Page 54 of The Shadow of Breninsol
A voice that promised too much drawled, “May I?”
It was a voice that she’d regrettably become familiar with, and a sound that didn’t fail to flare her annoyance.
“Feel free,” Eleanor replied, matching the velvet voice with as much indifference as she could muster.
The one with the infuriating voice walked from behind her, and the Dark Star sat gracefully in the chair opposite.
Eleanor tried to ignore his obvious beauty and focused on her annoyance with him. She didn’t like how this aristocrat looked, as he acted like he owned everything and everyone in the room. He had a continuously bored expression on his beautiful face, and that further irritated her. As if she wanted to be here of her own accord. Eleanor would have loved nothing more than to be left alone to read, with the addition of a glass, or three, or even the entire bottle of wine.
She held onto her annoyance, and her disdain for him was furthered by his clothes. Each time she’d seen this man, there wasn’t a stitch out of place. He was undoubtedly the most decadently dressed man in the room, with a deep ripe-blackberry velvet long-coat with swirling silver embroidery inlaid with purple jewels dotted along the opening of his long-coat and a matching waistcoat underneath. Eleanor knew that the amethysts on his long-coat had to be real, even his black hair had the gemstones sprinkled into his soft dark waves.
She wouldn’t put it past him for the embroidery to be actually spun silver woven into his clothes, rather than coloured thread. From the way the waistcoat caught the light, she wasn’t wrong.
He rested his cane against the table. It differed from Riccie’s cane—while his handle had been decorative it’d also been wider. She scoffed, imagining the aristocrats' extensive cane collections, each one complementing their expensive clothes. This noble's cane was proof enough as embedded into the pommel was an amethyst the size of a small apple. Her gaze shifted from the massive rock to the stranger’s disinterested face, where cold eyes met hers.
“You,” Eleanor accused.
“Me,” the stranger’s lip twitched. It was a minute movement that, if she hadn’t been transfixed with his full lips, she’d have missed and would have assumed he was bored. “Do you play?” his dark eyes glinted briefly with something she didn’t recognise.
“Sure.” She looked down at the empty table before her and her bare gown, and realised she had nothing to play with. Well, she had her dagger, but she wasn’t giving that up. She’d need it to stab him if he annoyed her enough tonight.
“I only ever play for stakes. First?” he offered smoothly.
“Stakes?” she asked, wary of him.
He shrugged while his long elegant ringed fingers deftly shuffled the cards, making her thighs tighten together. “I makerequestsfrom those who lose.”
Something niggled in her awareness of his explanation, but it slipped away as easily as the tide before she could inspect it further.
“Such as?”
“For you…” He made a show of taking a long look at her. “Your time should suffice,” he said as he tapped his glittering ringed finger against the table.
“Why? You don’t know me.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes, questioning what sort of court trick this was and how could she avoid it as it surely went to this man’s advantage. If he was serious about wanting her company for more than a night, then he’d need to pay for it, and Madam Grace would ensure this aristocrat paid dearly. It wouldn’t be enough to pay off her debt entirely, but it’d make a sizable dent.
“Your time would remedy that. Maybe I find you to be the loveliest in the room,” he replied with his face cast in a boredom that only an aristocrat could achieve. “And I only want the loveliest on my arm.”
Eleanor couldn’t help the snort that escaped her, as she doubted the truthfulness of his words. His clothes implied he believed himself as the loveliest in the room, no doubt in the whole of Solas. She’d be a fool not to consider it. She was a courtesan and had been instructed by Madam Grace to ensure the courtiers’ satisfaction. Although the madam hadn’t specified whether it was just one courtier for any period.
Eleanor knocked her knuckles on the polished table but immediately regretted it. She hadn’t heard the full stake.
“How long?” she asked, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he’d easily persuaded her, as if she had a freewill of her own.
“A day,” he said simply, as he dealt the cards.
She dismissed the fluttering feeling in her stomach. “I didn’t agree to your terms. What if I win?”
His lip curled as he raised his cards. She was too far away from him, but she swore his eyes flashed with amusement, which was at odds with the expression on his too handsome face.
Eleanor roughly grabbed the cards from the table and realised she’d lost. Her hand was terrible. A two of diamonds and a seven of hearts.
“You didn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes at his ability to read her and threw the cards face up onto the table.
He laid his cards out, a pair of kings. “Your time is mine, at a time of my choosing.”
She could have sworn that his eyes twinkled, but it was probably from the brilliant chandeliers above and, as briefly as she thought that she’d seen it, it disappeared.
