Page 37 of A Pact of Blood

I restrain myself from glowering at him, as much as I long to lean into his embrace. “I mean it. I don’t like the mood he’s in.”

“I’ve been enduring my imperious foster brother’s moods for many years longer than you have. I can navigate them well enough.” He caresses my palm with the subtlest stroke of his thumb, sending a flicker of heat down my arm. “I’m supposed to begin your combat lessons soon. He’ll have to tolerate me being alittleclose to you.”

“That’s not why I suggested them.”

“Of course not. I appreciate any time I get to spend withyou, however impersonal. Given what that prick of a soldier tried with you yesterday, we should probably fit in your first lesson before you’re setting off for the next confirmation rite.”

The memory of the lunging soldier chills me. “Yes. We have a few days for that. And I also need to know everything there is to find out about that second rite—Prospira’s.”

Raul’s gaze turns slyer. “I know at least one or two minds that could be put to that task on your behalf.”

We lapse into silence, all of my attention narrowing down to the warmth of his skin against mine, the tiny gestures of affection he manages to offer, and preventing my expression from reacting to any of them.

“There,” he says as the melody starts to wind down. “All we had was a dance. No catastrophes.”

“I’m not sure it was wise to risk it regardless.” My gaze flicks to the nobles around us, but thankfully I don’t spot any suspicious expressions. “It’s a difficult balance to maintain.”

“Ah, but I’m meant for that, you know, even if I haven’t been the best example of balance so far.” Raul grins. “Lavira is the central hub of this half of the continent, after all. My mother used to say that our kingdom is the conductor of one vast dance, coordinating communication and trade back and forth with our neighbors, following each other’s cues and pace. I can manage to match yours when it’s for such a great reward.”

He doesn’t press his luck. When the song fades, he gives my fingers the slightest squeeze and steps away with another bow. “Thank you for indulging me, Your Imperial Highness.”

I need a little space to cool the secret passions he’s stirred up in me. As casually as I can manage, I wander over to one of the tables that’s been set up with bottles of wine and goblets.

I let the server pour a fresh glass for me and wait for one of the imperial tasters to sample the glass before taking a sipof my own. The rest of the court frolics before me, but I can’t help picturing the wilder lands of the terrain outside the main Accasian palace.

How much would I give to wander away into those vast woods and let their cool, deep serenity wash over me? Even the forested part of the imperial palace grounds is too cultivated to stir quite the same sense of peace.

My roving gaze snags on a head of shaggy auburn hair by the large fountain nearby, highlighted by a nearby lantern. All thoughts of home vanish.

I haven’t had a chance to speak to Bastien since he leapt to my defense yesterday. How long might it be before I get a better chance to do so without being overheard?

As if simply taking a stroll, I meander past the table, around a garden bed, and end up standing before the fountain next to the bench Bastien is sitting on. I study the marble statue of Sabrelle striking down a foe, admiring the artistry.

My guards will have followed me, but from their usual discreet distance. No one else has wandered within several paces of this spot. The warble of the water will prevent my voice from carrying.

I watch Bastien from the corner of my eye. He’s still gazing straight ahead, away from the fountain, but his shoulders have gone rigid.

All the words I’d like to say clot in my throat. It’s a moment before I can pull together a coherent comment.

“I was starting to think you’d enjoy seeing my throat cut. I’m glad that’s not the case after all.”

Bastien’s jaw ticks. His voice comes out low and flat. “Even if I wanted to hate you, it seems I’m not very good at it anymore. What do you want from me now, Aurelia?”

It’s a strange relief to hear him say my name so informallyafter all the “Your Imperial Highness”-ing I’ve faced, even if the phrasing of the question stings.

I reach my hand out to let the cool water lick over my fingers. “I was only hoping to thank you properly. I know… the choices I’ve made might have been difficult to accept, but I’d like you to be able to make peace with them. I’ve only ever done what I thought was the best for the most people.”

“So you’ve convinced Raul and Lorenzo.” He pauses. “Taking on the rite was impressive. It was harder for you than it was for Marclinus, wasn’t it? You looked as if you had to think your way through it.”

“He went in with more preparation.”

“But you mastered it anyway. It seems you really can do just about anything you set your mind to.” Bastien adjusts his position on the bench. “I was dancing with you when the recent ‘tragedy’ happened. How did you pullthatoff, if you really did?”

I don’t need to ask what he means by “that.” The instant when Tarquin fell, the smoldering fury in Bastien’s gaze in the moments before, is seared into my memory.

Of course, out of all the princes, he’d be the one who needs to understand the practicalities before he can fully accept it. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

I resist the urge to rub my ring. “The trinket you once stole was valuable to me for more than its gold and gem. It was carefully crafted as a subtle delivery vessel for… potions. And I’m sure you’re aware that a gift can be skewed away from its most essential purpose if you simply focus it in the right way.”

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