Page 40 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Corrin

“ E xactly zero public appearances between now and the ceremony. She’s not even dining with her court.” Damia kicks the foot of the bed. “It’s like she’s hiding from us.”

“I know,” I say, stretching out across the bed in our room. “I can’t believe she’s not making it easy for us to kill her. It’s very rude.”

Damia glowers. “You could at least pretend that you’re invested in this mission.”

“Oh I am,” I say. “I’m expecting great rewards in the near future, remember? Just right now, I’m more invested in getting some lunch.”

She sighs, throwing herself down into an elegant armchair. Even in all her finery, I can see the soldier underneath, kicking her boots up onto the furniture after a long battle.

“I knew bringing you along was a waste of time. We could’ve made things work with Stratton.”

“Hey,” I protest. “Who was it who found out Oclanna’s taking all her meals privately in the first place?”

I played the role of idiot lord to perfection last night, pretending to be so eager to get a chance to see the future queen that I’d lower myself to questioning all the staff on the subject.

Baron Hornifold had been most disappointed when he found out he probably wouldn’t lay eyes on Oclanna anytime soon.

“But it doesn’t help us,” Damia says, taking Barb out and letting the little serpent wind between her fingers.

I’m not offended by Damia’s frustration with me.

She’s frustrated with everything. The argument about the bed had been a moot point in the end, because she stayed up drawing maps of the palace and strategizing ways to get the others inside until eventually she fell asleep in the armchair.

She’s clearly feeling the pressure of the job, only giving me a grunt of thanks when she woke up the next morning to find herself draped in a blanket with a cushion under her head.

I, on the other hand, am rather enjoying myself.

Palace life suits me—great food, polite staff, and a mattress so comfortable I woke up thinking I’d died and gone to the Eternal Realm.

I’m also learning it’s quite fun winding Damia up.

Though I have to be careful she doesn’t notice I’m doing it on purpose.

“So we’re not going to be able to hit hard and fast like you’d hoped. There’s still Stratton’s poisoning plan. That could give us a chance to actually get out of this place before the guards start looking for heads to chop off.”

Our exit strategy has been a point of contention between us from the beginning.

Damia is absurdly confident that we’ll be able to wriggle our way out of this palace once we’ve taken the regent down.

I suppose a lifetime of warring and getting out of tight scrapes will do that to a woman, but she seems certain my shadows will be exactly what we need.

I hope she’s right, but I also keep picturing our heads on spikes outside the city gates.

“We’d have to get him in first,” Damia points out.

I shrug. “So that’s our next priority,” I say.

“Something to muse on over lunch.” I rise and offer her my hand.

She takes it with the hand still hosting Barb, and I pretend not to be alarmed when the serpent winds its way off her wrist and onto my knuckles.

Her little tongue flickers across my skin, and she lowers her head, watching me with bright, beady eyes .

“Hello, my small, scaled friend,” I say to the snake, hoping I’m not about to get two sharp little fangs in my flesh.

“She likes you,” Damia says, sounding annoyed by it.

“Most people do, you know, once they get to know me.” I risk winking at her. Damia releases my hand quickly, making Barb hiss.

“Let’s just go get some food,” she says, not meeting my eyes.

It wouldn’t be so fun if she wasn’t so easy to tease.

I find Barb a nice vase to hide out in, then follow Damia to the court dining room where we ate dinner last night.

I insist we seat ourselves right in the middle of a loud group of lords and ladies, turning on the charm for maximum effect.

It’s an added bonus that I can feel Damia’s irritation growing with every joke I tell or interesting anecdote I share.

But I’m good at this—you don’t get to host the most popular bars and gambling dens in the city without knowing how to turn on the charm and tailor it to your audience.

“And then the soldier says to the countess, ‘That’s not my sword, my lady. And it’s not the general’s either!’”

I grin as I deliver the punchline of the joke, and the three ladies listening descend into fits of laughter.

“Oh, Baron Hornifold,” one of them gasps, “You are awful.”

“I’m offended, Lady Petunis,” I say with mock hurt. “That’s one of my best.”

This only makes them giggle again. Beside me, Damia is silent, studying the room intently. It would be obvious she’s staking out the place to anyone with a careful eye. It’s partly why I’m trying to keep everyone distracted with my excellent jokes.

“Careful, Baron Hornifold, or you’ll have the girls choking on their soufflé,” says Lord Qualis, opposite me. I’ve learned he’s the cousin of Lady Petunis and her sister, Lady Viola.

“Come now, Lord Qualis. I don’t believe such graceful ladies capable of such a thing,” I smile.

I catch the ladies’ friend, Lady Frione, looking at Damia. Then, when it seems Baron Hornifold’s wife isn’t paying attention, she very deliberately bats her eyelashes at me.

“Do you have many graceful ladies up there in Artifract, Lord Hornifold? It must be awfully cold. However do you stay warm?” She raises her brows at me, eyes big and innocent, but I feel quite clearly the slipper-clad foot sliding up my leg.

“Ah, well, the climate certainly isn’t for everyone,” I say evenly, wondering exactly when Lady Frione will stop her exploration. Her foot is getting awfully close to?—

“Oh don’t worry, I make sure he’s kept plenty warm,” comes a dangerous voice from beside me.

Lady Frione startles a little as her foot is quickly dislodged from its position by my knee, shoved to the floor by a strong, swift hand.

I try not to jump when Damia’s hand claims my leg territorially, her fingers sliding up toward my thigh.

“It’s my job to make sure Baron Hornifold never gets chilly.

And I take my job very seriously,” she says, staring at Lady Frione in direct challenge.

The young woman blushes and looks away while Lord Qualis chuckles.

“Good for you, Baron Hornifold,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “Not every man can claim such an attentive wife.”

“Not every man can claim such a beautiful one either,” I say, smiling at Damia. Her green eyes meet mine, and for a second, I’m very conscious of the heat emanating from her touch, still resting tantalizingly high.

“Just you remember that, my love,” Damia says sweetly to me before releasing my leg and returning to her food.

“Now I heard a rumor that the rogue princess has been spotted in the north. You wouldn’t happen to be hiding Morgana Angevire up in Artifract, would you, Lord Hornifold?” Lady Viola asks coquettishly.

Damia stiffens beside me, but I just laugh and pretend to think.

“Hmm, not that I recall. Although I’ll have to check the pantry when we get home. I hear outlaw princesses are notorious for lurking in those.”

My audience titters, and I make a note of their amusement. It seems the nobles of Trova aren’t so disturbed by talk of Morgana Angevire, and I decide to probe further .

“But then perhaps I should be more concerned,” I say lightly, taking a swig of my wine. “I mean, do you think it’s true that she murdered her parents?”

I watch their reactions carefully over the rim of my cup. How deeply do they believe the official story? But Lord Qualis just shrugs.

“Who knows? A terrible tragedy, of course. But kings and queens always have a lot of enemies. I’ve heard people say she got herself in a mess with the fae.

Made promises she couldn’t keep, or something like that, and now she’s stuck taking orders from them.

I certainly wouldn’t be standing up to the Nightmare Prince in a hurry. ”

“Oh I don’t know, if she really is a solari, she might be a match for him,” Lady Petunis says.

Damia shifts beside me uncomfortably, but I seize the opportunity.

“I’ve heard the rumors about her power,” I say, shaking my head. “A heretic princess—you couldn’t make it up.”

“Well, ‘heretic’ is one way of putting it,” Lord Qualis says.

I lift a questioning eyebrow at him and smile to show I’m intrigued. “Meaning?”

He sets his drink down. “I’m just saying the Temple loves to be a party pooper. They certainly have a long list of boogeymen.”

“Careful Qualis, or you’ll find yourself uninvited from the coronation. The regent loves the Temple,” Lady Petunis says.

Lord Qualis makes a gesture indicating his lips are sealed, and the conversation moves on.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting the Nightmare Prince,” Lady Frione giggles. “I’ve heard he’s rather handsome.”

Lady Viola rolls her eyes. “Please, Frione, you’d flirt with a rock if it had enough muscles.”

I turn to see how Damia, close friend to said prince, is enjoying this topic, only to see she’s risen from the table and is making her way out of the dining room .

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, my lord,” I duck my head in cheerful farewell as I make to follow her.

“My Lady,” I call after her in the corridor. “Are you done with lunch?”

She reels around. “I’m done with you wasting our time.”

I stare at her, not quite open-mouthed, but certainly surprised enough to not have an immediate answer.

Does she really not see the value in taking the temperature of the nobles?

Since we have no way of getting to the regent, it seems like the best possible use of our time.

Why is she so annoyed? I try to defuse the tension with humor, smiling.

“Is this about Lady Frione?” I ask. “Because you know I only have eyes for you, darling.”

It doesn’t work. Her green eyes flash, and I’m suddenly glad we left Barb back in our room.