Page 11 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Seven

Samuel

T he Aberforth townhouse was filled with more people than it had held in decades, and Samuel wasn’t sure if he was more pleased or exhausted.

Rooms that had been unused since the youth of his own father were aired out, a ballroom redone and draped in ivy and an array of summer’s night-blooming flowers, the fresh fragrance the price of carefully managed Blood Working, a seemingly unjustifiable luxury in a time of rationing.

But Shan had been right—it was worth it for the mere gossip it would kindle.

The plans for this ball had been in the works for weeks, ever since he and Shan came to the conclusion that a marriage between them was too good an opportunity to pass up.

It was easier to play into the expectations around them than waste precious time and energy building up alternative alliances, and a marriage was the perfect cover for all the times they would slip into each other’s townhouses.

And it didn’t hurt that Samuel was deeply, madly in love with Shan, so much so that he was willing to forgive the way she had to look at everything like a puzzle-box, studying it from all angles until she deemed it advantageous enough.

It was only after that she had assured him that her heart was his either way, regardless of the official terms they put to it.

But if they were to be engaged, they would do it properly, a show of force to Dameral and the rest of the country.

So, after all the work he had put into this, to ensure that it lived up to the standards expected of his bloodline, Samuel wanted nothing more than to sit back and bask in it.

The ball was a resounding success, couples twirling across the dance floor as the soft music of the string quartet floated in the air.

Their announcement had been met with cheers and applause, and they had spent the intervening hours accepting the congratulations of everyone and their brother.

And all Samuel wanted was a moment to just breathe.

But that was impossible, because even now, as he stood with a loosely held glass of wine in his hand, his gaze kept drifting to the large grandfather clock.

Even at this very moment, Anton should be pulling Isaac from his cell—and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help.

His job was to remain here, with Shan, to ensure that no matter what happened, the two of them had a solid alibi.

A warm hand brushed against the small of his back as Shan appeared at his side.

She was a vision, dressed in a new dress from Laurens, a beautiful fall of silk in the same color as her Royal Blood Worker robes, lest anyone forget her position.

Unlike her robes, however, this featured a low-cut bodice, the intricate embroidery drawing the eye to the delicate rise and fall of her breasts.

“Love,” she said, voice pitched soft enough that it would not carry to the rest of the room, “you will make a poor host if you continue to ignore our guests.”

“Forgive me,” he replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a gesture that he was used to reserving for moments of privacy. “I merely needed a moment.”

The barest hint of sympathy shone in her eyes as she lowered her mask for a moment. “It has been a long night, but we’re not through yet.”

“I know.” He held out his arm, allowed her to steer him back towards the party. She strode with her head held high, easily slipping back into the games of politics that was their lives.

She did not have to worry about Isaac; Samuel had worked hard to keep it that way. Whatever fear the King had put into her heart, Samuel only hoped that when this was over, she would forgive him.

That she would forgive them both.

But that was a question for later, and so he plastered his much-practiced Lord’s smile onto his face as she steered them towards Lady Dunn and the rest of that little court. The young lords and ladies of Aeravin’s oldest lines, the compatriots that Samuel should have been ingratiating himself with.

Despite the difficulty of working with the Council of Lords, sometimes Samuel was grateful for the excuses it gave him, sparing him from the worst of Shan’s soirées.

“My, my, Shan,” Lady Dunn said, giving Shan a most winsome smile. “Congratulations are most certainly in order. Lord Aberforth is quite a catch.” She tossed Samuel a saucy wink, and he could feel the unstoppable blush creep up his cheeks. “And so modest, too.”

Shan laughed, leaning in to chat like they were the dearest of friends, and Samuel squeezed the back of her arm in thanks.

There was something about Amelia Dunn that always gave him pause, a kind of cunning craftiness that he recognized in his own fiancée, but without any of the caring he knew hid behind the mask.

It was the most interesting study in contrasts, and if Samuel were a cleverer man he would be looking for ways to use this.

As it was, Samuel was content to let Shan handle the thorny bits of their politics, dazzling the court of Aeravin with her winning smiles and her endless cunning.

He could play the doting husband, could live with the rumors that she was pulling him around on a leash, nothing more than a pampered pet who existed to please her.

Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t that far from the truth, and he did not care one bit what others thought of it.

His hand drifted across her back, landing on her waist and pulling her closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the layers of their clothes, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her hair and breathe deep.

But there was a commotion echoing in the hallway, and as Samuel’s young footman came hurrying into the ballroom with a panicked expression, he had to step away from Shan with a sigh. “I’ll handle this, darling.”

Shan gave him a soft peck on the cheek before turning her attention back to Lady Dunn, as well as the young Miss Lynwood and her beloved Miss Rayne, abandoning him to his duties.

The work of a host was never done.

He caught the boy’s arm, carefully steering him away from the party and his overly interested guests. Only when they were out of earshot did Samuel speak, his voice low and quiet. “What is it, Frank?”

Despite the perfection of the boy’s outfit and appearance—a simple but proper suit, a perfectly tied cravat, his dark hair slicked by from his eyes—Frank had the air of a man just this side of panic. “It’s the King, Your Lordship, he is here and demanding a meeting.”

Samuel’s stomach lurched as the message processed. “The King is here ?”

“Aye,” Frank repeated, his hands twisting around themselves. “I have set him up in your study, but he is demanding to speak with you and Lady LeClaire. Immediately.”

“Hells.” Samuel glanced towards the grandfather clock again, its hands slipping even further into the night, and he knew what this was. He just hadn’t expected it so soon. “Thank you, Frank. I will handle it from here.”

“But,” the boy sputtered, and Samuel couldn’t help the swell of affection. Frank was a good boy, and a better servant than he deserved.

“Everything will be fine,” Samuel reassured him, hoping that his smile was comforting enough. “Return to your post.” Clapping him once on the shoulder, he turned to scan the crowd for Shan’s signature red dress.

She had moved towards the windows with the rest of the group, the night cold and sharp through the panes of glass. Outside, snow had just started to fall—big, thick flakes that stood in sharp contrast to the roses that bloomed fresh on vines creeping up the walls of his ballroom.

Another study in contrasts that he wished he did not have to consider. But as much as he wanted to simply give up, this was the next stage in his game. And he had to face it with courage.

He swooped into the group, sliding his arm around his fiancée’s waist. “If I might borrow my beloved for a moment…”

Lady Dunn only smirked at him, giving him a leering look from head to toe. “Far be it from us to impose.”

Shan only laughed, giving Dunn a light little smack on the arm with the back of her hand—a teasing gesture, claws turned inward and away. “Behave, Amelia.”

“If you think I’m going to give you the same advice,” Lady Dunn returned, “you don’t know me at all. He is just delectable.”

Samuel cleared his throat, loudly, earning a round of laughs from the group. “Thank you, Lady Dunn.”

“Ta ta,” she cooed, throwing one last smirk his way as he started to pull Shan away.

Leaning in, Shan muttered, “Is something the matter?”

“I don’t know,” Samuel said, the lie bitter on his tongue. It was better if Shan didn’t know yet; let her reactions be true and honest. It would be difficult enough to school his own response. “But the King is here and wishes to meet with us.”

Her hand tightened on his arm, the pricks of her claws still noticeable even through the fabric of his suit. “I take it that he is not here to offer his official congratulations?”

Samuel huffed a short laugh. “Knowing him? Unlikely. But he is waiting for us in my study.”

Shan only nodded, standing a little bit straighter, a little more confident. Though the Eternal King sought them out, they were in their element—this was their home, and in coming to them, the King had tipped his hand. They had the power, here, which is exactly what Samuel had hoped for.

Was this what it was like for Shan, with all her schemes and plans? He was starting to understand her a bit better. Little victories like this were intoxicating.

The Eternal King was waiting for them, and he led Shan back through the house proper, up the grand staircase towards the room he had claimed for his own study.

They paused on the landing, the music and conversations from below still audible, taking a moment to steady themselves for whatever was to come.