holding another for himself. I took it only because I could break the cup and defend myself with it if I needed to, but I wouldn’t drink it.
“I wasn’t talking about the Rite,” he replied, smirking. I followed his gaze, landing on Reagan. “He’s always impressed the women with his looks and swagger.”
My lips curled. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” I remarked.
“I was,” he said evenly.
The admission caught me by surprise. I let myself glance at him, finding his unbothered face, as if it were nothing more than a fact.
“I was jealous of him, but not because of his looks or personality. I envied all the things Reagan had the chance to study and practice but never cared for.” He took a sip of his drink.
“Do you know how many tutors a future Mage Lord has? Even if you’re born into a well-positioned family, you don’t get that kind of practice. ”
Despite looking completely unperturbed, I thought I heard a hint of sadness.
“Your families were close, so couldn’t you learn with him?” I asked.
He snickered. “It doesn’t work that way.
Forming a Mage Lord is a special process.
They’re given more opportunities to wield power, to make their abilities grand.
It’s not a chance you get if you’re not training for the position.
But my cousin didn’t seem to realise that at all.
He had other interests.” He turned his head, eyeing me from head to toe with a scornful show of teeth.
My posture locked in place. “Pretty ladies. Oh, for that, he was really dedicated, and he wanted them all.”
My eyes darted towards Reagan, who was running a hand through his hair, still speaking with three others.
Varian resented him, probably after growing up in his shadow, likely coveting every piece of what he had. I tried not to let it bother me how clearly he was painting Reagan as a philanderer.
He shifted next to me, drawing my attention back to him. “You fancy him, don’t you?” he said. “It’s quite obvious even to someone who can’t sense your libido.”
My grip tightened on the glass. “That sounds like a poor use of your power if this is what you focus on,” I replied. No reason to deny my attraction, which he could have easily noticed tonight.
“I don’t need to try that hard. Anyone can see how you look at him. Like you’re mesmerised . . . begging for his attention. Nearly on your knees already.”
I gripped the glass, suppressing the need to throw the drink in his face, trying to build a wall of steel around my spine.
He noticed it, and the obnoxious smirk turned into a grin.
At that moment, Reagan’s eyes found mine in the middle of the crowd. His smile was brief, vanishing the moment he glanced at the person beside me.
“There’s no need to blush, Jane,” Varian said with false sympathy, touching my arm. I jerked away. “You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last to bruise your knees on my cousin’s rugs. You probably weren’t the first tonight.”
I let out a forced chuckle. “Is he really that important to you that you feel the need to talk about him all the time?” I asked with no small amount of satisfaction at the subtle twitch at his temple, telling me I’d struck a nerve.
He answered with even more venom, “Do you want to know how your lord celebrated last year’s Rite?”
“I found you.” Reagan’s voice cut through the crowd as he stalked toward us, stopping by my side. “Can I take you somewhere else?”
Varian snickered. “Maybe that can wait. I was just about to tell Jane how last year’s Rite went,” he said.
“Last year, my cousin didn’t look so cheery, but he was surrounded by companions.
” His brows knitted in an exaggerated way as he turned to Reagan.
“Or do you call them dates? Not sure if fucking someone for a night qualifies as a date. What was it, cousin?”
Reagan’s chin lifted, the only reaction he gave. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
“But I was just telling Jane that you seemed far less fired up last year, so you had plenty to drink. Better ale than this piss, in fact.” Varian threw his glass to the ground with enough force to shatter it, drawing the attention of a few guests nearby.
“Your emissary was there too. I think he was looking for you at some point.”
“Varian, no one is interested in your stories,” Reagan said, his expression stony as he met his cousin’s gaze.
“I think Jane is. She’s very interested in you, after all,” Varian said, running his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, his eyes blazing.
I felt Reagan come closer, towering next to me, his shadow wrapping around me like a personal ward.
“We were just talking about it, and one thing reminded me of that story, because your emissary found you in the woods, fucking two of your dates,” Varian drawled, his gaze locking onto mine. “And they were both on their knees.”
I went taut. Guests had turned toward us, either hearing or sensing the tension. Reagan’s thrum of power brushed against my skin, carrying a sharp tang of cedar.
“So you, Jane—still in your dress after all this time—don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
A different kind of heat flushed my cheeks. I sucked in a breath, too long to be casual.
Reagan kept his voice low. “You need to leave now, Varian, before I throw you out.”
“We can go too,” I said, unable to stop myself from swallowing.
Varian’s eyes narrowed, as if offended, but he still gave Reagan a grin, making a show of raising his voice. “I was trying to make her feel less guilty for wanting you to fuck her tonight.”
The words echoed. Too many people were staring. My face flushed. My neck, my arms, all of it. I thought of the Scions who had beaten me in Erisea. This was just another form of humiliation.
Reagan whirled on him, stepping between Varian and me.
His voice dropped to a lethal snarl. “Keep your distance from her. I don’t want to see you speaking with my emissary unless she speaks with you first. If I see you approaching her or, Zara forbid, even breathing the same air as her, you won’t set foot in Mountheim again. ”
Varian stared back, but he didn’t deign to respond. His demeanour was tense, his jaw set. He flicked a glance in my direction, and I might have caught a flicker of hesitation.
Then he adjusted his jacket, his voice low. “I see you’re quite taken by your . . . emissary.”
A chill radiated off Reagan, but he said nothing else. He merely guided me out, steering us away from his abhorrent cousin.
Varian stepped into our path, placing a hand on Reagan’s shoulder. I heard him as he whispered, “She looks lovely indeed, cousin. I might ask you for a turn.”
That was the last of Reagan’s restraint.