For good show, she drew her hand back and slapped it across Rangar’s face.
Bryn’s performance delighted the crowd, who erupted in jaunts at Rangar’s expense. For his part, Rangar kept his head lowered from the slap. He quietly slid the ring box into his pocket with his shackled hands, and only then lifted his head again.
Their eyes met.
Bryn gave a nod so slight only he could notice it.
She spun back toward the banquet table, her heart thundering. She’d never been much of an actress, but fortunately, everyone was too drunk to notice her poor ability.
Captain Carr’s eyes were on fire as they swept over Bryn, as though he liked this violent streak in her.
He raised a glass. “To my bride, the jewel of the Mirien!”
“The jewel of the Mirien!” the crowd repeated.
Bryn kept her eyes on Rangar, who silently bore the humiliation, though she knew his temper must be urging him to rush at Captain Carr with chained fists raised.
He has the ring box, she told herself.He’ll get my note.
The small surge of triumph she felt was ambushed when Captain Carr suddenly let his arm fall around her waist. Her attention shot to him in alarm.
He wore a lustful look, sloppy with wine.
Bryn sucked in a tight breath.
Captain Carr, the man who’d betrayed her family, attempted to assassinate her brother, and had once threatened unspeakable things against her, leaned in for a kiss.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
ANOTHER SPELL . . . the thwarted kiss . . . servants and royals . . . lavender . . . "could be a great king"
Considering his age and the scar across his neck, Captain Carr could be considered a handsome man, but the prospect of kissing him—a traitor, no less—made Bryn’s braised pork threaten to rise back up her throat.
Think swiftly, she thought as his dry mouth came toward hers.
His hand tightened around her waist to pull her closer, and she placed a hand on his shoulder as though welcoming the embrace. Meanwhile, behind his back, she traced the shape of a hex in the air.
Under her breath, she whispered, “En videl.”
It was risky to cast a spell in public in a kingdom that forbade magic. But the whole Saint Amice’s Day charade had painted her as merely a pawn, so she suspected that no one would ever expect her to perform magic. Fortunately, the din from the crowd drowned out her whispered words.
Captain Carr’s lips were a breath away. She cringed to think of what it would feel like to kiss him—his skin was as rough as corn husks, and she didn’t like that lustful look in his eye.
A second before he touched his mouth to hers, he suddenly stopped.
He pulled away, pressing a hand to his stomach.
Bryn scrambled out of his grasp, breathing hard. Her eyes were wide as she watched pain contort his facial features. He pressed a hand to his mouth, then suddenly pivoted toward the banquet table. Leaning over, he heaved a few times before vomiting all over the floor.
Gasps rang out among the crowd.
Bryn didn’t attempt to hide her disgust. Soldiers rushed in to help Captain Carr, whose face had gone clammy.
“He was poisoned,” one of the soldiers hypothesized, grabbing the wine glass and sniffing it.
“It isn’t poison, you idiot,” Captain Carr growled at him, swiping a cloth over his mouth. He held onto the table for balance, still looking weak. “We all drank the same wine.”
