He gives me a wink, strolling over to sit next to his brother. He leans over the table and dips his fingers into the Scent Shroud, swiping it beneath his own nose.“Murder and life-ruining aren’t theonlythings I find fun.”His gaze drops suggestively to my neck before lingering on my lips.“Maybe you’ll learn all about the other things that amuse me, little rabbit.”
I ignore that, returning my attention to the cards in my hand. I’m not sure what put Rorrik in such a good mood, but if he’s happy,there’s a relatively good chance someone else is cursing the day they were born.
The only other time I’ve seen Rorrik in this part of the ludus was the day my ankle was healed—when he sensed my blood and pain. From the wide-eyed look Deitra sends Neris—and the thin-lipped nod she gives back—they’re not used to seeing him here either.
Tiernon clears his throat, holding my gaze for a long moment, and his steady stare is all I need to pull myself together. I refuse to let his conniving brother get under my skin.
Rorrik sprawls elegantly in the seat next to Tiernon, and I’m suddenly struck by their similarities. When I danced with Rorrik at the ball, I’d had an aching sense of familiarity, and now that I know they’re brothers, it seems glaringly obvious.
Tiernon is shockingly handsome—with the kind of masculine features and rugged charm that make a woman look twice. If not for his reputation as Primus—and if his dimple appeared a little more frequently—he might even be … approachable.
Rorrik is so coldly beautiful, it’s almost as if he were touched by the gods. Tiernon’s presence invites you to look again, to take a step closer. Rorrik’s presence warns you to freeze in place, and then slowly creep toward the nearest exit—some part of you wishing he would notice you, even as your instincts warn you to flee.
And yet, despite their differences, I can see their resemblance in the broad planes of their jaws, the hard lines of their brows, the curve of their lower lips.
This explains my reluctant fascination with Rorrik, and my strange obsession with understanding why he is the way he is. My instincts were simply screaming at me that he was related to Tiernon.
“Arvelle?” My distraction has cost me, and Tiernon takes the round with a grin. I pluck another coin from my purse, and my fingers brush the gold button I found on my pillow this morning. A button he must have asked one of the sigilmarked to leave for me. I placed it in my coin purse to keep safe, but the reminder sweeps me back to hundreds of gold buttons dropped in my eager palm until I finally accepted Tiernon’s friendship.
The look of bemused awe he’d given me that day was worth it. And yet … the entire time, he was lying to me about who and what he is.
No. I need to focus.
I study my cards for a long moment. And then I watch each of the others from beneath my lashes.
A muscle twitches in Micah’s jaw, and I almost shake my head at him. A bad hand, and still, he stubbornly stays in, refusing to fold once again.
Deitra curses and throws her cards onto the table. One of them flips up, and I make a mental note as Lucius swaps one of his own cards out. Neris adds a coin, her gaze pinned to her cards.
But one of her fingers has begun a slow, rhythmic tap on her thigh.
Rorrik’s expression is as coolly neutral as ever—in fact, I’m relatively sure I’ve seen him wear the same expression while contemplating murder.
I turn my attention to Tiernon. He’s already watching me, and I take a long, slow breath. He knows my tells. Just as I know his.
“Ah, what would you like to bet, Your Imperial Highness?” Deitra asks Rorrik, the muscles around her eyes tightening.
“Hmm. I know you like to bet favors.” Rorrik pulls out a piece of parchment, along with a strange pen I’ve never seen before. He presses the pen to his forearm, then scrawls on the parchment, the ink crimson.
My heart thrums in my chest. As much as I resent Rorrik’s presence, I can’t deny I’m pleased that he’s moving the game along.
I clear my throat, feigning confusion. “What are the limits to that favor?”
His eyes meet mine. “I won’t murder anyone I don’t already want dead. I am, however, prepared to be mildly inconvenienced for the sake of whoever wins my favor.”
I catch a few considering looks across the table. I’m not the only one who would like a favor from the emperor’s son.
“The ink is charmed,” Tiernon tells me. “The favors can’t involve anything that could risk the loser’s safety in any way.”
“Well,” Micah says after a moment. “I’m in.”
Neris snorts. “Shocking.”
Micah’s jaw juts out, and he gestures to Rorrik for the pen. Rorrik’s mouth twitches, and he hands it over.
One by one, we write out our favors. The pen presses into my skin with a slight sting, and a sour taste clings to the back of my throat as I watch my blood form words on the parchment. But this is exactly what I wanted. And now it’s time to truly play.
As usual, we begin with gold coins. The favors are used to increasethe stakes. I win the round, and a favor from Deitra, who looks like she has tasted something bitter.
