Page 48 of The Exile's Curse

She may not be drunk, but the kafiet had added a glow to her cheeks. Hells, he suspected it had added a glow to his own. It had a kick like a mule—or maybe a rogue fer-taureau—and he'd had to down three glasses of it while he'd been talking with the king. He suspected Georg Uleniska had been trying to see if he could play a game of “coax the foreign dignitary into an alcohol-fueled faux pas.” But he'd had kafiet on his last visit here and was well aware of his limits. He'd forewarned Colonel Brodier about the stuff.

Watching Chloe walk ahead, her line of progress an oh-so-subtle snaking line rather than a straight one, he wondered if Honore had had time to warn her. Kafiet was expensive due to the rarity of its ingredients. Not the kind of thing served at general palace dinners, but he'd known it would appear at the more intimate celebrations.

Perhaps even at the wedding ball itself. Serving several hundred guests a liqueur worth its weight in gold was a kingly thing to do. Andalyssia was many things as a kingdom, but it wasn't poor.

He realized he was paying far too close attention to the sway of Chloe's hips and jerked his head up. The palace corridors were quiet and dimly lit, only a stray servant here and there moving through them. In other circumstances, it would be an intimate stroll back to their rooms.

But this was Chloe, and he was all too aware that the kafiet had heated his blood and he could very well say something stupid. Ordosomething stupid. But he wouldn't. Cold-fire or not, he'd never once touched a woman who hadn't invited him to do so, and he wasn't about to start with a woman who had done precisely the opposite of that.

They reached the first intersection in the corridors, and Chloe swayed a little farther right. They were going left.

Seemed he was going to have to take charge to some degree.

He hastened his steps so they were side by side. "Other way."

Chloe paused and looked up, eyes slightly narrowed. "I am aware." Her mouth quirked a little. "But lead on, Major." She waved an imperious hand in the direction of their rooms.

His breath caught. Not drunk, but definitely more relaxed in his presence than he'd seen her since before Charl's arrest. The curve of her mouth and the silly gesture hinted at the Chloe he remembered.

Back then, if the three of them had been wandering home, slightly drunk, he wouldn't have hesitated to offer his arm. In fact, she probably would have already slipped hers through both his and Charl's, walking between them and trying to coax him into singing for her or telling terrible jokes to get him to laugh. Some of his favorite memories were of their adventures.

But that was then. Now she was no longer his best friend, and Charl was not here to be a choke chain on his hunger for this woman who would as soon skewer him on the nearest sharp object than let him take her arm.

So he would be sensible. Think of something innocuous to discuss for the remaining time it would take to reach their rooms, then leave her at her door.

"What did you and the ladies talk about tonight?" he asked as they turned left. "That was Irina Uleniska, wasn't it? Lady Katiya's little sister?"

"It was," Chloe agreed. "She's an earth witch."

"Well, not strictly," he said. "They don't really have those here. Not as we do."

She frowned. "She is though. And it seems wrong that she has to deny it." The frown deepened. "I thought I was done with countries where men tell women what to do with their magic."

He didn't disagree. The way the Andalyssians thought about magic had never sat easily with him. What would have happened to him if he'd been born in such a country? His power discouraged? Or suppressed? Or feared? "To be fair, they tell everyone what to do with their magic. It's not just the women. And change comes slowly."

"Sometimes it comes fast," she said. "Like Sophie."

"Well, we're here to support the king, not overthrow him, so let's leave the Andalyssians to do things their way. Lady Katiya seems content and well able to protect her sister's interests should they need protecting. Irina seemed lively enough from what I could see."

"She is." Chloe's frown disappeared. "I like her."

He tried not to show his relief that she had accepted his change of topic. The politics of man versus woman versus magic and religion in the empire's various countries was nothing he wanted to debate with her in the corridors of Deephilm.

"She thinks you're pretty," Chloe added.

Startled, he stopped walking. "She does?"

"Yes," Chloe said. She studied him a moment. "It's probably the blond hair and green eyes. You almost blend in. Maybe if you avoided the sun for a few years, you could pass as a native."

His skin was more gold than pale like hers or the Andalyssians. And Andalyssians didn't like Truth Seekers. "I like the sun," he said firmly. "And being warm."And avoiding marriage-hungry sisters of foreign queens.

"Don't worry, I don't think she's marriage minded." She smiled suddenly, and from the familiar looseness of the expression, he knew she was perhaps more intoxicated than she had seemed back in the king's parlor. Kafiet was sneaky that way. Burned in the blood for a long time before it finally caught fire.

He couldn't risk letting his own blood burn.

"Well, that's good," he said.

"Yes," Chloe agreed. "She suggested that I should marry you."

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