Page 40 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

“Next time, de Guillory, try sending your men before women are locked in a loomhouse and beaten for asking for water to drink.”

“That was you, was it?” Emile pulled the hat from his head, raked a hand through his messy hair. “I can’t say I mind that lout is gone, but I didn’t know the extent of his behavior.”

“That’s a common excuse with you,” Eli said.

Emile smiled, though it wasn’t particularly friendly. “Is it?”

Eli hopped off the bale. He was short, and had that dominance of his wrapped tight like a cloak around him. It was strong, stronger than even his mother’s had been. No wonder Aline had tried to force Eli into being someone he wasn’t. She was probably worried about the competition.

“I didn’t know you lived here.”

“I assume that’s why you turned around and walked out of the door,” Emile said. “By the bye, your man is taking tea with my submissive, Bazyli. I suggest we return and join them.” Emile could see Eli was shivering. If Emile was cold, with his much studier frame, he must be freezing.

“I’m not sleeping under your roof, de Guillory.”

“Did I offer? I mentioned tea, it’s not an inn.”

Eli was so tense that he looked like he might crack, but he wasn’t giving ground and he was meeting Emile’s gaze steadily. “You don’t want me here any more than I want to be here.”

Emile lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That doesn’t mean I’ll send you out into a snowstorm, de Valois.”

“Wouldn’t want to kill me,” Eli said, dryly, “would you.”

Emile’s smile was chilly, but this time, there was a hint of some sort of dark amusement in it. “Apparently I’m not very good at it anyway, so I doubt it would work.”

Eli took a step back, shoulders hunching slightly. “I can’t do this.” His voice sounded caught. It was hard to think of this young nobleman as the person he’d sentenced to die, and that’s because it wasn’t the same person. Just as he wasn’t the same person who’d been there that morning, raising a hand to the hangman.

“I suppose you want me to apologize.”

Eli’s laugh was as harsh as the wind outside. “Fuck off. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I did, you know,” Emile continued, “to your brother.”

“You owe him more than a fucking apology,” Eli snapped, temper roused on Sabre’s behalf.

“So do you,” Emile retorted. “And no, I apologized to him for you.”

“Do you think that makes it better?”

“No,” he said, honestly. “Not in the slightest. Do you?”

“No. Not in the slightest,” Eli repeated his own words back to him.

Emile gave a slight nod. “Then we understand each other. Thank you for taking care of the baron. What an odious man.”

“A lot of those about,” Eli said, and Emile’s smile was entirely devoid of its earlier chill.

If Eli had cowered or raged, Emile might have responded coldly and told Eli to sleep in the stables for all he cared. Now, however, he chuckled, glancing up at the stable roof, imagining the snow piling high on the wood, blowing about in the wind. “Arthur, why are both of your sons as disrespectful as you?”

“My father would have challenged you for what you did, if he were still alive.”

“If he were still alive, de Valois, I wouldn’t have had to. Now, let’s decide what we’re going to do about our rather complicated history, and then go back inside. That’s not my attempting to kill you again, it’s my respecting that you likely despise me and want to be nowhere near me.”

“You can’t possibly blame me,” Eli said.

“Of course I don’t. Do you want to duel me? I’m not the swordsman Izzy is, but I’ve a pitchfork around here somewhere.”

Eli shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Emile anymore. “No. I’m going to get Rey and we’ll sleep in here, or somewhere else. I’d rather sleep in the snow.” He strode toward the door, reminding Emile so strongly of Sabre that it was uncanny, but when he pulled at the handle, nothing happened.

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