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Malik

M alik drank half his glass of whiskey in one go. Damn. What a day.

“Another, Your Highness?” The barkeep raised his brows at him.

“Please.” He slid the half-filled glass across the counter.

The day had started as a dream, with him waking up next to Bronwyn for the second day in a row, but had soured the more it progressed. She’d been a mess last night, torn up over her friend’s involvement and all that she would not say. Malik had signed a pardon for Charlotte, an attempt to get the grieving woman to speak. Whether Bronwyn was successful it that, he wouldn’t know until later. His focus was elsewhere.

First, he’d visited the Yarwoods to break Sian’s heart. She’d taken it reasonably well, all things considered. Threw a shoe at him and stormed off in tears, but that was to be expected. Her brother, however… Malik frowned as the barkeep slid the newly filled glass back to him. Fury had nothing on the brother of a jilted woman. The man had even threatened him, which might make him laugh under other circumstances but now only raised his suspicions further. Rees Yarwood had no love for him, and a clear disrespect for the crown.

A wiser man would have kept the ruse with the Yarwoods going, perhaps, but the time for slow games was over. And he’d been right about one thing: pretending to be interested in someone else when he had Bronwyn’s affections was impossible. The mere thought of it made him ill, and he would not taint the one good thing in his life.

Malik sipped at the whiskey, savoring its burn, and glanced about the busy gentlemen’s club. He was waiting on Lord Osric, but it seemed he was to be disrespected twice in one day—the man was late. As long as the lord eventually showed, it was a slight he could let go.

Others kept trying to engage him in conversation. He was, after all, quite the novelty, a notable guest to this particular club with its deep blue walls and even darker leather chairs. A few hard looks and curt words kept the men from lingering, though. He was in no mood.

Finally, he spied Lord Osric through the haze of cigar smoke. The lord took note of him at once, smiling broadly, though even that attempt looked slimy and unwelcoming. Nearly everything about the man did. Goddess help him, he would never associate with such an eel of a person under different circumstances, but progress required sacrifice, and he was out of time.

They claimed a corner table that Malik had reserved, and the attentive barkeep immediately brought Lord Osric a glass of whiskey. He sipped at it before grinning and throwing one arm over the back of the curved lounger. “Excellent taste, as to be expected of His Highness.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”

It said much about the man’s want of connections that he’d come on invitation alone.

“I believe we may be of a similar mind.” He held out his open hand in an offer to shake. “All wings in the willows .”

Lord Osric cocked his head, his grin spreading. He took Malik’s hand, his fingers settling into the pattern used by the dragons to show their allegiance to the cause. “ And fire in the hearth ,” he finished the secret acknowledgement. “Though I am surprised to find you among our number. I’d heard it was quite the opposite.”

“Oh, really?” Malik sipped at his whiskey. “From whom?”

A laugh filled the space between them. “Everyone.”

Malik grinned, leaned on the table, and whispered, “It would be foolish of me to wear my allegiances on my sleeve, as it were.” He sat straight once more. “It’s good to see my diversion has been effective.”

“The Dragon never told me about you.” His brow scrunched. “You’re to be the heir?”

“Am I not already?” Malik gave a toothy grin. “Besides, he lets you in on all his plans, does he? I trust you’ve met him in person?”

“Well, no…” Lord Osric shifted in his chair, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, I get my letters, same as everyone, and I was supposed to meet him soon. Elis had assured me of that, but then he…”

“Ah yes, most unfortunate,” Malik replied.

Osric’s gaze darted around before settling on Malik once more. He scooted in, dropping his voice even lower than before. “Is it true you took care of Elis? I thought he was a favorite?”

Malik shrugged. “He’d been seen. By Miss Kinsley, no less.”

“I know orders were not to harm her, but given the circumstance, might it have been better to have offed her instead?”

Instantly, Malik saw red. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself smash the heavy glass he held into the man’s face, and it took all his composure not to do just that. Even so, he failed to keep all the rage from his features, and Lord Osric noticed, sitting back quickly in his chair.

“I—I meant—"

“Miss Kinsley is of interest to him .” He slammed his empty glass on the table. “To me . She is not to be harmed.”

“Apologies!” The other man held up his hand, looking suddenly terrified. “I thought—”

He snarled, “You thought wrongly.” Goddess above, if the sniveling, slimy man wasn’t useful to him, he’d have half a mind to throw him out the nearest window, onlookers and consequences be damned.

“Please, let me make amends… For the offense, a-and the racecourse.” Lord Osric loosened his collar. “I-I didn’t know. I’ve only tried my best to follow orders.”

Silence hung between them, filled only by the din of the club. Malik let the man stew in his misery until he finally said, “You have a reprieve. For now.” Malik’s nails dug into his palms even as he forced a smug smile. “Why else do you think I asked you here tonight?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “The pieces are almost all in place, and we have work to do.”

Osric swallowed thickly and sat a little straighter. “There’s been no letter…”

Malik chuckled. “Have you not figured it out already? Consider the appointment Elis promised fulfilled.” He signaled the barkeep for another glass, waiting.

The revelation came across in pieces: first the widening eyes, then the slight parting of his mouth, and finally a thoughtful turn of the head.

“Neutral sleeves, remember.” Malik raised a finger to his lips. “And there is now a vacancy at my right hand that I need filled.”

The smile that bloomed on Osric’s face was truly unsettling. “It’s an honor.”

The barkeep refilled their glasses, and Malik clinked his against the other man’s before continuing. “We’re going to need to gather our comrades quite quickly. We’ll use the old meeting place. The Briar Rose.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, I always forget the real name.”

“Perrault’s,” Lord Osric supplied.

“Yes.” Malik pointed at him. “That’s it. We need it all to ourselves. Tomorrow.”

He sat a little straighter. “So soon.”

“It can’t wait.” Not a moment longer . “Perhaps you can amend your previous error by assisting me in the reservation and getting word out? There will be even more opportunity in your future if you do well.”

“Of course. Anything.”

The glimmer in Osric’s eyes was so obvious Malik nearly laughed. Instead, he smiled in satisfaction. Some men were so easy to hook with the right bait.