Page 190 of I Ran Away to Evil 3
Now, the more relaxed part of the evening was starting. A giant fountain that spouted apple cider had been brought out, along with tables of finger food. Golden leaves made out of real gold littered every table.
“Grand Duke Julian.” The Dark Lord tilted his glass of cider in welcome when Julian joined him near a standing table.
“King Keith,” Julian replied, tilting his own glass.
“I see your wife is distracting my wife.” The Dark Lord looked over at where Gerda and Henrietta were laughing and pretending to drink.
After a prophecy from that morning, Gerda had let him know that they shouldn’t eat the floofpoof pie or drink the cider. She couldn’t be sure if it was their glass or the fountain itself that was poisoned, so his troll would routinely walk over and stick her unicorn horn into the party cider, just in case.
Henrietta thought it was great fun, and was now going with her to act as an accomplice.
Julian grinned. “She’s not my wife.”
Yet.
It was too soon to ask, but he was already having the rings forged for the day he was ready. They weren’t in a rush.
“Well, let me know when you have the good news.” King Keith downed his own cider, not caring if it was poisoned or not. “I’ve got the paperwork all drawn up for her to retire from the Dark Horde, release her bridges, and emigrate far, far away.”
“We share a border; it’s not that far,” Julian pointed out. “Ah, here they come.”
“Keith!” Henrietta grabbed the Dark Lord by the hand and pointed to the opposite end of the hall. “Chloe’s back!”
“Then we should go and see her.” Keith’s face softened into a warm smile for his wife, and he let her drag him away.
Gerda grinned after them. “Ah, young love. Oh, speaking of …” His troll stuck out her foot and tripped a man with a pencil mustache as he was walking by. The man made a strange noise as he fell right into the awaiting arms of a surprised elf woman.
Gerda turned her back on the couple as if she weren’t responsible and took a fake sip of her cider. “How was your talk with King Keith?”
“Informative.” Julian kept an eye on the man with the pencil mustache as he found his feet and looked around for the cause of his tumble. His eyes lingered half a second on Gerda’s back, but then he ran a hand through his sideswept hair and set about apologizing to the woman who had caught him; the elf, for her part, told the man that he could make amends with a dance.
He hesitated, Julian could tell, but he let the elf pull him onto the dance floor.
“Oh?” Gerda asked, drawing Julian’s attention back to her.
“King Keith wanted to know when you were moving to North Sumbria,” Julian told her, and she froze. Then, her white freckles flushed a little pink as she looked away, her eyes following the man and the elf as they swirled together up the hall.
“Soon, I imagine.”
“I guess that’s good for me to know as well,” Julian teased. He nodded at the dancing pair. “They look like they’re having fun.”
“I thought so too,” she agreed. “They make an excellent couple.”
“Ah.” He reached his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Is that why you tripped him?”
“That, and he poisoned the cider,” Gerda whispered.
“Help!” A shrill voice resounded across the hall. “Oh, help! My love has been poisoned!”
Julian looked over to see a beastfolk frothing at the mouth, his wife crying as she held him. It was Lord Jarl of Canters and his wife, Josephine.
“Should we—” Julian started when General Visha swooped in and offered the couple the appropriate antidote.
“It’s fine.” Gerda waited until Visha had finished helping the guests before waving her over.
“Your Grace, Miss Gerda.” Visha gave a proper salute. “I hope your evening is going well.”
“The man with the pencil mustache poisoned the cider. If you wait by the door to the restrooms, you can catch him,” Gerda informed the general.
