It was a fuckingorgy.
Quentin gripped Darius’s arm, yanking the man around to face them. “I thought you said this was asoiree?”
Darius’s smirk deepened. “It is. Do you celebrate differently in Onita?” He leaned close, smirk becoming more of a sneer. “If it’s too much for you, just say the word. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to bind chains to your ankles and toss you into the sea.”
Hot anger bubbled beneath Quentin’s skin. They hadn’t taken his weapons from him; his favorite baldric was still comfortably strapped across his chest. All it would take was one flinch, one smooth movement, and a blade could be buried in Darius’s chest?—
“Perhaps it would be best if we stopped wasting time in a pissing match and greeted our host, instead.”
Quentin and Darius blinked. Delaynie’s expression was stern and almost a little bored, though the tight set to her shoulders and rigidity of her spine gave away her discomfort.
A discomfort that she was putting aside. And if she could do it, then so could he.
Quentin released Darius. “A great point.” He forced his brow and shoulders to relax. “That is, after all, why we’re here.”
Darius brushed off his chest, as if wiping invisible dirt from the black material. “Of course,” he drawled. “He’s just through the next room. Follow me.” He spun on his heel, sauntering into the dark, clouded room. Quentin shared one, final glance with Delaynie, hating the anxiety slipping through her icy cracks.
He hated that this was where their path had led them. Hated that they had nowhere to go but forward. Hated that he couldn’t protect her from whatever waited for them in the next room.
When she slipped her small, soft hand into his, he hated it all a little less.
Together, they followed Darius through the “soiree”.
Quentin kept his gaze locked on a spot between Darius’s shoulders. The exact place he’d throw a dagger to sever his spinal column. The sounds and smells of this place intensified the deeper they went, and Delaynie’s hand tightened around his more than a few times. He felt stares following them as they passed, heard more than a few beckoning words, but still his attention stayed right on that spot in Darius’s back. When he breathed, he tried to shove away everything except for the sweet, soft scent of coconut and vanilla.
Darius paused at another thick curtain, murmuring something to a heavily armed guard. The guard shot a glance to Quentin and Delaynie before nodding, holding aside the heavy draping.
The room beyond was still dark, but the lights glowed dark blue, rippling like the sea at night beneath a starry sky. Low, heady music rumbled from a corner, and the air here was crisper, cleaner.
Lord Varyn Draethos lounged on a throne in a raised, curtained alcove. Quentin’s jaw clenched.
Of course, the pirate lord wasn’t alone.
Three women, utterly naked save for delicate silver jewelry dripping down their bodies, sprawled over him. They slithered around him like sea serpents, hair swaying as they moved. One of the women dropped to her knees between his thighs, the lord’s eyes feathering closed.
That was, naturally, when Darius decided to announce their arrival.
“Father. Our guests are here.” One of the women lifted her head, her eyes sparkling with interest. The pirate lord nodded to the woman, who sauntered to Darius across the pale marble floors. He said something into her ear, her answering giggle grating against Quentin’s ears.
The young lord gripped the woman’s ass, leading her to an adjacent alcove. Quentin stopped paying attention to him after that.
There were fewer people in this room, but it was still full. Alcoves ringed the open space in the middle, couches and daybeds filling in the gaps. Quentin quickly swept his gaze over the room, trying not to look too closely at anything, but he did recognize a few members of Darius’s crew. Perhaps this room was just for the officers, then.
Varyn shifted on his throne, the girl between his legs abandoning her task with a pout. Darkness glinted in the pirate lord’s eyes, long red hair falling over his shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “if it’s not the perfect little Onitans, venturing out to mingle with the rabble. Aren’t we justhonoredby your presence.”
Quentin ground his teeth. “You’re the one who invited us?—”
“And we are honored by the invitation.” Delaynie’s interruption rang through the room, even over the din of the music. The murmurs quieted, eyes drawing to them, men and women alike eyeing the auburn-haired lady in her satiny dress.
Quentin wanted to pluck their eyes out.
Varyn chuckled. “Such perfect, practiced words.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Krilene tells me you want to prove that you’re more than just the rigidity of your kingdom. Is that true?”
“That depends,” Delaynie said. “What’s in it for us?”
Gods, that icy directness did something to him. He needed to get a grip. Quentin shifted on his feet, trying to control the heat swelling in his core.
