Page 31 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Several of the nobles around the table sat up straighter.

“War is good for the economy,” one of them said.

“Better than a vocational school, surely,” muttered another.

Love had made Emile a better man, not a different one. He narrowed his eyes, “Lord Farleigh, Lord Mayburn, surely I am not hearing that you hope my submissive is carried off to a hostile foreign power? If so, you may report to the quartermaster for the uniform you shall wear on the front lines of the war that.”

Mislia wasn’t really hostile—not to Staria, anyway. They were in the midst of some kind of revolution, which was all well and good as long as Emile didn’t have to deal with it. That didn’t mean he wanted Bazyli anywhere near it, or anywhere that wasn’t with him, where he should be.

“His Majesty and I shall deal with this,” Isiodore said, rising to his feet. “Sabre, Captain Ferrin, you’re with us. The Queen’s Salon, if you would.”

Council was dismissed, and as they made their way to the Queen’s Salon, Emile was slightly mollified at listening to Isiodore try and explain international security concerns to Flick, who swished his tail and said only, SOMEONE SEND FOR SNACKS.

Isiodore looked as if he were going to say something, but Emile gave a sharp shake of his head and, miracle of miracles, Isiodore kept quiet. The second they were in the Queen’s Salon, Emile turned, fast as a whip, and grabbed at the fox by his scruff.

OH

NOW IS NOT A GOOD TIME FOR CUDDLING

“We’re not cuddling. You’ll tell me where Bazyli is.”

AND MY BOY. Flick stared up at him.

Emile stared back. “You know where they are, not me. Talk.”

EXCUSE ME, Flick said. SABRE?

“Yes?” Sabre sounded like he was trying very hard to keep his voice even.

DO FOXES GET IN TROUBLE HERE FOR BITING KINGS

“No,” said Sabre. He smiled.

“Yes,” said Emile, glaring at his son’s left hand. “Tell me where they are and you may bite the prince.”

Isiodore sighed. “Emile.”

IT IS FINE, the fox said, clearly trying to soothe. THEY CAN’T GO ANYWHERE. LADY AMBROSIA MADE KELP GROW ON THE RUDDER.

“That does not change the fact they are still in the presence of someone who might want to take them to Mislia,” Emile ground out. “Do you want your Hektor back there, fox?”

MY NAME IS FLICK. AND NO. THAT IS WHY I TOLD YOU TO FETCH THEM. Flick stuck his front paws straight out, like a cat who didn’t want to be picked up. HERE IS BETTER. WE DID NOT HAVE TAXES OR CROISSANTS IN MISLIA.

Emile set the fox down, not wanting anyone to see how worried he was. He didn’t think Baz was necessarily in danger, but he couldn’t seem to shake the memory of Lianne covered in blood, bleeding to death in his arms. The slight edge of panic might be irrational, but it was there all the same, making his heart beat unpleasantly fast and his breathing catch.

“Flick, are they hurt?” Sabre asked, gently.

THEY ARE NOT HURT. BUT THEY ARE CRANKY.

LIKE YOU, the fox said, to Emile.

“Can you show us which ship they’re on?” Isiodore asked sharply. “Sabre, Ferrin and I can handle this, Emile.”

“I am sure you can, but no one drags my husband off onto a ship without his permission.” Or with it, Emile didn’t say, because he knew Bazyli would sooner drown in lukewarm weak tea than go back to Mislia. “Besides, I’d prefer not to send these miscreants scurrying off into the dark before I have a word with them.”

He and Baz had married quietly a few months ago, with only Hektor and Isiodore as witnesses. It was mostly for legal reasons, as if something happened to him, Emile wanted Bazyli to have a claim to financial security and a home. Emile wouldn’t be the king when he abdicated, but he’d still be a noble. Baz would be too, and that should keep him safe if something unforeseen happened to Emile.

Leave it to Bazyli, then, to have the unforeseen thing happen to him. Emile focused on his anger, how dare you make me worry about you, because it was easier to be angry than afraid. It was also familiar, though, in a way he didn’t much like.

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