“Because any other High Lord would have killed me by now.”
His gaze paled to a whisper of moonlight.
After tonight I would know the moon for the harbinger of monsters it was, and shy from it when full.
“Sweet halfling, I am not any other High Lord. I am a Prince. I would not spite myself.”
The gaping maw of this evening continued to widen, salivating, patiently waiting for me to sauce myself and leap right in.
I hoped I was dry and under seasoned.
Renaud turned away from me, and I remembered we weren’t alone. I forgot so much around him, drawn into his spiral web. This felt like a losing battle and I grasped for any purchase on a slippery, tilting deck stacked against me.
“But,” he said, “I will concede your point.”
The admission was unexpected enough that it shut me up. Besides, trying to think like a High Lord—excuse me, Prince—was exhausting.
Staff brought in platters upon platters of hot food. Roasted fowl, racks of lamb, fish on beds of greens.Vegetablesnestled on pillows of steaming spiced grains, with scattered trays of fruit and cheese for those who preferred lighter fare.
I refused it all and reached for the bottle of wine, stomach curdling.
Our House had been budgeting for years to support our household plus cover increasing punitive tax burdens. For every Montague warrior or courtier we'd killed, we'd been leviedbloodgilt.
The feud had beggared us.
And all for what? A dispute with sketchy origins. Of course, now that long ago grievance was a pretext. Now we fought for vengeance in an infinity loop.
“LordÉtienne, pardon Aerinne and I for ignoring you,” the Prince murmured, sipping his wine. “You've raised an entrancing daughter.”
I nearly dropped my wineglass. The words were nearly flawless Kikuyu. I had an Everennesse sprinkled with French and seasoned by American English accent. He sounded almost exactly like me, except for his intonation that was purely old realm.
“She is the pride of my old age,”Babaacknowledged.
Agitated, I drank. After the third glass, Juliette intercepted the servant with a curt shake of her head. I saw it only because I twisted in my seat to wave someone down for more.
Prince Renaud had somehow misplaced the bottle out of my reach.
I sat in my chair, fuming. But it was probably a good thing they cut me off, because a wave of dizziness blurred my vision, muscles stiffening as my jaw ground.I’d avoided this for weeks, skirted disaster earlier with Renaud.
No, not here. Please, not here.
My father said nothing. He wouldn't bring any attention to my weakness.
I counted several long minutes in my head. Around me was laughter and conversation, the clink of dinnerware. No one noticed my rigid posture.
Once the attack eased, I lifted my strained gaze to my father's pinched expression. When a servant offered food this time I accepted, nausea roiling in my gut, and tried to choke something down.
Stupid mistake. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth against the urge to let it all come back up. I breathed shallowly for a few minutes until the nausea passed. My father stopped eating.
“LadyAerinne?”Renaudsaid, voice pitched for my ears only. “Are you unwell?”
Damn him. Ofcourse he'd noticed.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I closed my eyes, then opened them.
Nope. Still in purgatory.
