Page 13 of The Ivory King

“My cock shall write all the mushroom-faced wench need to read,” Luchas drunkenly replied.

I shot to my feet, dagger in hand, about to unleash on the idiot twins, when a hand fell onto my shoulder.

“Do you need to excuse yourself, my lord? Is it your dyspepsia again?” V’alor asked in a steady voice.

I drew in a long breath as all those at the head table now studied me curiously.

“I…yes, I find that I have suddenly grown a sour stomach. Lady Mossbell, Bonnalure, Secretary Fylson, please excuse me.” I nodded politely and took my leave, shoving my small dagger back into the sheath on my belt as I stalked from the packed hall. V’alor followed behind, waving off the looks of the other Stillcloud guards who were scattered along the halls.

“They are shitwits,” I seethed as we climbed the grand staircase, the smells of rich beeswax candles thick in the air. Torches spat and danced, casting the stone stairs in undulating light. “I should have slapped them both across their idiotic faces for speaking of a well-bred lady-elf like Raewyn in such a derogatory manner.”

“Yes, my lord,” V’alor said in that dull monotone way that irked me to no end. “Perhaps you would wish me to return to the great hall and run them through for the insults to your intended?”

I stalled halfway up the stairs to throw a dark look at the man in the polished copper armor.

“She isnotmy intended. No mention of such has been made. Why do you seek to nettle me so?”

“I am merely offering viable solutions to the slight made against Lady Frostleaf.”

We were of similar heights at the moment, with him two steps lower. Servants scuttled by many with fresh linens piled in their arms, some with buckets of hot water for baths that had been arranged but would not be used for many hours, resulting in the castle staff having to haul more buckets later.

“You are speaking out of your ass,” I snapped, spun on my boot heel, and continued stalking up to the second floor. “If I wished to hear such inanities, I would have stayed at the table with the twins. Drunken nobles. Ihdos give me strength. Why do we grow more crass the deeper we get into our cups?”

The clank of his armor, sword in the scabbard, and his shield tapping his leg as he carried it seemingly effortlessly on his left arm filled the stairwell. The staff nodded and bowed silently, hurrying out of our way as if they feared a backhand for simply being seen. We reached the riser, and I headed south.

“I am sure that growing crass the more wine a man has is not limited solely to the nobility. I have seen many a fine soldier make an utter ass out of him or herself after a night spent at a pub. Our pixie princess flitters to mind. Your room is to the left, my lord.”

“I am aware,” I said as I turned. I refused to look up at him. He was far too smug. Also, too handsome. Also, he was using “my lord” entirely too much. I loathed hearing him use that term when my name sounded much more pleasing falling from his tongue. We moved down the long, dimly lit corridor in silence. Several doors were closed, with laughter or the sounds of sex leaking out into the hall. I pondered if that was how V’alor and I had sounded then grew warm recalling our night of passion.

My room awaited me with fresh linen, a low fire in the hearth, and an empty tub in front of the fireplace. The window was closed against the damp air that clung to skin, cloth, and stone. No wonder the castle itself was moss-covered. The braziers were burning, clouding the room with a light woodsy smell that reminded me of Kenton’s home village in the Verboten. I’d never smelled fresher or sweeter air.

V’alor did a quick check of the room as I began to work on the small gold buttons on the front of my red velvet tunic.

“Perhaps we should ring for that friendly valet to aid you in removing your party attire?” V’alor asked after securing the wooden shutters and heavy drapes at the window opening.

I glanced up. He was looking directly at me before peering behind a changing screen. Next, he would look under the bed. V’alor was nothing if not thorough. If the armoire were larger, he would peer inside to ensure no one lurked amongst my clothing.

His brown eyes darted back to me as he stood by the ornate screen.

“I would rather you aid me in undressing,” I replied earnestly, my fingers stalling at the fourth button down from my chin.

“I am not a valet,” he reminded me, and I smiled.

“Then I shall ring for one.”

I took four steps toward the bell pull before his hand closed around my wrist, his fingers spanning my lower forearm.

“I do not trust that one.” That was all he said, but it was enough to set my blood to heating.

“Then it falls to you, my most trusted and beloved guardian, to aid me with these tiny buttons.”

He stared at me for the longest time, his hold on my wrist firm yet tender. “Aelir, you should not say such things. You andI are…” He faltered. “Things should be discussed such as your seeming distrust of my vows to the Stillcloud house.”

Well fuck. I had not wished to revive my stupidity from earlier. “I may have acted less attractively than I should have. Trust me when I say that I know you would not leave our employ to work for the Mossbells.”

“The twins are shitwits,” he said, his voice as smoky as the room now, his thumb moving in a small circle on my wrist that sent twisting flashes of heat to my groin.

“Tezen will be pleased to hear that you, too, are casting around her words with such impunity.”

---