Astrid doesn’t get the chance to say whatever is on her mind, though. Because a golden-haired young man with buggish eyes appears in the space between them, placing his hands on the back of the chair in a proprietorial sort of way. Both Astrid and Skylar blink up at him.
He smiles, showing eerily white teeth. His gaze lingers a little too long on Astrid, sweeping up the length of her body, and Skylar finds herself picking up her fork, gripping it a little too tightly.
Astrid catches her eye, and Skylar swears she can see the words she doesn’t say out loud.Maybe let’s avoid stabbing people with forks on our final night, hey?
Skylar only narrows her eyes at the bug man, making no promises.
“This really is a treat,” the man says, pulling out the chair and sitting down. Skylar can only stare at him. She’d assumed the seat was reserved for one of the royal party. He looks between Astrid and Skylar. He makes to lift his hand, about to hold it for Skylar to shake, then seems to think better of it, clearing his throat as he drops it in his lap. Well, being an Exhauster is good for something, then, if it stops creeps like this wanting to touch her. She supposes he doesn’t know that not touching her wouldn’t save him.
“I’m Sebastien Deveraux,” the man continues, choosing to address Astrid. “LordSebastien Deveraux.”
“That’s nice for you,” Skylar says loudly, before Astrid can reply,“but we were saving that seat.” She points with her fork for emphasis, hears a small choking sound from Astrid that might be an attempt to conceal a laugh.
Bug man’s eyebrows pull together in a way that’s almost comical. “Saving it for me, you mean,” he says. “I paid good money to be here.” He smiles again, full of composure. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sit next to the famed beauty that is the Nachstern witch,” he says to Astrid, “or”—he turns to Skylar—“the Chosen Heir.”
It takes a moment—but Skylar sees Astrid realize at the exact same moment she does.
Paid good money.
He hasboughtthe seat between them. Which means the royals have beensellingthem. What will they do with the money? Buy more wine?
Fuck, people actuallypayfor this shit. A story to tell the grandkids—no matter that this is one of their last nights in this world. It’s like the people out on the streets, betting on which heir will win, participating in the ritual of the duel like they support it.
Skylar’s stomach turns. She’d been doing that, too, in a way, hadn’t she? She’d been getting ready to profit from—steal from—people who flocked to the city to watch. The difference is, she’d needed the money. Selling her and Astrid off like this… It’s senseless. Like they are little more than possessions. She supposes to the king that’s what they are.
Bug man has once again turned his attention on Astrid. “Forgive me, Princess. You must think us Vatrans very rude, not taking the time to greet you properly.”
Skylar grips her fork all the tighter, metal biting her skin. Astrid only cocks her head, studying him. “I think I have bigger things to worry about than how rude you are.”
“Regardless,” he says, determined, apparently, to shake off the lack of enthusiasm from either of them. He reaches out to take Astrid’s hand, clearly intending to press his lips to it.
Skylar lets her fork clatter to the table. He glances at her, and she places her own hand on his arm. Squeezes tight. “If you touch her,” she hisses, “I will kill you.”
Her blood is pounding in her ears. There is a crackling energy surging within her. She wants to do it. Take this man’s life here, in front of everyone. That would prove a point, wouldn’t it? It would prove that she and Astrid are not for fucking sale.
Astrid leans forward to look at her around the man. Skylar swears that isamusementglinting in her eyes. It’s that which makes Skylar stop, which causes her heart rate to slow just a little.
Astrid’s eyebrows crook up.Defending my honor, Little Dragon?
But before Skylar has the chance to think about whether she really will go through with it, a shadow appears, looming over all three of them. Skylar knows who it is by the way Astrid straightens.
She looks up to see Zryan standing there. His expression is pleasant enough—but Skylar can see the steel behind his gray eyes.
“Sebastien,” he says, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. He leaves it there a beat longer than is necessary. “I believe you’re in my seat.”
Zryan looks pointedly at the hand Skylar still has on bug man’s arm, and she lets go reluctantly. She takes a cooling breath, noticing the way every single person is looking at the four of them. Down the end of the table, Gwen is halfway out of her chair, looking unsure whether to intervene. She’s watching Zryan, waiting apparently for what he will do.
Sebastien glances between Skylar and Zryan, then swallows. “But I paid to be here.” He is pathetic. A pathetic, scrawny, bug-eyed man. How is it that people like him are still alive, when Cam—and Jessa—are dead?
Astrid’s gaze flickers from Zryan to Skylar, like she can feel the emotion coming off her. Skylar gives her a small head shake—trying to reassure her that she can hold it together. Or she thinks she can, anyway.
Zryan is still standing there, looking to the outside eye like nothing more than a gracious prince, greeting one of his subjects. But Skylar can see the tightness of his jaw, as he rocks back on his heels. “Apologies for that,” he says evenly. “But there’s been some misunderstanding. You see, neither the Arturean princess nor my sister are for sale. This evening—or ever.” He claps Sebastien on his shoulder again,and Sebastien winces a little. “If you’d like a reimbursement, put some time in with Mjolnir, won’t you? He manages my diary.”
Skylar snorts, some of the tension leaving her, and Astrid lifts her goblet, smiling into it.
Sebastien gets to his feet, swallowing again. Zryan nods encouragingly, like he is training a dog. Sebastien sketches a hasty bow—to Zryan, not bothering with Astrid or Skylar. He’s about to bolt, when Zryan grabs his arm. Again, to anyone watching, Skylar is sure this action must look composed. But up close, she can see the way Zryan’s fingers tighten, can hear Sebastien’s sharp intake of breath. She’d happily bet there will be a bruise there tomorrow.
“Be sure to pass the message on, won’t you?” Zryan says, still in that same amicable tone. “Just in case anyone else gets any ideas.”
