Page 41 of Bride of the Fae Duke

And if those sensible restraints felt like unbearable fetters this morning, if the notion of waiting a full twelve hours to see her again filled him with sickening dread, then it was all the more important that he stuck to those blasted rules today.

So midsummer revelry it would have to be. At least the Princeps’ yearly gathering would keep him out of the house; if he was lucky, it might even temporarily distract him from themess he’d caused. Not that he’d everenjoyedit, spending the longest day of the year in the palace gardens with fellow nobles, senators, and other citizens of note … but on the bright side, there would be plenty of drink around, and the divines knew he could do with a few hours of oblivion.

No matter how early he was, others had arrived even earlier, standing in little groups around the low hill on which the palace was built. Othrys forced a smile as he accepted a first glass from a lanky servant girl, pretending not to see the flash of fear in her eyes – he had not expected anything else.

Poison.

Except that Eleanor didn’t seem to think— But for fuck’s sake, he was not going to think about Eleanor today. He was not going to jolt at every blonde head in the crowd. He was not—

‘Locke!’ a familiar voice bellowed.

Thank the divines.

He would have gladly welcomed an intervention by Cyril himself at this point, and Ilios Tisri was a far better alternative – former boxing champion, current senator, and driving force behind a campaign to improve education for the poor. At least their amiable discussion of recent political developments filled a good fifteen minutes, and at least Tisri tactfully avoided any mention of—

Damn it.

Whywas he thinking about Eleanor again?

The sun had barely made any progress across the sky by the time his conversation partner announced he was going to look for another drink and Othrys was left alone again between the lanterns and the blooming trees, nursing his own glass as around him the gardens slowly filled up. Henrietta Nightingale, the famous singer, arrived with her two enormous cats in tow. The Viscount Westmoor came in with a giggling and rather scantily clad beauty on his arm. Lord Waterwar, scion ofElidian’s most influential noble family, was accompanied only by his oldest daughter as usual; the youngest was said to be stark mad and rarely left her room.

At the moment, Othrys rather envied the girl.

Time crawled by like thick syrup. He exchanged polite greetings with the Princeps, smiling all the while as if the bastard hadn’t been the one to destroy his family. Senators and charitable ladies flocked towards them to vie for donations, and he pledged more money than Walford would approve of. Arragher and his wife arrived, the latter clearly muting her fae charm in the Princeps’ company; as usual, she avoided Othrys throughout most of the afternoon, save for a polite but noticeably quick greeting.

When they’d first met, he’d been surprised by her coldness. Soon enough, though, he’d realised it was likely a matter of politics: Cyril would be quick enough to accuse her of conspiring with other fae, after all, and the Mirror Queen’s spies were everywhere even during gatherings like these.

Lunch was served. Speeches were given. Othrys stared unseeingly at the face of the High Priest blathering endlessly about the blessings of summer and the gifts bestowed upon humanity by Mother Ostara, unable to think of anything but the face of that same High Priest in an empty temple, binding a small, shaking hand with his.

Where was she now? Celebrating midsummer day at home, or perhaps with friends from the Eyestone household?

Why for the bloody divines’ sakes hadn’t he asked her about her plans at all?

The day progressed in ever noisier and more raucous manner. No more discussions of business and politics now; the wine flowed in abundance and washed away most of the collective sense with it. Westmoor was now surrounded by no less thanthreeeager young ladies. Lady Millicent, the Mirror Queen, hadappeared and was smiling encouragingly as inebriated guests waxed on about their most scandalous secrets. Othrys made a detour to avoid an editor of theKey Gazettewho would no doubt gleefully inquire about the state of his marriage, realising too late that—

‘Othrys!’ A high-pitched wail. ‘What adelightto run into you!’

Lady Sobgoblet came staggering towards him, a full glass of wine in her hand, several more clearly already in her stomach. In her glittering green dress, covered in ostrich feathers and diamonds, she resembled a particularly gaudy peacock; her cheeks were painted so red she would have looked feverish even on a theatre stage.

In hindsight, theKey Gazettewould have been perfectly harmless.

But there was no way out now, not if he didn’t want to make a run for it in full view of the collected Elidian nobility … so he braced himself and smiled his iciest of smiles instead. ‘Ah, Lavinia. I suppose you’re enjoying the festival?’

She patted his arm, kohl-rimmed eyes squinting to focus on his face. ‘Of course I am, silly. Tell me, where is your wife?’

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

His expression must have revealed too much, because she burst out laughing before he’d opened his mouth, sending the imposing tower of her hair wobbling. ‘Didn’t bring her along, did you? Can’t blame you – the little wench probably eats with her hands and dances like a heathen. Better to keep her away in case she tries to blow her nose into her napkin. Haha!’

She sloshed down another gulp of wine, chuckling smugly all the while. Othrys had to drag in a few deep breaths for calm. You could not punch a marchioness in the face while standing in the Princeps’ own gardens, could you?

‘Much as it may surprise you,’ he said, speaking through gritted teeth and a smile so forced it hurt, ‘her manners are better than those of some nobles I know.’

‘Oh, howgallantof you to defend her like that!’ She leaned in closer, swaying slightly on her feet. The smell of wine and nose-clogging perfume washed over him. ‘You should come and join my parties again, though, Othrys. I’m sure we can find you a nice lady to keep you company – one whodoesn’tbray like a donkey in the sheets. Haha!’

He jerked away from her as if stung by a wasp.

Vaguely, he was still aware of her powdered face, looking just a fraction uncertain now, of the laughter and the music and the clinking of glasses around them. The roar in his ears drowned out all of it. He should just smile and walk off, he knew, keep the high ground and ignore her … but then there was Eleanor – his lovely, witty, sensible Eleanor – and how dare this bloody shrew assume he would preferanyoneover her …

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