Page 15 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Orion nodded my way as his right hand draped over his wife’s shoulders. Hisverypregnant wife, who gingerly cradled her growing belly.
“Congratulations,” I mouthed her way, offering her my first open smile of the day.
I cared for my people.
That didn’t mean I liked all of them.
I’d had enough of Danno complaining about his lesser seat at the feasts, as if his family had done anything for the Clan other than brag about having a residence in Aquila–bought under suspicious circumstances five generations ago–orTantheAglae’s pinched nose rising in the air whenever she saw mewith my bow and arrows, remarking about the proper place for women–even the one who would lead her.
But I had a duty to them all; though I’d wished some would go trouble anyone else with their constant nonsense. As long as they called themselves Protectorate and their hearts beat true, loyal blue, they were mine to protect.
That sentiment did not extend in the slightest to Evie’s future husband.
Fabrian Bazin–and whatever other equally pompous, secret names he’d been bestowed with to protect him from curses–was truly a dung of a human.
A vicious, powerful dung that could turn on his charm to disarm, but there was always that spark of malice in his beady eyes. Many had fallen under the spell of his silken voice and many, many more had ended at the tip of his sword.
Well, his advisor’s sword.
Fabrian didn’t bloody his own hands.
The Protectorate spies had uncovered everything about his sordid, depraved ways, but nobody had managed to figure out why, in all of Malhaven, he wanted to marry Evie. Our Evie.
I set my glower on him as my heels quickly ate up the distance to the altar.
Fabrian didn’t shy away, meeting my stare head-on, like he could already tell a storm was coming.
I stopped by his side, behind the vases filled with flowers to beckon good luck and happy memories in the future marriage. Their sweet perfume covered the stench of alcohol on Fabrian’s breath.
Fabrian huffed with an oily grin. “You always have to make an entrance.”
And so the game began.
I’d met enough Clan heirs to know that whenever two of us breathed the same air, any discussion got competitive. Barbs, jabs, snide and cutting remarks alike, everything went.
And not only did I like to win, but I had to best Fabrian today. I rolled my shoulders back and unfisted my palms.
“Says the man wearing snakeskin lapels,” I said.
Gods, he reeked of leather, cloves, and something so musky, it must’ve come from an animal’s behind. But nothing could hide the smell of stale wine.
Fabrian was the embodiment of depravity, but even he must have known drinking himself into a stupor at his own wedding was the quickest way to embarrass his Clan.
Perhaps he was just that shameless.
Or maybe he tried to hide something more sinister.
Knowing the enemy was the first step to triumph.
“Nervous, Fabrian?” I asked, keeping my voice sickly sweet as I paid more attention to this man than he ever deserved.
“Nervous you might topple over me with those damn stilts you’re wearing. If you wanted to lord over all of us, Huntress, there are easier ways than making yourself disgustingly taller.”
“These are hunting boots, Fabrian. Which you would have known if you’d ever bothered to ride a horse without falling off it.” Easier for my feet to hold onto the stirrups while I rode–and, yes, they helped me stand up straighter and taller. It was easier to command when you looked the part, especially among the proud and slow-minded. “But you probably didn’t have the time, too busy with drinking, whoring, and general mayhem.”
Fabrian licked his teeth, like he was readying to bite. “Did you come all this way to stand by my side to flatter me, Huntress?”
“Don’t need my help with that, you flatter yourself plenty already.”
