Page 2 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Adrien waited for Izzy to retreat, then tipped his chair back again.

“Adrien,” Sabre hissed.

“Oh, hello, Sabre.” Adrien examined his nails. “How is your husband, Lord de Rue?”

Sabre glanced from Adrien to Izzy. “He’s…well.”

“You see him often?”

Izzy’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“I…yes? Adrien, what?—”

“How nice,” Adrien said, in a louder voice, “to have such an attentive husband.” He plucked Izzy’s ring off his finger and tilted it back and forth, letting it catch the light.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to draw it out, because the rest of the council members came rushing in, a sure sign that the king was on his way. Izzy stood and bowed as was custom, and while Adrien tended to do the same in front of other nobles, he pretended to be too lost in thought to notice his father taking his usual seat.

“Adrien,” his father said, looking bemused as he glanced between Adrien and Isiodore.

“Hello, Father.” Adrien smiled, matching his father’s drawling tone. He lowered his voice, but not enough for Izzy to miss it on the other side of the table. “I hope you haven’t been running your left hand ragged since he returned.”

Emile smiled. “Oh, he’s not the one who’s been wrung out.”

“Father, please.” Adrien liked Bazyli, truly he did, and he knew that his father had to have fucked at least once to produce him, but the concept of him actually having an active sex life was enough to make Adrien’s mind go shuddering to a halt.

So instead, he focused on other things.

Like touching Izzy’s chair leg while he was giving an argument for shoring up a river in western Staria. He checked to see if Izzy noticed, and when he didn’t blink, Adrien subtly moved his foot so his boot brushed against Izzy’s inner thigh.

Izzy didn’t even glance his way.

“I’m not sure I approve of the autumn harvest festival being taken over by the pleasure district,” someone was saying, as Adrien carefully set his ring down on the table and angled it so a spot of light traveled across the polished wood. “It defeats the sacred purpose of the festival in the first place, and diverts attention from the country.”

“We can sponsor farms and give them temporary shops along the street,” Sabre said.

“And besides.” Adrien leaned back in his chair, and the dot of light shone directly in Izzy’s left eye, “the harvest festival is about fucking. I’d say the courtesans of the pleasure district are uniquely suited for it, don’t you think, Duke de Mortain?”

Izzy looked at him, and Adrien angled the dot to move to his other eye. Miraculously, he didn’t blink. Adrien propped his foot between Izzy’s thighs across the table and gently put pressure there.

He felt Izzy’s hand touch his boot, pushing it down. “We can come to an arrangement with local farms,” he said. “I doubt anyone will find it a moral issue.”

“You could say the objection is absolutely unnecessary,” Adrien said, looking Izzy in the eyes, “unless you take into account that Lord Chant was blacklisted from the House of Gold three months ago and might have a personal motive to see them lose potential funds.”

“I didn’t—de Valois,” Lord Chant said, turning to Sabre. “Did you?—”

“Please direct your questions to your accuser, my lord,” Adrien said, placing his foot between Izzy’s thighs again. “I’m quite fond of the new proprietor of the House of Silver, you see, and people talk. Loudly,” he added, rubbing his foot over Isiodore’s cock through his trousers. “Particularly when noble lords are thrown out into the street in their underthings.”

“Well,” Emile said, grinning, “that is a story I would certainly like to hear.”

“Would you?” Adrien flashed a smile. “It’s very diverting.”

“Oh no, there are two of them,” Sabre whispered.

“I have no further objections to the harvest festival,” Lord Chant said quickly, his face flushing a deep purplish red.

“Wonderful,” Emile said. “Anyone else?”

“Feel free to speak up,” Adrien said, looking at Izzy as he pressed the toe of his boot over the head of Izzy’s cock. “I, for one, welcome a healthy debate.”

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