Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

In between the numerous lit candelabra, platters full of roasted duck and plump chicken breast lined the long dining table, placed among the plates of grilled salmon and bowls of steaming carrots and stewed potatoes. Trays of desserts were already on the table, tiny square chocolates and fruit-filled pastries. There were enough baskets of bread to feed an entire family for a month.

As long as I lived, I would never grow accustomed to seeing so much food on one table, in one home.

And it was far too much, but Claude wanted to impress the Prince with a feast. I didn’t even want to think about how much this cost as I made a mental note to let the cook know to send the leftovers to the local Priory, who would know which families were most in need. At least what was left untouched wouldn’t go to waste.

“Where in the fuck is this prince?”

Across from me, the red-haired Mollie nearly dropped a bottle of champagne before placing it on the table. Her gaze darted from mine to the man seated next to me while the rest of the staff waited along the wall as if they were trying to become a part of it.

Slowly, I looked at Claude and took a deep breath that did very little to calm my temper.

He was sprawled in his seat, one booted foot resting on the edge of the table, mere inches from his plate. A diamond-studded champagne flute dangled precariously from his fingertips, glittering in the candlelight. At any given moment, the contents of his glass or the entire flute was going to end up on the floor. Or his lap.

I squeezed my hands together until I could barely feel my fingers. All my other many, many concerns had fallen to the wayside the moment I’d seen Claude.

He had not made wise choices during his afternoon spent with the Bower brothers.

My jaw ached from how tightly I was clenching it. I didn’t even want to think of what would go through the Prince’s mind if he walked in the dining hall and saw the Baron seated as he was. At least he wasn’t as bad as he had been the night prior. Luckily, no stench of the Midnight Oil clung to his white dress shirt or fawn breeches, but he couldn’t be that many glasses of champagne away from being three sheets to the wind.

“They should be here momentarily.” Hymel cleared his throat from where he sat on the other side of the Baron. He was paler than normal, and I thought that he actually appeared concerned. “At least that’s what I was told by one of the Hyhborn that had traveled with him.”

Claude huffed, lifting the flute to his mouth. “Momentarily?” He took a drink. “As if we have all the time in the world to wait for them.”

I wasn’t quite sure what Claude had to do after the dinner that was so pressing. Well, other than joining the aristo who had already begun to gather in the solarium and Great Chamber. But he could survive one evening being late to festivities or not taking part in them.

Reaching for the pitcher of water, I poured a glass and then slid it toward the Baron. “Perhaps you would like some water?”

He lowered the flute as he gave me a wide smile that showed way too much teeth. “Thank you, darling.”

I returned his smile, praying to the gods he would take the hint.

But of course he didn’t.

“You look lovely this evening, by the way.” He reached over, tugging gently on a strand of rubies. Dark lashes lowered. “At least I have something lovely to look upon while I wait.”

I widened my eyes as I reached for my own glass of water. Maybe he was closer to being completely useless than I suspected. My gaze fell to the floor. My gaze fell to the gold veining of the marble tile. It was the same flooring throughout the dining and receiving hall, as well as the Great Chamber. I turned to where Grady stood guard between marble and gold pillars.

“They’re coming,” Grady announced.

My stomach dropped, and I wasn’t sure if it was what I’d seen in the mirror earlier, Claude’s current state, or the fact that it was he who was coming.

“About damn time,” Claude muttered, thankfully drawing his foot off the table. He set the champagne aside.

The sound of chair legs scratching across the stone snapped me into motion. I rose, having momentarily forgotten that one was to stand upon the arrival of a Hyhborn.

My skin pimpled with the charge of energy entering the dining hall as Grady gave a curt bow, then stepped aside. The air thickened around us.

The first Hyhborn to enter was one with skin a rich shade of brown and dark hair shaved to a fade along the sides, leaving the short dreads along the top shaped into a mohawk of sorts. His broad, stunning features were highlighted by the neatly trimmed beard framing his jaw and mouth. Flames flickered above the candles before going completely still as he crossed the space. His eyes were like Prince Thorne’s, the blue and green more vibrant, though, as his gaze swept to where we stood, slipping past me and then darting back.

A slow half grin tugged at his full mouth.

Before I could even consider that smile, another entered. One as tall as the first, but not as broad. The sharp, striking features were a cool shade of fawn, a startling contrast against the onyx-hued hair that fell over his forehead and into wide-set, narrow eyes— eyes that were such a pale shade of blue and green, they were nearly luminous in the candlelight. There was no brown that I could see in his irises, nor did he have the same almost frenetic aura of energy as the one who entered before him, but there was an undeniable keen sense of power as he gave us a once-over.

Then . . . then the air felt as if it were sucked out of the hall.

Prince Thorne entered as the flames went wild above the candles, dancing rapidly. Like a coward, I averted my gaze to the table. I didn’t see his expression, but I knew the very moment he saw me. Tiny shivers erupted over my skin. I felt his stare drilling into me, straining my nerves until I was a second away from making some sort of absurd noise like a squeak. Or a scream. Heat crept up my throat as I still felt his stare. Good gods, why in the holy fires was no one speaking? And how long were we supposed to—

“Please be seated,” Prince Thorne finally said, shattering the silence with his deep voice.

I all but collapsed into my chair as Claude surprisingly took a steadier seat. “It is an honor to have you at my table, Prince Thorne,” he said, and I felt a laugh bubbling up. Honor? He hadn’t sounded honored moments ago, but at least he sounded genuine. “Though, I do hope there will be no need for the armor between the servings of duck and fish.”

Armor? What?

“One can never be too prepared,” Thorne replied.

I peeked up, finding the three Hyhborn seated at the table and the staff in the midst of placing diamond-encrusted plates and glasses before them. The Hyhborn were indeed armored, a fact easily missed with a quick glance. The chest plates were covered in black leather, causing the armor to blend into the sleeveless black tunics beneath. There was something etched into the leather— a sword with a cross handle framed by . . . by wings— wings outlined in thread of gold.

“I was unaware that we would have company,” Prince Thorne stated.

My pulse skittered, and before I could stop myself, my gaze lifted to him. He was, of course, somehow seated directly across from me, and he . . .

Prince Thorne was devastating in the glow of the candles, his hair unbound and resting softly against his cheeks. He didn’t look remotely mortal then. I couldn’t seem to get my throat to work on a swallow as my eyes locked with his. The swirls of colors in his irises were still, but his regard was no less intense and piercing.

“Ah, yes. I figured since you two have already met, you wouldn’t mind her presence,” Claude said, champagne flute once more in hand. “I hope I’m not faulty in my assumption?”

“No.” Prince Thorne smiled, his stare not leaving me as he relaxed into his seat. “I do not mind her presence at all.”

I sank about an inch in my chair.

“In fact,” Prince Thorne continued, “I welcome it.”

My heart gave a strange little skip that I would need to smack myself for later as Claude cocked his head to the side. That terse silence fell again. After a small eternity, the Prince’s gaze shifted away, and I was finally able to swallow before I choked on my own saliva.

“And who may this be?” Prince Thorne asked.

“My cousin Hymel,” Claude answered, placing his flute by his plate. I hoped that glass stayed there. “As the Captain of the Guard, he is an integral part of Archwood Manor and the city.”

“Your Grace.” Hymel bowed his head respectively. “It is a great honor to have you and your men at our table.”

Our table?I barely contained my snort.

Prince Thorne eyed him, the curve of his well-formed lips nothing like the smiles I’d seen him give. His smile was cold. Dispassionate. My skin prickled.

“I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to those accompanying you,” Claude stated as the glasses of champagne were filled by the staff and plates generously loaded with a helping of all that was on offer.

“Commander Lord Rhaziel.” Prince Thorne extended a hand toward the Hyhborn who’d been the second to enter and then nodded at the other. “And Lord Bastian.”

Bas.

My gaze shot to the other Hyhborn lord, and I suddenly understood his smile when he had spotted me upon entering. He had been in the gardens that night, the one who had spoken to Prince Thorne while I slipped in and out of consciousness.

Lord Bastian caught my stare and winked. “Your city is most peaceful,” he said, shifting his attention to the Baron. “As are your manor grounds. Very . . . lovely scenery you have, especially in the gardens.”

Oh gods . . .

Would it be considered dramatic for me to wish that the floor would open up beneath my chair and swallow me whole?

“That is most kind of you. Archwood is the jewel of the Midlands.” Claude reached for that damn glass of champagne. “Please, enjoy our food. It has all been prepared in your honor.”

“It is much appreciated,” Prince Thorne acknowledged.

“Archwood is more than just the jewel of the Midlands,” Commander Rhaziel stated as the Prince picked up a knife, cutting into the chicken. “It’s a vital trading port, situated at a central point in the kingdom, and by far the most easily accessible city along the Eastern Canal,” he said. That was true only because the remaining cities along the Eastern Canal were isolated by the Wychwoods. “Archwood is very important to the . . . kingdom.”

“It is a relief to hear that King Euros recognizes the importance of Archwood in regard to the integrity of Caelum,” Hymel responded, and then launched into a declaration of Archwood’s successes in the organization of the ships transporting goods and the funneling of such throughout the other five territories.

I was barely listening as, from the corner of my eye, I saw Claude motion for his glass to be refilled. I tensed, doubting it went unnoticed by Prince Thorne or the others. Claude picked up a buttery roll, tearing it apart before eating it piece by piece as niceties continued to be exchanged. I hoped the bread soaked up some of the alcohol he was consuming. I glanced at the Prince— at his hands as he carved into the chicken.

There was this distinctive edge creeping into how everyone spoke, an increasing thinness to the words of the Hyhborn as the Baron continued to drink. And I was fascinated with watching the Hyhborn eat, which I could admit was a bit odd. It was just strange to see them eat with such impeccable manners while in their armor, with the brief glimpses of sheathed daggers each time they moved in their chairs. Meanwhile, the Baron continued to pick at his food like a small child.

“Would you like something else?” Prince Thorne asked.

When there was no answer, I looked up from the Prince’s hands, slowly realizing he was speaking to me. My cheeks warmed. “Excuse me?”

He gestured at my plate with this fork. “You’ve barely eaten.”

My normally robust appetite had been all but vanquished by my nerves and what was going on around me. “I ate a small meal not too long before dinner,” I told him.

One brow rose, and he looked at me as if he knew I was lying, which I was.

“Are you tired?” Claude glanced at my plate before looking over at the Prince. “She has been quite tired of late.”

I bit down on my lip. That was extremely unnecessary of him to share.

“Is that so?” Prince Thorne’s fingers tapped idly.

“She’s been spending a lot of time outside,” Claude went on as I inhaled deeply through my nose. “In that garden of hers.”

Interest sparked in Lord Bastian’s features. “The garden?”

“Not the garden you’re likely thinking of,” I quickly explained. “There’s just a small patch of the Baron’s gardens that is mine.”

“If I can’t find her within these manor walls, I always know where to find her,” Claude said with a touch of fondness. “She has quite the green thumb.”

Feeling Prince Thorne’s gaze on me, I speared a steamed carrot with my fork.

“So I’ve heard,” Prince Thorne murmured.

“You’ve told him about your garden?” Claude asked with a deep chuckle. “Did she speak to you about the various breeds of sedum? Stimulating conversation, I assure you.”

“Different species,” I muttered under my breath.

“Not as of yet.” Prince Thorne took a bite of his chicken. “How many different species of sedum are there?”

Surely, he couldn’t seriously want to know, but he placed his fork beside his plate and waited. “There are . . . there are hundreds of different species, Your Grace.”

“Thorne,” he corrected.

Beside him, Commander Rhaziel turned his head to him, his brows lifting.

“Hundreds?” the Prince questioned, either unaware of the Commander’s stare or ignoring him. “How can anyone be sure of that? I imagine they all look the same.”

“They don’t look the same, though.” I tipped forward in my chair. “Some grow to over a foot while others hug the ground. Their stems can be rather delicate and easily snapped, but they can choke out even the most persistent of weeds— especially a type called Dragon’s Blood, which spreads rather rapidly. They’re a genus of succulent that . . .” I trailed off, realizing that everyone, including the staff, was staring at me.

Lord Bastian had that curious little smile on his face.

Commander Rhaziel appeared as if icepicks were being driven into his ears.

But Prince Thorne . . . he looked engrossed. “And what?” he insisted.

I cleared my throat. “And they come in almost every color, but I . . . I prefer the red and pink kinds. They seem to be easier to cultivate and last the longest.”

Prince Thorne flexed the hand that tapped. “What is the most common then?”

Aware of the other Hyhborn’s gazes bouncing between the Prince and me, I felt warmth creep into my cheeks. “Likely a type known as Autumn Joy. It reminds me a bit of cauliflower in appearance throughout summer, and then blooms a bright pink starting in September.”

“I believe we have them in the Highlands,” Lord Bastian said, drawing his fork over what was left of the duck on his plate. He grinned at me. “I only know this because I too think they resemble cauliflower.”

I tentatively returned his smile.

“Speaking of the Highlands,” Claude chimed in, drinking from his glass. “All of you have traveled from Vytrus?”

Nearly positive that that was the second time he’d asked that, I glanced at him. Was there a slight glaze to his eyes? I swallowed a sigh.

Lord Bastian’s fork stilled, his lazy grin fading as Mollie came to my side of the table with a fresh pitcher of water. “We have.”

I leaned toward her, keeping my voice low as I said, “Can you make sure the cook knows to not let what food is left go to waste?”

Understanding what I requested, Mollie nodded, her brown eyes briefly meeting mine.

“Thank you,” I whispered, once again facing forward.

Prince Thorne watched, the blue of his eyes darkening. I wiggled a little in my chair.

“Did you travel by horse or ship?” Hymel asked, shattering the ensuing silence.

“Horse.” Commander Rhaziel held the stem of his glass, but I hadn’t seen him drink from it.

I thought of what Claude had said that morning. That the Prince was harder to get through but the others wouldn’t be. There was a chance he was simply speaking nonsense, but I could find out now, couldn’t I? Rhaziel was a lord, but I thought about what I felt when he first entered the dining hall. He didn’t carry with him the same . . . aura of power.

“Horse?” Claude laughed, eyes widening. “That must have been an incredibly long trip. To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve survived such a journey,” he prattled on. “I’m far too impatient. I would’ve taken a ship.”

“One would be unable to take a ship from the Highlands,” the Commander pointed out as I worked up the nerve to try reading him.

Over the rim of my glass, I focused on the dark-haired Hyhborn. Quieting my mind, I opened up my senses. I created that string in my mind, connecting us. That white wall became visible. The shield. I pictured my hand stretching out, brushing against it, and then I pictured my fingers digging into the light, scouring the wall.

The shield split, and at once I heard what the Commander thought. How in the five lands has this man kept this city afloat?

My own shock pulled me from the Commander’s mind before I could sense any more. Claude had been right. My gaze darted to the Baron.

“Of course. You’re surrounded by mountains and the Wychwoods.” Champagne dripped as he flung his wrist toward the Hyhborn, causing me to give a little jump. “Yet, the Eastern Canal is accessible within the Wychwoods, is it not?”

Then again, perhaps I needed no intuition to know what these Hyhborn thought of the Baron.

I focused on Lord Bastian this time, creating that string and finding that white wall. It took several moments, but his shield cracked just enough for me to hear Exactly how much has he drunk this evening?

Severing the connection, I shifted with unease. Claude had been right about being able to read Hyhborn, but had he been intentionally correct? Because this wasn’t something he would know simply because he was caelestia. He could know only if he had experience with someone like me in the past.

The Commander raised a brow, appearing unaware of my intrusion. “It would be several days’ ride to reach the Eastern Canal.”

“Is it? Then again, geography was never my strong suit.” Claude’s glass moved wildly again, and this time, I caught his sleeved arm before he ended up dumping half the champagne into his or my lap. He glanced over at me, his smile loose. “Apologies, my pet. I do get a bit animated when I speak. Got it from my mother.”

“ ‘Pet’?” Prince Thorne queried softly.

The back of my neck tingled, and it had nothing to do with intuition.

“Is there an animal in the hall that I’m unaware of?” the Prince continued. “A hound or even a cat?”

A snort came from the general direction of Hymel, and I found myself suddenly staring at my knife. Oh, how badly I would enjoy stabbing Hymel with it.

“Goodness no.” Claude laughed, tipping his head back. “It’s a term of endearment for Lis.”

“Is that so?” murmured Prince Thorne. “What a . . . fitting endearment.”

Muscles along my spine tensed as my gaze collided with the Prince’s. There was no mistaking the derision in his tone. One needed only an ear to hear it. “Far more fitting than other endearments,” I said.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I can think of at least one that is better suited.”

“You can?” Claude leaned forward, far too eager. “I am dying to hear what you’d think would be more fitting after spending such a short time with her.”

Prince Thorne opened his mouth.

“How have you all been enjoying the late-spring Midlands weather?” I jumped in, glancing among the Hyhborn. “I hear the weather of the Highlands is quite temperamental.”

“One could say that.” Lord Bastian leaned back in his seat, that grin of his having returned at some point. “It is far cooler than here.” He glanced at Prince Thorne. “What other terms of endearment are you thinking of?”

Oh, my gods. . . .

Prince Thorne’s lips curved up in a slow, smoky smile. “Na’laa.”

The Commander sounded like he choked.

“What does that mean?” Claude asked.

“It has many meanings,” Lord Bastian answered. “I am curious as to which is meant in this case.”

“He thinks I’m stubborn,” I said, meeting the Prince’s gaze.

“Well,” Claude drawled. “That I can agree with.”

“And ungrateful,” I added before Prince Thorne could.

Claude frowned.

“I was going to say brave,” Prince Thorne said instead.

My lips pursed as I felt my cheeks heat again.

Prince Thorne’s attention was fixed on me, hand curled loosely around the stem of his glass while his other fingers tapped on the surface of the table. He hadn’t eaten much but appeared to be done eating. Tentatively, I opened my senses and let them stretch out to him. I met the white wall almost instantaneously. The hand I pictured did nothing.

“The humidity here is quite unbearable,” the Commander added just then, almost reluctantly, as if he thought he needed to add something to the conversation that had veered so off track.

“Yes, we don’t escape the humidity that bleeds out from the Lowlands,” Claude was saying as his glass was topped off once more. “You’ll be relieved to learn that the worst of the humidity doesn’t arrive until the Feasts. I imagine you all will be gone well before then.”

“That I cannot answer,” Prince Thorne answered. “We will be here for some time.”