Page 61 of The Ballad of a Bard

Osira waved her luck.

Crimson walked as steadily as she could, trying to ignore the sovereign’s advice for what she took it as instead of what it was. Not a leader telling her what to do, but a friend suggesting some choices.

Right.

She could do this.

She was Crimson Bard, the daughter of the Saint who created all, Heartache.

And most importantly, she was falling for Westley Saint.

Twenty Five

Altivarsaw the instant surprise on Westley’s face as she held his hand, and saw the way his features contorted within a second of her muttering something. He took in the way the captain turned vermillion as she lifted herself to his level and placed a kiss on his cheek, nearly crashing into his lips instead.

Such innocent,newthings for a relationship that West said began with a tumble. So why did the male seem flustered by the barest affections that Crimson gave him?

It didn’t add up.

“Very well,” He said to no one but himself as he reached for an empty goblet. “Let’s spice things up a little, shall we?”

Altivar tipped the closest wine pitcher downwards, allowing the mahogany liquid to fill the cup about three-fourths of the way before setting it down. He shoved his hand into his pocket and searched for the vial he happened to bring along for tonight, just in case the party needed some fizzing entertainment.

He withdrew the bottle of sparkling red blood, Heartache’sblood and thumbed free the stopper. He’d never seen it work before, never seen it in action and that devious part of him always wanted to. Tonight would be the perfect way to see if the rumours about the Saint’s blood were true after all, or just poppycock.

“One, or two?” The Prince asked himself as he carefully held it over the wine. “I say two.”

Plink.

The first drop fell in, adding love.

Plink.

The second drop fell in, adding lust.

He pulled it away before he could accidentally add a third, adding loss to the mixture. Before anyone could spot the vial, he tucked it back away in his pocket and swirled the cup, making sure that everything combined seamlessly.

It wouldn’t work on a full Saint, but half of one?

Altivar hid his sly smirk, one that belonged to foxes and the clever creatures of the woods as he grabbed a second and third goblet. He ambled over to Crimson and her captain, whose arm was currently hung over her shoulder. They both halted their conversation as he approached them, handing the untampered goblet to West and the one with the drops to her.

They both took them without question.

“Be gone.” Altivar flicked his fingers in dismissal and the courtiers from the Gold Gate left. He turned towards the pair and acted for his life as he said, “I thought perhaps we should have a celebratory toast. I never did get to welcome this new relationship into the palace, how awful of me.” He held his chalice high. “To the wonders andpretty pleasuresthat life has to offer.”

West peered into his cup, and found nothing amiss. He tapped the metal rim against the Prince’s and Crimson did the same.

“Bottoms up.” He rocked the cup between them beforedowning its contents in one go. As he licked the residue from his lips, he watched in rapture as she gulped hers away. Down to the very last bit, as Crimson pulled the cup away and dabbed at her mouth.

As she drank two drops of Heartache’s blood.

Twenty Six

Crimson wanted to dance.

No, that wasn’t correct.

Not dance, but something similar to that.

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