Page 3 of By Mistake

Oresti was going to kill someone. Maybe several someones. He'd start with his father and work his way down to those shitheel vendors who were content to stand around and do nothing as a poor young man was bullied.

A young man who was so thin he was nearly a ghost, his skin ashen and pale, his eyes full of so much pain that Oresti had wanted to hold him close, wrap him in blankets, and give him everything his heart desired until the pain was a distant memory.

That was probably the guilt talking. Oresti had just believed the rumors like everyone else, never once stopping to think about it.

Cold. Stand-offish. Stays locked up in his house and won't talk to anyone.

Thinks he's better than all of us, like it wasn't his dead relatives who murdered a prince. Snobby know-it-all.

How could everyone be so wrong . It bothered Oresti, personally and on an instinctual level. There was a mystery there, and he would solve it.

Right after he dealt with his father's summons. Because it wasn't as though he'd been working his ass off on murders and thefts and a suspicious fire all day, now his father had more work for him.

This would give him a chance to speak with his sister, though. His father was king, but his eldest sister ruled the court. If anyone could find the source of a rumor—and change rumors—it was her.

He used the staff entrance to slip into the palace, and servants' halls to make his way to his room undisturbed. When he arrived, his chamber servants were already there and had a bath drawn, the smell of the smokey sandalwood bath oil he favored wafting gently across the room. "Thank you."

"Our pleasure, Your Highness," said Greivs, who'd been with him since Oresti was fifteen and Greivs seventeen. He could have moved on to other jobs, much easier and less demanding, but he'd always remained. He was the one real, true friend Oresti had.

Oresti smiled as he finished undressing and slipped into the bathing chamber, sinking into the hot water with a happy sigh. "Any idea what my father wants?"

"I'm afraid not," Greivs replied, more casual in manner and speech now it was just the two of them. "He's been in a foul mood all day, though. Hopefully you'll be the one to set him to rights."

"We'll see," Oresti said, stifling a sigh as Greivs set to work tending his hair.

Growing up he'd kept it long as fashion dictated, but after joining the city police force, he'd cut it short.

One instance of a rowdy criminal grabbing and yanking had been enough.

It was still a little long, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to shave it close.

These days he was an investigator anyway, so much less with the hands on.

On the surface he was Investigator Oresti Kahlan.

In reality, he used the posting to do a great deal of covert work for his father and eldest sister.

The youngest son, and second youngest overall, he'd never been meant for the political games of court or further abroad.

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility he'd wind up in a marriage powerplay, but highly unlikely as his father was greatly against such things.

He'd been forced to marry his first wife, forced to marry his second, and it was only his third wife whom he'd loved.

And whom he'd lost like the first two. People loved to whisper the king was either cursed or a killer.

If Oresti had learned anything over the years, it was that sometimes life just plain fucking sucked for no damn reason at all.

Which brought his thoughts crashing right back into Lord Bothwell.

Andrus, though he hadn't given Oresti permission to use his name.

Beautiful, frail, so achingly sad. Oresti had wanted to scoop him up and carry him to bed and ply him with the finest foods until he no longer looked one missed meal from collapsing.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had fascinated him so.

He'd heard the cry, watched as Andrus picked himself up, had seen the anguish on his face, the absolute heartbreak that only someone who had to struggle for every pence could feel.

It wasn't a problem Oresti had ever faced, obviously, but he helped as often as he could without drawing too much attention to himself.

Buying a ridiculous amount of food for Andrus had definitely not been avoiding attention, but he would be damned if he left someone to starve.

Heaving from the bath, he accepted the towel Greivs held out and dried off before walking naked into his dressing room where he pulled on clothes suitable for meeting with his father, then his sister, and then attending dinner, should he be dragged into that.

Hopefully not. He wanted to get back into the city to do the kind of work that could only be done by moonlight.

"Hopefully I won't be back until late tonight, Greivs, so give everyone the night, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Greivs quirked a brow. "Would you like some company?"

Oresti brightened at the offer. "I would, actually. I'll let you know when I break free of my father and sister."

"I'll be waiting."

Mood greatly improved, Oresti headed off to speak with his father, whom he found in his smoking room, irritably reducing an expensive cigar to pieces. "You wanted to see me, Father?"

"Took you long enough," King Oranti grumbled, setting the poor, mangled cigar aside. "Where have you been?"

Oresti gave him a look that would get anyone else killed. "In the city. Doing my job. Which is why you had them blow the whistle to summon me." He'd been at least the tenth person to do so. If he never had to hear that damn whistle again, it would still be too soon. "Are you getting senile?"

"Shut up, Ori," Oranti said with a sigh. "You know what I meant."

"I was bathing and dressing so you wouldn't complain about me looking like a hooligan. You really are in a bad mood today, what's wrong?"

Oranti sighed again. "It hasn't been made public yet, but Lord Willow-White is dead. Heart failure, the healers tell me."

"How oddly convenient," Oresti replied.

"Yes, precisely. I want you to look into it."

"Of course. Where's the body?"

"In the spare cold room. Keep me apprised."

"I will, Father, always. Will you stop making everyone around you miserable now?"

"Go be impertinent somewhere else," Oranti replied, but with a faint smile.

Oresti gave him a playful bow, then headed out in search of his sister, whom he found in her room getting ready for dinner.

"Did you put Father in a better mood?" Alina asked, meeting his eyes in her mirror as she fussed with her cosmetics.

"I think so. Can you tell me anything?"

"Only that he was still alive when he went to bed at three in the morning, he'd been perfectly normal all night, and had a whole two glasses of wine.

There was no reason for him to suddenly die of heart failure.

For gods' sake, he came in third at that stupid horse race last month. The man was in excellent health."

Oresti leaned against her wardrobe and folded his arms across his chest. "How have you managed to keep it secret?"

"His 'good friend' Isabella came to me this morning about it," Alina said dryly. "Which reminds me of another detail. The man had no trouble keeping Isabella entertained last night while his wife was off with her little footman."

Oresti snorted. "You would be surprised what dying men will insist on doing, but I agree this is only increasingly suspicious."

"I hope you can figure it out, so we can pin the responsible party to the board like the nasty little roach they are." She spun around on her stool and rose gracefully to her feet. "How has your day been, Ori?"

"Busy as usual, but I did have a favor to ask of you."

"Oh, la, intriguing. I don't suppose it's that you want an introduction to some beauty or another?"

Stupidly, Oresti's mind went straight to Andrus, who was lovely even one step from starvation, and would be positively breathtaking when he was back in good health.

Shaking the strange, distracting thought away, Oresti said, "No, sorry, I am still not interested in getting married."

Alina sighed. "Pity. I get harassed daily by people who would love to wed and bed you."

"Oh, shut up," Oresti said with a groan.

"Look, I need your help. I want everything you can possibly learn about Lord Bothwell and why he's so hated.

I met him today, and the rumors of him being cold and snobby don't ring true.

He was shopping for groceries in a poor-side market for crying out loud, and when someone pushed him and destroyed his purchases, all he did was run home trying not to cry.

He is nothing but skin and bones, and the sweetest person I've ever met.

Something smells foul about all the nasty rumors attached to him. "

Alina's brows rose, and she tilted her head slightly, regarding him in that pensive way of hers that said both 'good future queen' and 'irritating know it all sister'. Finally she said, "I'll look into it. Give me three days."

"Thank you," he replied, and dutifully bent to kiss her cheek and accept the same in turn. "You're the best."

"You'll owe me."

Oresti rolled his eyes as he headed out. "No, I will not attend a ball or banquet or whatever and be flirted with incessantly all night."

"You're such a pisspot."

He grinned and bowed before letting himself out of her room, but his levity faded as he headed back to his own room, mind spinning between Andrus and this new task, on top of everything else he was working on.

Greivs waited for him, dressed for a night of mischief in dark, unremarkable clothing and subtle weaponry like hidden knives and weighted gloves. His springy dark brown hair had been pulled back into a knot at the back of his head.

Oresti changed his own clothes quickly, wrapping a strip of dark linen around his hair to keep it out of his face. He smiled as he rejoined Greivs. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," Greivs replied with a grin. "What are we up to tonight?"