Blocking out history.
All too willingly, my arms slide around her. Right forearm to her shoulder blades, left wrapped around her hips and lifting slightly so that her weight leans into mine.
Softly, she leans in, and I rasp, “You’ll stay by my side; are we clear?”
Only then, only after I’ve folded her into me, does she speak. “Crystal.”
33
CASUALTIES OF KIN
ERIC
“Minion Pro Italic,” I say to the redheaded menace before me, watching her for a reaction as I pop a sour pineapple square into my mouth. I only met her two hours ago, and already she’s following me around as though she found her personal form of amusement for the night. This time she’s cornered me by the fruit platters.
“Or—now stay with me here, Your Highness,” Percy raises her hands, palms facing me and eyes widening in exaggeration, “you’re just throwing out random font names to impress me and sound clever.Bleh.”
I let one corner of my mouth lift and stifle a chuckle in favour of another piece of pineapple. “Hardly. Robert Slimbach, 1990. Inspired by the classical typefaces of the late Renaissance era. It’s crafted to be highly readable yet simultaneously elegant and beautiful. Italics, however, is where its true voice emerges. Elegant surface, yes, but it tilts just enough to showcase motion beneath. Upright Minion Pro holds back; you don’t. I’d say you tip towards mischief.”
She startles, snorting so hard that we get side-eyed by Octavian Halpine’s wife as she fills her plate. Mycompanion seems to not give a fuck. “Okay,wow. Did you read my childhood disciplinary notes, or something? That’s uncomfortably accurate.”
“I don’t lie.”
“Can’t believe I almost trusted Ed’s word.” Biting into a strawberry, she says with juice dribbling down her chin, “He said you were a creep. Took my chances on you anyway because you’re hot and Chess hasn’t complained yetso…I guess we can be friends.”
Charming. If I’m a creep, then what does that make the man who salivates when his cousin speaks? Can’t forget how much he despises Hamish either. Oedipus needs to calm the fuck down.
“Excellent, I’ve collected both a wren and a magpie. Does that mean I’m qualified to attend family arguments now?”
Using a green serviette to wipe her face, she laughs once more. “Oh, trust me, you’ve got the full pass now that you know everything. Witches, taboo names you’re not allowed to say thrice, ancestral curses, bodies in the lake and ears in the castle walls. Any sane man would be fucking fleeing.” One unnervingly red brow lifts. “Are you gonna flee, Prince Eric?”
Without offence to Percy or anything, but upon her question, my gaze refuses her. It slips over a freckled shoulder, drawn to the extravagant savouries table just a few feet away, one that Lydia currently operates. And there she is, Francesca, laughing at something her aunt just said. She tilts her chin when Lydia tips a piece of pepper steak pie towards her mouth.
Carefully, she takes one bite, gravy glossing her lower lip when she leans back to chew, mumbling something. Lydia’s smile broadens at what is undoubtedly a compliment. Francesca pulls that soft, kittenish expression when Lydia scoldingly tosses a serviette at her, one that’s secretly content because the six-year-old inside of her still remembers being reprimanded by parents long gone.
I tell myself to breathe steadily, but my windpipe misbehaves and imitates a crushed soda can. Run? Whatever loyalty Godwyn once possessed, dormant in my blood, pulsates as though reminding me it’s alive again.
Man down. Man utterly fucking down.
“No,” I answer at long last, without tearing my gaze from her.
Percy’s snort makes me wonder if I should have said anything at all. Because the next moment, Lydia is pointing in our direction, and Francesca turns slightly, attention passing right over her cousin to land on me. My answer is in the red of her cheeks once she realises I’m already looking.
“Didn’t think you would. And she’d never forgive you for even trying,” Percy says around another bite of strawberry.
The fragile eye contact between me and my delightful phantom fractures the moment Charlie Henderson pops into view. A request for permission stays tucked behind his grin (if it even existed), and he just slides a silk-gloved hand to her waist before delivering a kiss to a still red cheek. His ego’s probably saying that shade belongs to him. Lydia, catching Francesca’s subtle wince, bows her head and fucks off to convene with her employees.
Percy watches with carnivorous eyes, a grimace painting her mouth. “And his font?”
“Wingdings,” I say before she’s even finished the question. Percy cracks a loud laugh, her free hand bracing on my forearm to steady herself. “A collection of symbols that passes for meaning. Needs a key to understand, and even then he still says nothing.”
“Ouch.”
Charlie’s leaning down to whisper something, hand bunching the golden trim of her dress. My own itches to pull her to my side, to see what he does when I’ve claimed the space he hungers for. But that would be a sort of declaration, wouldn’tit? Something primitive and audacious. Here, on Sheffolk land, Charlie is a prospective suitor in talks of replacing Gabriel. In this glittering hall of nobles, I’m nothing but a visiting prince, a potential political ally—a scandal with a pretty title.
The things that make my ears burn to even think about remain unknown to them. They don’t know I’ve tasted her mouth, had her naked in my lap. They haven’t seen her body go heavy at the offering of my arms, breath soft as she accepted ten minutes and then gave me the entire night. The hall doesn’t know any of it.
What Iwantis to tug her clear from his orbit, but want and need are on opposite ends in a place that sees gossip as currency. So I walk Percy back to the Marathid table and take a seat at my own. The minutes pass by, loud as forks against stainless steel, and I feel each tick in my teeth.
