My fingertips and palms itch when Ivo cranes his neck to rake his gaze over the side of my breast where I have it pressed against the tub wall. Hendry follows his line of sight enough to recognize my discomfort, and there’s a tugging of my heartstrings as he leans forward at such an angle that Ivo is forced to step back or he’d fall on his ass. Hendry makes him stand at a distance where it would be impossible to see anything I prefer to keep hidden. He narrows his eyes at Hendry, who seems to gloat in his ability to redirect Ivo’s attention.
I draw on the joy I felt witnessing Tiam swim through the inlet, of which I spare a sense of gratitude and send it to my Lead Guard, waiting until he turns while tapping his ring finger to his palm twice, indicating he’s received my silent missive. I refocus on conjuring the excitement I experienced the last time my Guards participated in Dragon riding drills, and I mix it with the calm Cirrin provided in healing my pain and lethargy—giving the Emperor all I’ve gathered and leaving none for myself.
His shoulders drop, and his expression lifts while I brace against the edge of the tub to stay above the water line, with the sensation of ennui draining my energy.
“You will perform better next time, or I will prove my threats are neither empty nor idle.” His Majesty spins to leave, cape fluttering as Ivo sends a single bolt of blast magic toward Hendry’s chest?—
Malin uses his own magic to shove Hendry back, the blast burning a lightning pattern into the wall behind where he stood. Cirrin sends a burst of blue-green mist toward Ivo’s head, making him miss a step as my healer nearly causes him to fall asleep while standing.
Ivo and the Emperor’s telekinetic Guard, Danor, both spin around, pinning their glares on Cirrin as he sheepishly grins and offers a jovial wave in parting.
“Fucking snatchers, the lot of them,” Lars grits out.
Hendry walks across the room to clap Cirrin on the shoulder. “You need to be more careful in the future. There’s no telling what they might do in retaliation.”
Cirrin shrugs. “You’re not making the same statement to Malin.”
“No, because what he did was protective, whereas your action was retaliatory.” Cirrin’s deep-brown skin reddens in near-perfect circles over his full cheeks when Hendry leans to peer meaningfully into his kind brown eyes. “I’m not upset with you, just concerned for our safety.”
Cirrin nods in understanding, chewing on his lower lip as his thoughts seem to take over.
Drusilla proceeds as if nothing happened, rinsing the suds from my hair before running the razor over my skin, removing every bit of body hair that could be visible through the slit in a skirt or a sleeveless dress. I wince each time the blade knicks me, and Cirrin’s nostrils flare in frustration as he repeatedly sends me wisps of healing.
Finally, Drusilla stands to hold open a large black towel for me to step into, securing it over my shoulders before I follow her to the vanity where a second black towel is dropped over my face, obscuring my vision while she dries my hair.
“First, you are to attend breakfast. Then you will accompany His Majesty to a meeting of the Generals, after which you will attend a special luncheon.”
Blood drains from my upper body as stars invade my vision. My pulse pounds so loudly I cannot make out if she says anything more until I can get my thoughts in order. General Varic is not known to leave his unit for a mere meeting, having become emboldened over the years in learning which Imperial summons he can ignore without consequence, using the excuse his unit requires his supervision.
“The Emperor will hold court this afternoon.”
I sigh when a knock sounds on the door, and both Hendry and Malin use their magic to answer it, welcoming two Imperial Guards who watch over twice as many Imperial servants, each one carrying golden trays overflowing with delicacies.
My Guards are required to meet their basic needs behind closed doors, despite their status and regardless of my argument against said practice. “Glory to the Dragons, to whom we owe everything,” my Guards state in unison, offering thanks to our benefactors as is our tradition before eating when others are present.
As unaffected as usual by the circumstances surrounding the method by which he must obtain sustenance, Fray smiles at my reflection while I stare back, watching the way his jaw works over the enormous bite of pastry he didn’t need to consume so hastily. I lift my shoulders in feigned indifference at the news Drusilla has just provided.
Her voice grows distant as she leaves to fetch the bowl of hot wax. “This evening you are to attend the General’s dinner.”
Fuck. Even Varic cannot find a way out of a formal dinner summons, and I am not strong enough to cope with him smiling at me from across the room. The last dinner he attended was disastrous enough, with His Majesty noticing my inability to keep from looking at Varic. Regardless of where he is, and no matter how hard I try to remain focused on the Emperor and his needs, my eyes always seem to find him.
* * *
Tears prick along my lash line as the back of Emperor Aldritch’s hand smacks my side. “Witch, pay attention,” he chides, and I bow low in apology.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He nods and releases an exasperated breath before ignoring me to speak with General Sal about pressing business in the North region.
And even though he only just caught me looking, it’s impossible. I cannot stop myself from seeking Varic. His being. His presence. So I glance over at the Emperor who is now engaged in conversation with Imperial Grand Philosopher Wyrth, giving me just enough courage to turn to find the only sorcerer in existence with the power to excavate the emotions I keep buried deep.
Prickly heat builds in the center of my chest, a reminder of when Varic’s eyes sear a path as they trace my skin. Though no flush appears the way it does anytime his gaze is upon me, this strong of a reaction to a mere memory does not bode well for this evening. I need more time before we are forced to breathe the same air again. Even if we manage to avoid interacting, I cannot control the way my body registers his presence.
* * *
The sting of the hot wax above my upper lip pulls me back into the present.
“After dinner, His Majesty will entertain the guests in the dungeons.” Drusilla’s voice is even as she rips the strip of fabric away, yanking the hair from my skin along with it.
