Page 26 of Grave Flowers
“I am.”
“Whatever for? Especially during royal mourning?”
The grin that had vanished from Aeric’s face returned. I hadn’t known it was possible, but it was even more insolent than before. If he was offended at my insensitivity over his hands, it didn’t show—which made me nervous. I’d thought he was easy to read, yet the more time I spent with him, the less confident I became. His emotions eluded me. More troubling, I couldn’t quite pin the thoughts behind them.
“A play is always the thing,” he said. Reflexively, forgetting he was wine ill, he raised the chalice to his lips. He winced at its strong scent, swallowed thickly, and lowered it. “Still not ready.”
I downed the rest of mine and held out a hand. “Give it here.”
Surprise crossed his face, and he surrendered it. “One cup after all,” he observed. “Next you know, we’ll be kissing.”
After the exchange about his hands, I wasn’t prepared for such flirtation. I almost choked on the wine and barely managed to keep from coughing. Kissing? Us? The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, yet at the mention of it, heat somehow filled me, and I didn’t think it was just from the wine.
“I try to avoid kissing wine-ill kings,” I said, determined to regain my dignity and steer the conversation back to the play.
“And you won’t. I’m not king yet. At least not in name.”
“I also try to avoid kissing wine-ill princes. Though I recall you bore the title of king last night. Not in name but rather physically. Upon your … chest.” By the Family, why was I mentioning Aeric’s chest? The mortification I’d been trying to escape only worsened, and I struggled miserably to hide it.
“Oh, you mean this.” Aeric reached one hand to his collar and undid its frill. I was flummoxed. I didn’t know if turning away or watching would give him power. The choice was made for me as his fingers unfastened his shirt. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. The garment was already exposed on the sides, but the front parted into a V, and hepulled one half aside. The word was still there, though much fainter than last night. However, it didn’t command my attention as much as his form did. Aeric’s chest was strikingly strong. Even more captivating was the way in which it narrowed at the waist. I nearly choked again, even though I had no wine in my mouth to blame. I rectified it by taking another sip. A mix of amusement and flirtation radiated from Aeric, cutting against his wine-ill pallor.
“I’m not certain it’s very becoming to write ‘king’ upon oneself.” I meant to be vicious but sounded merely breathless. “Whatever are you, a jar in need of labeling? Fasten your shirt.”
“As you command, Princess.” Indolently, he leisurely closed his shirt, making me vastly relieved and peculiarly disappointed at the same time “I imagine it’s a no, then?”
“A no?”
“To the kissing. After all, if you consider semantics, I’m neither a wine-ill king nor a wine-ill prince. I’m the ruler prevailing, which is its own title entirely.”
His audacity left me speechless. I had the urge to use my wine for something other than drinking and splash it in his face. “What you are is on the verge of vomiting.”
“Haven’t you heard?” he returned easily. “Kissing is the cure to being wine ill.”
This wouldn’t do. He was flirting with me—and gaining the upper hand at that, leaving me disoriented and too hot, even though I was hardly wearing anything. I thought about Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert, how they dismissed him as boyish and drunk. They weren’t wrong, but there was something about the way Aeric flustered people—me among them—that made me wonder just how much of it was him having fun and how much was something else entirely.
“Perhaps you should find one of the girls from last night’s party because I will not be assisting you,” I said hastily.
Soberness chased away his smile, transforming him. He was handsome—I was already aware—but with this strangely poignant look, he was even more so. Staring at him, I felt as though I saw him truly, even though I didn’t know enough about him to understand what the expression might mean.
“We are betrothed,” he said. “I would never kiss anyone else.”
The fervor in his voice startled me just as much as the expression. The soft spot he’d struck when asking about my home was pricked again, eliciting emotions that were much too dangerous. What was this loyalty he spoke of? I needed to push him away, immediately, before some weak part of me desired the unabashed faithfulness he offered. But I also needed him to remain unsuspicious. The realization was as frightening as the emotions. Heated dizziness settled over me. It had to be just the wine. I took another drink as though it would steady me, when, at this point, it had turned heavy on my tongue and light in my head. Aeric poured me more. I had to divert his attention. Quickly.
“What do you think of Inessa?” I blurted. “I mean—what did you think of her?”
By the Family, I’d spoken in the present tense.
Aeric seemed to realize it as well. His face changed for a heartbeat. But I saw it, nonetheless. An intuitive look, a look like a slicing dagger, a falling sword, a flying arrow. It was so intense that I almost couldn’t imagine him smiling ever again.
I stared down at the chalice. How many times had Aeric refilled it? While he hadn’t drunk a drop? Panic rushed through my blood with the force of the wine. Had he been trying to draw my guard down? To learn why I was really here? But how could he know? I set the chalice down and stood. As if in confirmation, everything spun. Aeric remained where he was. In fact, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, as though feeling pangs of wine ill.
“I’ve had enough,” I said. “I’m going back to the palace.”
“Let me escort you,” he said, lowering his chin and opening his eyes. One side of his mouth tugged up in his ever-present grin, but I didn’t find it charming any longer.
“No, thank you.”
I fled. I left the chalices and my betrothed and his wine bottle and hurried through the cold center of the cathedral. Smoke, left over from the service, swirled in the air, as though the cathedral’s spirit lingered beneath its dome. Most of the candles were out, but they dripped, red wax splotching gray stone. A few of the censers gently swayed from their gold chains. The cathedral’s movements made me feel as though it were alive, watching, judging, heightening my dizziness.
