Page 79 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)
Beyond her nerves and anger, Lilac held her tongue.
They’d chase her into a corner if she pretended not to know, and she refused to allow this particularly vile Agnes to think she’d chastised her into telling the truth.
She popped the rest of the cake into her mouth, unbothered…
and smiled, momentarily forgetting herself. Delicious.
She swallowed and looked to Hedwig, who stood at the corner of the table nearby, but the newly appointed Stewardess’s gaze was fixed straight ahead at the door. She would feed them another partial truth—one that this time benefitted her.
“The Rennes fire has been attended to. I have handled it.” Lilac reached over and plucked another flute of champagne from the plate floating to her left, bringing it straight to her quivering lips.
“Handled?” echoed a distant voice that drifted in with the breeze caressing the back of Lilac’s neck. “That is hardly the term I’d use to describe what had happened last night.”
Champagne spurted from her mouth onto some of the cakes and dribbled down her chin. Slowly, she turned.
So did everyone else.
Lilac spun to glimpse Giles’s carriage parked just outside the stables near the others. Beside it, in the middle of the bailey, were two horses: Lo?g and another brown horse—Hywell’s. There were two fine travel bags hanging off their thick saddles.
A tall figure strode into the room, a dark mass of black linens, leathers, and bear fur. He didn’t wait for the huffing blond fellow behind him—a panting Myrddin—or even for the crowd to fully part. He pardoned and squeezed his way to her so quickly, Lilac bumped up against the table in alarm.
Garin bent into a deep bow at the waist. He caught her fingers on his way up, just as he had on the night he’d reintroduced himself at Sinclair’s camp, and pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. “Your Majesty.”
Lilac pulled her arm away under his crushing stare, her head spinning as his intoxicating aroma of the dark wood engulfed her.
He stood, poised and unrecognizable in his trained posture.
A black tunic and brown undershirt peeked out at his chest over black leather trousers.
A long, black coat fell to his ankles, its collar lined in thick, speckled furs—and beneath that, Albrecht’s satchel she’d seen in Garin’s memory hung across his body, resting upon his hip.
He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am Albrecht Fistch III, but you can call me Albrecht. Behind me is Ambrosius, my valet. We would have arrived earlier, but we found ourselves stuck behind one of your carriages.”
Although Garin’s fur-covered chest and face flooded Lilac’s vision, she could hear the embarrassment in her mother’s voice. “Well? Return the gesture.”
“It’s quite all right.” Garin offered a dashing smile in Marguerite’s direction.
Gertrude and Helena’s faces climbed in color.
“She is the queen. She needn’t kneel for anyone.
” He leaned forward suddenly, making her entire body tense.
Reaching past her, his jet black waves brushed her cheek.
“Certainly not me,” he whispered into her ear.
Lilac held herself from him, gripping the edge of the table with her free hand, the heel of her palm digging into the wood so hard she might bleed.
He straightened, biting into one of Hedwig’s cakes. White-pink frosting lining his bottom lip. He slid his tongue along it before taking the rest of the dessert into his mouth. “Vanilla and black currant? And…” He frowned. “Almonds?”
“Walnuts,” Hedwig said, smiling in surprise. “You must be well traveled.”
“Why, thank you. I don’t leave my country often. Maximilian scarcely allows me out of his sight.”
Helena coughed. “I wonder why.” Gertrude jabbed her bony elbow into Helena’s ribs .
Garin pretended not to hear. “Though, I do enjoy cooking, Madame…” He extended a hand.
The Stewardess, whom Lilac had never seen flustered over anything but a difficult recipe, latched onto his hand. “Heussaff, My Lord. Hedwig Heussaff.”
His brows rose. Lilac couldn’t tell if his surprise was genuine. “Any relation to the Heussaffs in Dinan?”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve heard only great things about your family’s bakery. I have an old friend who insists their lavender bread saved Paimpont from some dreadfully dry marzipan turnovers.”
Hedwig chuckled, turning red. “That was all very long ago. After the Raid, most of my family had—” She paused, blinking at the floor. A hand went to Hedwig’s chest while she gathered herself. “Yes, well, that was my grandmother’s recipe.”
Garin watched her patiently. He nodded and placed an empathetic hand upon Hedwig’s shoulder.
“Take your time. I’m sorry to have brought up such a difficult topic.
” He glanced at the doorway, where three ward bundles of beads of iron, holy water, and garlic were suspended in cheesecloth by hawthorn and iron hooks wrenched into the wall—one on each side of the entryway.
“It seems these days you are well equipped against those bloodsucking vermin.”
“Not well enough,” Lilac said through gritted teeth.
“Fortunately, Your Majesty,” Garin said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out something half the length of his forearm and wrapped several times in cloth.
Her heart dropped as he offered it to her.
“I brought this from our armory. You should remain well equipped. You never know what, or whom, might be lurking out there.”
She accepted it, hand trembling. She didn’t need to open it to know what it was. Lilac held it away as nausea rolled through her.
Someone tapped her arm. Piper gently took the stake, careful to handle it over the cloth as the room watched with bated breath.
“Our armory contains a small collection of stakes and other odds and ends tucked away,” Henri offered stiffly from the corridor archway. “We’ve never had to use them and hopefully never will.” When she said nothing, her father cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to thank him?”
“I don’t think she’s accustomed to such abrupt kindness is all,” Marguerite assured Garin. “Dear? What do you have to say?”
“I think you should leave.” Every head in the room swiveled to face Lilac. The words were like sand in her throat, distorting her tone. She sounded hesitant, the surefire fury she felt deep down instantly tapering off at her lips.
Unphased, Garin brought his hand to his mouth, licking a residual smear of pink frosting off his knuckle. “But I’ve only just arrived. And what of Hedwig’s delectable treats? I cannot go without tasting all of them.”
Helena stumbled against Gertrude, on the brink of fainting.
“Come now, Your Majesty,” Hedwig said, visibly flattered but still upset. “They must stay for the feast proposed for tonight.”
There was a loud pop , followed by the sound of raining glass upon the floor. The champagne flute had shattered in her hand. Hedwig’s assistants rushed to her side, attempting to examine her. Lilac brushed them off, cradling her arm to her chest and ignoring the slight sting in her hand.
“Your parents had requested a dinner celebration to mark the emissary’s arrival and your new acquaintanceship,” explained Hedwig firmly. “It was to be a surprise.”
He had come to safeguard the pathway to her and Maximilian’s alliance—he didn’t trust her to make the right choice. Garin hadn’t known she’d agree to it, unless Myrddin had told him. Whether or not he knew it, both scenarios made his presence all the more infuriating.
So did needing to focus on her anger as her body began to throb.
“Cancel it,” she managed, swallowing hard and dusting the glass off her fingers. She couldn’t exactly fault her mother’s friends for being unable to peel their eyes off him; Lilac had salivated at the sight of Garin in his black sweeping cloak and fur collar. “There will be no feast tonight.”
Garin stepped back, finally giving her room to breathe. Giving himself room, hands flexing at his side. “A feast, you say?”
There was movement behind him, then; the crowd parted with utterances of disgust as a flash of gray— Bisousig —slunk around Garin’s legs.
Giles peered around Garin’s shoulders, made broader by his cloak.
The coachman’s eyes widened at the array of mostly untouched treats before him, but Garin turned and shot him a look.
“Get her out of here,” he warned under his breath .
Giles nodded and promptly scooped the cat up from Garin’s ankles, bowing and showing himself out between the perplexed guards.
“If I may, Your Majesty.” Myrddin raised his hand to speak.
His glorious golden hair was cropped, falling just over his ears and framing his face.
He’d gotten rid of his robes and instead wore a dusk blue tunic, unbuttoned at the chest over tight dark trousers.
“Under the emperor’s order, we cannot leave without presenting you with Maximilian’s marriage offer.
You have every right to decline,” Myrddin was quick to add.
Garin swiveled back on him. Whatever look the vampire gave Myrddin shut him right up. “ Which she will not ,” Garin said, his mask slipping.
“I don’t understand,” Marguerite said, hysterical. “She has our blessing. She was willing, eager even, for Maximilian’s proposition last night when Artus—” Her fingers went to her lips as she realized what she’d said.
Murmurs rose around the room.
Garin’s head snapped to Lilac. “Artus Le Tallec was here?”
Had Myrddin not mentioned the former duke’s visit?
Although his inquiry was no demand, his tone wrenched it from her.
“He and his men were here late last night spouting several harmless threats,” she answered, as the rest of the nobility listened in.
Then, for everyone else’s benefit, added, “Do you know him?”