Page 48

“S ORRY TO KEEP YOU ALL WAITING ,” Toven said, stepping forward and shaking hands with Canning. “General Tremelo took an interest in my heartspring.”

Behind her, the door closed, and the guard locked it.

Briony’s eyes moved quickly over every woman in the room, standing behind an occupied chair like a serving maid. Every gaze was cast down, but she recognized several of them.

Behind Canning’s chair was Jellica Reeve, whom Canning had boasted only days ago about using his elixir on.

A woman named Octavia who had always been quiet and kind in school stood next to Jellica, behind Lorne’s chair.

Where she had been full-figured in school, she was now skin and bones.

Across the table from them, Cecily Weape, daughter of a high-ranking Eversun, stood behind Collin’s chair.

Something in Briony broke when she remembered that Collin used to send her love notes at school.

Other faces came and went in her memories, failing to attach to names.

On the table were several opened bottles of wine, herbed vegetables, and a full roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth.

She quickly adjusted to the idea of “dinner,” and lifted her eyes to the men in the room.

“Well, the general has always been known for his exquisite taste,” Canning said, eyeing her.

Toven quickly moved to the open chair, facing Canning at the other end of the table. Taking note that Toven was one of two top dogs in this room, Briony followed behind him and quickly took her place against the wall, behind his chair.

Toven picked up his empty wineglass and extended it out to his side, waiting. Briony stared at it.

“Do keep up, Rosewood,” he said snidely.

The men chuckled, watching her.

Then a woman with strawberry-blond hair stepped forward from the wall behind Liam, reached for a wine bottle, and met Briony’s eyes as she filled Liam’s glass.

Briony jerked forward, following her lead and filling Toven’s glass. The men’s eyes glittered at her, while Toven simply stared forward, away from her.

Once his glass was full, she set down the bottle and stepped back, glancing at the blond woman in thanks. When the woman smiled back at her, Briony’s mind rearranged like tumblers in a lock.

It was her maid from Claremore Castle. The one whom she had saved on the day of the attack—the day Rory died. The one who had led Cordelia and her down the stairs and who had run when Cordelia stayed behind to find her.

Briony swayed on her feet, her heels tilting under her ankles.

The strawberry-blond woman looked down at the floor again.

It was some comfort, Briony supposed, that there were no winners that day. If she’d hid like Anna wanted, she’d have been found. If she’d been a few steps faster down that passage and missed the cave-in, she’d still have been captured, like this young woman was.

Briony glanced her over, finding a silver collar around her neck, instead of gold. There was obviously a difference there—but what did it mean?

Toven lifted his glass. “To Mistress Mallow. May she reign forevermore.”

The room chorused, “Forevermore.”

“And may her enemies,” Toven continued, and turned his head to give her his profile, “be nevermore .”

The men laughed and sipped their russet-colored wine.

And all Briony heard was the echo of her country’s name in both statements. There was a window ledge behind her, and she leaned back on it, letting the breeze move across her shoulders and taking the weight off her too-tall heels.

Conversation spun quickly after that.

“Your father back yet from across the sea?”

“Lorne, do you have that painting I was asking about?”

“—new batch of elixir soon?”

“She was gagging for it, I tell you—”

Briony tried to follow the speakers with her gaze, but the men kept glancing at her. Across the table, Jellica Reeve shifted on her feet, swaying forward as if her body were tied by a string to Canning’s chair. Her eyes were dilated, gaze hot on the back of Canning’s head.

Briony’s brows drew together.

“Her pox has cleared beautifully, Toven.” Lorne’s voice rang out over the table, a sparkling smile on his face as he appraised Briony. “She hardly looks like she had it.”

“Well, of course,” Toven hummed. “I couldn’t let my property look so tarnished, but I assure you, the boils and puss were disgusting.” He glanced over his shoulder at her in distaste. “You tired? Can’t stand straight?”

Every eye turned on her. She pushed up from the windowsill, realizing that none of the other women were leaning.

“No, sir. Just not used to my shoes, sir,” she mumbled.

Toven’s eyes flashed at her while the table erupted into laughter.

“Oh, Rosewood,” Liam said with a grin. “You can have a break from your footwear. Come sit on my lap.”

The men howled. Toven sipped his wine, set the glass down, and cleared his throat. “She will do no such thing.”

The laughter dissipated at his tone.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Stones, why even bring her if we can’t have a little fun?”

Toven drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. “ I’m having fun, that’s all that matters. Lorne? Will you do the honors?” He nodded to the pig in the middle of the table. “I’m starving.”

Lorne stood with a smirk and produced a carving knife.

Briony listened to the men chat while the women approached Lorne one at a time to take a plate to their escort.

Cecily Weape retrieved Collin two servings, and he thanked her with a pinch to her backside.

Jellica Reeve almost dropped Canning’s plate, her hands were shaking so badly, but Briony noticed that it didn’t seem to be fear driving her.

When she set the plate of food down in front of Canning, she hovered, her fingers curling, almost reaching to him.

He smirked up at her and said, “You may go.” Jellica whimpered and stumbled back to her place behind his chair.

Briony moved around the table to Lorne’s side when it was her turn. She could feel him watching her as the conversation continued, eyes raking her body.

“She looks pampered, Toven,” Lorne said, twirling his knife.

Briony’s heartbeat quickened as he began spinning the blade on his thumb.

“My heartspring gets so weak after I drain her; dry skin and tired eyes.” Lorne’s gaze dropped over Briony’s neck and chest. “And no other kinds of marks, either. You must not be having that much fun.”

The table laughed. Briony glanced to Octavia, standing ghostly behind Lorne’s chair, peeling an orange for him with her eyes glued to his knife as it spun.

“You know how much I paid for her,” Toven drawled. “Of course I bathe her in milk and lavender every night.”

Canning laughed. But Lorne’s eyes were darting across Briony’s skin. She drew in a slow breath, wishing she could go back to Toven’s side of the room.

Quick as lightning, there was a glint of metal, and then Lorne was a breath away, his knife between her skin and the green strap of her dress. He tugged on it.

“She’s an Eversun, Toven. She only needs to lie on her back.” His crisp white teeth flashed at her, his breath hot on her face. “Besides, I always heal them afterward.”

She froze in horror as the knife cut through the strap, her heart fluttering wildly and her eyes wide—her dress slipping down her chest—

The knife zoomed away from her skin, spinning through the air to pierce the stone wall as Lorne jumped backward.

Her strap repaired itself, and she turned to see Toven’s hand outstretched, hot rage simmering beneath his cool facade.

“I’m not sure how many more times I need to say it,” he whispered, and the room was barely breathing.

“That heartspring is mine. Her mouth is mine, her magic is mine, her skin is mine.” His teeth bit through the words, and he met eyes with every person at the table before saying, “You will not touch her, under any circumstances. I purchased her. I do what I please with her.”

Her skin tingled where she could still feel the ghost of Lorne’s knife. Her breath was shallow as she watched Toven glare at them, still as a statue, until he was satisfied that he had been heard.

“Now bring me a plate. I said I was hungry.”

Briony took the plate and hurried to the other side of the room.

As she set it before Toven, she reached to refill his wineglass, too.

An arm snaked out around her waist, and she was suddenly tugged into Toven’s lap.

She stifled a gasp and righted herself, sitting sideways across his thighs.

His left arm slipped around her back, steadying her with his palm against her left hip.

Toven picked up his fork with his free hand and turned to the table. “Now, what were we talking about?”

Briony tried to concentrate on anything but the firmness of Toven’s thighs beneath her.

She’d never sat in a man’s lap before. It wasn’t proper for any unmarried young woman to do so in public, much less the daughter of the king.

She’d been close to a man’s body like this when she was unchaperoned with Didion, but this was far more intimate.

It wasn’t just the feeling of Toven’s thighs through the silk of her dress, but also his hand steadying her. The brush of air across her naked back.

Conversation slowly flowed again, tension high in the air after Toven’s outburst. When Cecily refilled Collin’s plate, he pulled her into his lap as well, nuzzling his face into her neck.

When Briony next glanced up, Octavia was in Lorne’s lap, his fingers twirling her hair absently while he talked to Canning about betting scores.

Guilt boiled in Briony’s gut at the thought that she and Toven had changed the tone of the evening.

Her gaze drifted to Jellica again. While Canning made no move to bring her into his lap, she stood barely a pace behind him, her body shifting and lip pulled between her teeth in what Briony would call desire. She reached for Canning’s shoulder and then dropped her hand, as if remembering herself.