While most of the inn’s residents had returned to rooms in Rohilavol earlier in the day—while he’d been sound asleep in the solar—a few were staying at Hewran Hall until the symposium came to a close. The Baron of Turkhane and hisfriend,Roza, would likely be out until the wee hours of the morning. To be honest, he wasn’t sure they’d actually been at the inn when the fire erupted the night before. The duo was rather soot-free in comparison to his other unexpected houseguests.
Then there was that older couple, the Gulans, whom he’d been looking forward to speaking with over breakfast, but then he’d gone and slept through the meal. Ehmet’s manservant informed him the retired merchant pair took the young Lord Kas Kahoth under their wing for the day, offering to entertain him so his sister could rest. According to Parosh, and what he’d gleaned from his network, Mr. and Mrs. Gulan planned to treat the young man to supper at their favorite establishment in town.
They’d be dining at an eclectic little place that specialized in Karovian Bison Clan delicacies. He wasn’t sure if there was any truth to that claim, or if the owners had made it up. But the food was delicious, the courses many, and the ambiance to die for. Kas would have the night of his life, especially if it was one of the nights when scantily clad bell-wearing dancers came outto prance about the place. Given the crowds drawn in for the symposium, it likely was.
The final guest hadn’t left for the day at all. Lady Hevva Tilevir, Countess of Kabuvirib. He groaned, softly, into his glass. Ehmet hadn’t realized how much he’d been banking on the return of his guests to liven up the night. The symposium was supposed to be riveting, and here he was, bored. He longed to be nineteen again, to take off his signet ring, head down into town, and grab himself a pint.
Perhaps a stroll in the solarium was in store, to relive those pleasant moments from his morning, or afternoon, or whatever time it had been.No.A walk around the grounds would have to do, instead. Already halfway down the balcony, Ehmet doubled back to his study, grabbing the decanter of liquor before heading out into the blooming night.
As he strolled the long porch that ran the rear of his home, a light breeze whispered against his broad back. Ehmet slid the bottom of his glass along the stone-hewn railing while he walked. It emitted a low scraping sound that paused only when he swung his arm up and around the pillars that sat every twenty-or-so feet. The king passed by the open doors to his library and inhaled.
The delicate scent of roses and something tantalizing danced through the air, wafting up the length of the balcony behind him.She’s here.He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to head back toward the doorway. There was absolutely nothing wrong with seeking out conversation on a boring night.Right?
“What the fates are you doing!?” Lady Hevva Tilevir, with her silver-white locks cascading like a moonlit waterfall, stood at the threshold of his library. Even though she snapped at him, she looked like a bloody goddess with the evening breeze rippling through her soft hair.
A vision of ethereal beauty.“Sorry, what? You’re such a sausage,” he said drolly, sipping his drink.
“What are you doing?” She pursed her lips and swung her blue eyes to meet his. “And what does that mean? Is that a comment about my weight?”
“No. Am I not allowed to walk around my own home?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Are you stupid?”
“I don’t believe so.” He pushed into the library, and she jumped to the side. It was one thing to say “no” to the king, another to bodily block his path. There were some things he could still get away with in her presence.
“You sounded like the blasted Hook Hand out there.”
Ehmet paused on his path across the library to the hall’s front windows and turned back to face the strange countess. He pierced her with a questioning look: nose scrunched, brows drawn together.
“You don’t know about Hook Hand?”
He waved a hand across his confused expression. “Does it look like I know what you’re talking about?”
“The man, with a hook for a hand? The murderer?”
He shook his head.Not ringing a bell.
“Oh, my gods. What kind of king are you?!”
A laugh burst free of him, drawing a pretty blush to the woman’s cheeks. “Tell me, Lady Hevva, is this Hook Hand arealperson?”
She perched a hand on her hip, and he suspected her saucy attitude was often a cover for nerves, but he wouldn’t say that. He didn’t want her to shout at him.
“That’s debatable.Buthe is said to sneak up on unsuspecting young couples in the throes of passion. Usually those who are ensconced within a parked carriage at the end of a desolate shady lane.” She began to bounce around a bit as she got into the tale. “He hides in the woods, a social reject, you see.”
“I see.” He sipped his drink.
“Once the unsuspecting couple is making enough noise of their own to mask his sounds...Hook Hand sneaks from the trees andBAM!He slices the horses’ necks.” She made two slashing motions through the air with her right hand, her pointer finger curved to represent the metal appendage. “The couple might hear this. They might not. If they don’t hear him, he scrapes the point of his hook slowwwwwwly”—she scratched her fingernail along the edge of a desk as she drifted away—“so slowly up the length of the carriage, until...”
She spun and leapt at the king, using her fake hook hand to scratchacross his chest. “They’re dead.”
He burst into laughter, so much so that he had to take a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Countess”—he grinned—“you are a treat.”
She blushed a deeper shade of rose beneath the flickering candlelight.
Ehmet couldn’t help the spark that lit within him at each and every encounter he had with the lady. She was unmistakably vibrant. It set her apart from so many others and the courtly conduct they displayed for their king. Lady Hevva was an altogether different creature than he’d gleaned at their first real meeting, but no less intriguing. Slightly ridiculous, a little sharp, and of course, exquisitely beautiful.
Terrible wife material,he reminded himself.
