Page 97 of Prince of Night and Storm
“Otieno, pardon Lady Aerinne and I for neglecting you earlier,” the Prince murmurs, sipping his wine.
I blink. Not only were Danon and Embriel the last Fae to use my father’s non Anglicized name, but the Prince speaks nearly flawless Kikuyu. My Everennesse is sprinkled with French and spoiled by American English, and that carries into my Kikuyu no matter how I try to erase the accenting. Renaud sounds as if I taught him, except for his slow lyrical stretch of Ninephene intonation.
My father waves a hand. “My mouth runs a hundred miles a day. It is a nice change to relax and let my daughter practice her conversational talents in civilized company.”
“No one told me we’d changed the definition of civil,” I say, “but okay.”
Renaud arches a brow, a smile curving his lips. “You’ve raised a beguiling daughter. She honors the blood and wisdom of her parents, and is worthy of both.”
Right on cue, the traditional flattery—he didn’t choke on the words either. I slit my eyes. The Prince isn’t missing a beat, is he, and he even sounds sincere.If I was a silly girl who didn’t know better, I would drown in the illusion. He’s a tidal wave, but the sea is always serene and welcoming before disaster strikes.
Baba inclines his head. “She is the pride of my old age.”
I snort.
He ignores me. Baba is valiant like that. “Your Kikuyu is exceptional, Prince. You had none the last we spoke, I believe.”
“Ah. I have an unusual teacher. The experience has been. . .immersive.”
“That is the best way to learn.” Baba pauses. His voice goes softer. “My wife didn’t tell me you studied it.”
The others at the table openly listen and with a twist of malicious satisfaction, I’m glad they won’t understand a single word.
Renaud stares into his wine glass. “Muriel did not know.”
I don’t understand my father. How he can look at the Prince with—compassion, almost as if they are simply two males grieving the same female. One, a wife, the other, by his word, a sister.
“She would not blame you,” Baba says, and we all know he isn’t speaking of the Prince hiding his learning of our language. “Nor do I.”
He looks up and meets Baba's gaze before glancing away.
And now my father, the bloody diplomat of Everenne, turns his attention to me. “We extend grace to family, and ask that grace likewise be extended. The history of our Houses intertwines beyond centuries. We are not meant to be at odds.”
The Prince is silent. Silence is the same as assent.
Then my heart freezes. Baba’s steady gaze, his words. . .he knows. He knows about Embriel. Does he then understand Renaud is playing a subtle, brilliantly calculated game? And if so, does he believe as Nora does, that I should cooperate, lay low, and wait for an opportunity even if that takes centuries?
He can lie. Perhaps he gives the appearance of acceptance, peace-making, submission, because he too is playing a long game, the one those of weaker power must play with these demigods. Or maybe I’m being optimistic because I don’t wantto be abandoned by my father if he succumbs to Renaud’s delicate web.
Agitated, I drink. After the third glass, Juliette intercepts the servant with a curt shake of her head. I see it only because I twist in my seat to wave someone down for more.
Prince Renaud has somehow misplaced the bottle out of my reach.
I sit in my chair, fuming. Never mind them, I’ll find something harder than alcohol once I’m home.
It’s probably a good thing they cut me off, because a wave of dizziness blurs my vision, muscles stiffening as my jaw grinds. I've avoided this for weeks, skirted disaster earlier with Renaud.
No, not here. Please, not here.
My father says nothing. He won't bring attention to my weakness.
I count several long minutes in my head. Around me is laughter and conversation, the clink of dinnerware. No one notices my rigid posture.
Once the attack eases, I lift my strained gaze to my father's pinched expression. He nods at my plate and I take a bite, nausea roiling in my gut, and try to choke it down.
Stupid mistake. I press the back of my hand to my mouth against the urge to let it all come back up. I breathe shallowly for a few minutes until the nausea passes.
“Aerinne?” Renaud says, voice pitched for my ears only. “Are you unwell?”
