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“It’s beautiful in its own way,” Brigida said. “I’ve always thought so.”

“If you think that’s beautiful, then I’m feeling less insulted by your rejection.”

She snorted. “I didn’t think it was impossible to insult you.”

“No, it is. I’m very vain.” He snuck a glance over his shoulder, searching for his constant entourage. His Guard was arranged along the path behind him, Mattias the closest, watching them with seeming indifference – but Náli could tell that Mattias’s good mood from minutes before had iced over. Jealousy: what a wondrous thing, he thought, with a pleasant internal shudder.

Klemens, he noted, stood beside Mattias, and his gaze was fixed, rather inappropriately, on Brigida’s backside.

He shifted closer to her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Brigida. When you say that you’d prefer a man who is older…” He trailed off and was rewarded by her gaze snapping to his face, sharp and cautious in an instant. “What do you think of my man Klemens?”

She frowned. “Your man?”

“One of my Guard. Him. Right back there.”

“Your Dead Guard?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head willing her to look.

Slowly, she turned her head.

“No, not him.” That one’s mine, he thought with an inner snarl. “Next to him. To his right.”

He watched her eyes shift; watched her pupils expand, fractionally, before she turned back to him, frown still firmly in place. “What about him?”

“Do you think he’s tall and handsome and old enough?”

Her brows lifted. “He’s your Dead Guard. They swear themselves to you, and only you. When you die, they’ll spend the remainder of their days in seclusion,” she said, the words rote, as if read from a book, her tone a little bit wild.

“Yes, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “The chaste and noble Dead Guard.” He wondered how shocked she would be to learn of the position he’d found three of them in night before last. “No wives, no sons, no fun. Nothing but me, me, me.

“But what if I were to tell you that I’m thinking of altering the tradition somewhat?”

She stared at him.

“Fine. Don’t believe me. But what about Klemens?”

“He’s your–”

“I know what he is,” he snapped, growing impatient. “Forget about that for the moment.”

“But I don’t know him. I’ve never spoken to him.”

“He’s lovely,” Náli said with an offhand wave. “I’m asking for a purely superficial assessment here, Brigida. Do you find him pleasing to look at?”

She hesitated – and then her cheeks slowly pinked. “Well. Yes.”

Náli grinned wide enough that she gave him a startled look.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because I’ve just had a wonderful idea.”

~*~

“That is not a wonderful idea.”

It was the most resistance Klemens had ever offered him, and for that reason, Náli took it as an insult. “I’m insulted,” he said, in case his scowl wasn’t clear enough.