The duke gagged in reflection, backing away. He swiftly departed after that, rushing into the corridor.
Florence waited several moments, then excused herself from the merriment. No one seemed to notice her leave, not in their current state; I alone watched her go, wishing her luck in her mission.
Quinn gave a knowing grin, hiding it behind his drink.
The wine and merriment began to take their toll on me. I pressed my face deeper into Nicolas’ shoulder, the room spinning pleasantly.
Nicolas chuckled, looser and longer than his typical laugh. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to withhold his smile. “Come, Alana, you’ve had enough excitement for an evening.” He addressed the room. “Forgive us, but I must see my betrothed safely returned to her chambers.”
“Lightweight!” Angharad called out, raising her glass. “The Hadrian vintage claims another!”
Nicolas smiled indulgently, steadying me with an arm around my waist. As we passed Quinn, the prince paused. “Lord Navarro, see that the corridors are clear. I’ll come by shortly to see to your health, Alana.”
Quinn stood up and bowed with languid elegance. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The formality made Nicolas huff, a soft sound of amusement at the distance protocol demanded between old friends when in the presence of certain company. Then, with a gentle touch on my back, he guided me forward. “I must return to play host.” He hesitated at the door, studying my flushed features.
I let my lashes flutter, playing up the intoxication just a touch. The prince’s lips quirked at the corners before he turned away. I counted one minute, then slipped out into the corridor, heading upstairs. The wine-warmth in my cheeks was real, but my thoughts were clear enough. I made it to my quarters before Quinn appeared, his patrol conveniently bringing him past my chambers.
He leaned against the entryway, rapping on the open door. “You seem to have recovered remarkably. I cannot say the same for the poor duke.”
If I listened, I could hear the man’s laughter echoing even from his guest chambers on the floor above, along with the occasional sound of what could only be described as delighted groaning. He must have been quartered right above me.
I took the tablet.“How did you do it?”
“Simple misdirection.” He closed the door, leaning back against it. The earlier darkness in him had receded, replaced by bright satisfaction and rosy cheeks. “We keep vintages down in the cellar for special occasions. I thought if we switched it up, he wouldn’t recognize an odd taste in his drink. The poison was sitting in his cup before we poured the drinks, but I successfully bet he wouldn’t notice.”
“Florence—”
“Your sorceress-in-waiting moves quickly, doesn’t she?” he said as I wrote the name. His Hadrian accent rounded his vowels. “Gods, did you see how she touched his arm? The man was hopelessly ensnared in her web.”
The space between us felt smaller. I smelled the wine on him, leather, spice, and citrus all beneath. His conspirator’s glee mixed with another sort of ardor.
“We make an effective team,” he said softly, pushing away from the door.
I nodded, setting the tablet aside. The movement drew his attention to my hands, his expression softening.
“You trusted me.” He moved closer, not quite approaching but no longer maintaining that careful distance he’d typically taken care to uphold. “I’m a fool for it, but until today, some small part of me believed you still hated me because of your silence.”
He struggled with something, the wine loosening more than just his accent. I gave him a permissive look to continue, curious as to where this was going.
“I wonder what you sound like,” he said quietly, catching himself before he could stumble too far. My chest tightened from the admission. An embarrassed flush crept up from his neck, tinting his ears, and I could feel my own features reflecting that. “Forgive me. I do not mean to, well, I only meant to say that I’m glad to be tolerated. Your Highness.”
I eyed the tablet, but felt his presence grow closer when I wasn’t watching. Indeed he’d drifted nearer, drawn by wine and victory and another unspoken matter. Maybe I should have stepped back, yet something in me was so entranced by his statement that I remained fixed in that exact spot.
“You don’t have to speak to me,” he said. “I’ve gotten rather good at reading you anyway. Like right now, you’re trying to decide if you should send me away.”
No. I hadn’t been, actually. Quinn hadn’t set foot in my chambers since the night of the assassination attempt. I was trying to decide why my heart was fluttering now that he was here. Too much wine after all, I supposed.
He must have read that in my expression, because he took another step. Then another.
“Alana.”
The way he said my name…soft, reverent, slurred from drink....
He was close enough now that I saw his chest rise and fall, heard his breathing stutter. His hand rose, hovering near my face without quite touching. Gods help me, I wanted to lean into it. I was utterly immobile, frozen still by morbid curiosity and a helpless fascination with the man. “Sometimes I…”
He trailed off, eyes dropping to my lips. The stare lingered, heavy with unspoken want as he swayed slightly closer. The magnitude of his desire caught up to me like a punch to the gut, and now I was in the compromising state of being too startled to react.
