Page 86 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

There was a sharp clink . Garin tapped his fork upon his glass twice, shattering the unbearable silence.

“Let us applaud Her Majesty’s attempts at unifying her kingdom in the midst of a crisis.

Maximilian has his fair share of warlocks on his court—mostly jesters, otherwise not very useful.

Ambrosius there, for example. Smoke and mirrors.

” He motioned at the warlock, who froze at the corner of the sweets table.

Myrddin slowly turned to face them, mid-bite through a cupcake.

Several people gasped and backed away from him.

“Entertaining, yet not the threat you think he is. But the emperor, he was born a politician and raised a soldier. His impressive firepower and tactics are wholly man-made.”

“I did not say they weren’t,” Lilac added, her tone clipped .

Garin tapped his glass again, and the crowd exchanged unsure glances.

“Let us not get lost in hearsay and heresy. This night is to celebrate Her Majesty, and Her Majesty alone.” He lifted the cup high and in her direction.

He extended his free hand to her, palm up.

Fuming, she placing her hand in his. “To the stunning bride to be! To the future Queen of the Romans!”

At first, no one said anything. There was a second of hesitation, but none more. A fist clutching a tankard shot to the ceiling. “Long live the queen!” came her father’s booming voice.

“Long live the queen,” Piper, Yanna, and Isabel shouted back.

By the third chant, most of the room had joined in, and glasses were raised in her direction. For the first time in years, there were enthusiastic cheers for her—ones filled with hope. For the most part, it seemed France had temporarily become a larger threat to them than the Daemons they feared.

Queen of the Romans. Lilac blinked at the crowd, stomach churning.

A new, massive empire to rule when she’d barely started with the country of her birth, that which she’d sworn by birthright to protect.

The thought threatened to overwhelm her.

It would have, if not for Garin’s presence, tethering her in her buzzing body.

At the center of the dance floor, her parents were the first to resume their dance, her mother giggling and falling into her father’s chest. The quartet raised their instruments, and the rest joined in.

Garin took his seat, sipping from his water glass. Lilac held her tongue and plopped into her throne, uttering her thanks as one of Hedwig’s men brought her a steaming plate.

“Thank you, kind sir,” he said, when the server removed his first plate and replaced it with one that matched Lilac’s: dipping lamb rib, potatoes covered in butter and herbs, and a pile of maple parsnips to begin with.

But even he paid no mind; Garin was preoccupied with observing Piper, Yanna, and Isabel, who were huddled, whispering at the back of the room.

Once Piper noticed Garin watching, she abruptly stopped talking.

Isabel bumped into Yanna, who bumped into Piper—who proceeded to beckon them to the sweets table.

Garin suppressed a smirk. “I see you discovered those fine gowns I sent you home with. ”

“My God. Could you be any louder?” Lilac eyed the server strutting around their table with his dish cart.

“What does it matter, now that half the town knows we were at the brothel together? It seems they don’t care so long as their tender throats are saved by the emperor and their most valiant queen.

Thanks to me.” Garin gulped his water and slowly set his glass down, peering sideways at the way the supportive bodice clung to her chest and torso.

His eyes lingered as he fingered the divots in the fine crystal.

“Thirsty, are you?”

“These days? Always.” He rubbed at his chin, distracted. “You look like a work of art worth the heist.”

“And you look like a scoundrel stupid enough to attempt it.” Lilac squeezed her thighs together, swallowing her shock at how easily she wanted to open them right there at the table.

His lips quirked. “Lithe? Suave? Cunning?”

“Like you belong at the guillotines,” she rasped. “Stop that. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

Garin only laughed, finally tearing his hungry eyes from her. “Herlinde is a talented seamstress, is she not?”

“She is,” Lilac admitted, thankful for the change of subject. There was no protesting there. “Is Herlinde related to the Algovens?”

“She is an Algoven. She’s Lori’s older sister.”

“Lorietta has never spoken of her before. I didn’t know she had any other family in the area besides Meriam.”

“That’s because Lori pretends her sister doesn’t exist. Herlinde is the reason the Algovens—what was left of them—relocated to Paris, where her mother was from.

Then, to Brittany. Years ago, Herlinde married a powerful warlock against their parents’ wishes.

Like Herlinde and Lori, he was also gifted in Alteration, but known to swindle and experiment with illegal magic; they’d tried to warn her, but Herlinde went against their wishes and eloped.

Her new husband thus moved into their family’s manor, and in the early hours of morning, attempted to cast a spell upon his travel trunk that would create enough space to steal some of their family fortune.

Instead, he blew the manor and their family into smithereens. ”

Lilac covered her mouth in horror.

“Only a handful of them survived: Lori, Herlinde, Meriam, and Rolf. Meriam had gone to the village with her brother—Rolf, Lori’s and Herlinde’s grandfather—for the day, and returned to discover a gruesome scene—the girls cowering in the foyer, covered in grime and blood.

The four of them escaped and fled before authorities caught wind of it.

After receiving harsh scrutiny in Paris, they eventually ended up in Rennes, where their grandfather quietly continued his family business as a haberdasher.

When he grew ill and died shortly after, the business was passed down to Herlinde, which infuriated Lorietta.

It was Herlinde’s fault this had happened, after all.

That was what Lori thought, anyway. Still blames her for it.

So, she and Meriam left to form The Fenfoss Inn in the western High Forest. They’ve rarely been in contact with each other since. ”

She thought of the cornerstone at the inn. “The inn was established in 1340. Lori and Herlinde barely look forty themselves.”

“I think they’ve both chosen to hover around their mid thirties for now.

By the time we met, she’d already altered her age for several years—-which is something she and her family can do, the gifted Alterationists they are.

Lori was a few years younger than my frozen age of twenty-five when I stumbled upon their property after leaving the coven.

She found me on the ground covered in deer blood, writhing in agony after I’d dragged a traveler off his horse into the treeline and attempted to feed. ”

“And they offered you a position, just like that?”

“It was out of pity more than anything. Told them about my my biting curse, and Meriam was so alarmed, she had one of their loyal mortal customers bloodletting for me behind the counter within the hour. Neither of them had ever seen a vampire so poorly. They let me tend the bar and cleared a portion of the cellar for me. A few decades later, some twenty years ago, a sullen warlock ambled into my bar on another fateful, stormy night. I took him in and cleaned him up, just as they’d done for me.

Gave him a room on part of my pay. We discovered he was a gifted Conjurer when, the next morning, I retired to my makeshift cot to find my bedchamber fully furnished.

He furnished most of the tavern, too. He was talented, when he wasn’t ragingly drunk.

” Garin pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed, pensive smile spreading.

“Lorietta had made me her project, attempting to cure me. None of it worked. But I owe that woman my life.”

Lilac blinked, imagining how startling it must’ve been to find a starved vampire outside their business. How happy Garin must’ve been to rest in a furnished room. His comfortable bed, and the faded green armchair. “The Algovens are good people.”

“Deeply, profoundly good. They’re the most hospitable people I know, and mildly insane to take in someone like myself and Myrddin.

Even Meriam. And Herlinde isn’t so bad herself, she’s just like her sister but alarmingly self-centered.

” He clicked his tongue. “Poor things. Arrived in Paris still covered in their parents’ and maids’ innards. ”

His lovely story suddenly cut short, Lilac stopped chewing and placed her piece of bread slathered in goose liver down. She bent to spit in her napkin.

“I know ,” Garin replied through a mouthful of bread and pate, helping himself to more.

“Interdimensional magic is a fascinating subset of forbidden arcana, even for the most skilled magic folk. Myrddin already skirts those lines with his teleportation. By the way, spitting is in poor taste, Your Majesty.” He patted his mouth delicately. “Not that you would know.”

Lilac slammed her napkin down, suppressing the urge to vomit. “Anyway, thank you, Sir Albrecht, for the gowns and pleading to the masses for me.”

Garin reached for the pretty ceramic pitcher off to his left and poured himself another cup of water.

He must’ve impressed Hedwig—not even Lilac had one of her own.

“My pleasure. Someone here had to understand the gravity of Maximilian’s offer.

It might as well be those who have the most to lose should France invade. ”

She wouldn’t argue with him, not now. Garin wouldn’t further ruin the night; she wouldn’t allow it. Lilac watched him then skewer the end of a sausage and slice it off with his knife. “Has Myrddin given you anything for that?”

Garin chewed thoughtfully. “For what, Your Majesty?”