Page 51 of Queen of Legends and Lies
Is he teasing, or did he really fail to notice I’m not wearing a full-length gown of silk?
Astrid clears her throat and averts her eyes, falling back to give us privacy as we all head to the fields.
Smart girl.
He tries to clasp my right hand, the one full of papers from the last meeting, then stops when he finds it occupied.
He grabs the papers from me and passes the stack to Astrid without glancing back. Once free, he takes my hand, teasing my skin with his icy magic. I’m reminded of what else we could be doing if we didn’t have all this work to get done.
But we do, and Agnar’s already waiting on us, Captain Fitz beside him.
Between the four of us, with Astrid keeping records, we sort through the hopeful candidates.
By nightfall, we’re done, with a handful of new guards for my service. Enough to replace the ones killed in the drachen attack.
With that accomplished, we can finally relax and enjoy dinner. Something we all look forward to. Tonight, even Helene, Elijah, Alannah, and Eldor join us. Though I had to send a scribe to pull my grandfather from the archives. He’s practically been living there, spending every waking moment researching.
“Seriously, the council’s constantly hounding me to show up for meetings. Always wanting to discuss the most mundane things.” Passing the bread to Agnar, I roll my eyes. “Yet they never got around to replacing the palace guards we lost?”
Alannah sighs, wiping her mouth delicately with a napkin. “Oh, those twits.”
I snort, then cover it with a cough. This is the first time I’ve ever heard Sterling’s mother use the word “twits.” And probably the last.
She arrived early to dinner and managed to make a serious dent in the wine before the rest of us got here.
The first bottle, at least.
Several have been opened—and emptied—since.
“Tits.” Agnar sops his plate with a chunk of bread, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “They’re all tits. Except that one lady, uhh, the one with the perfect hair and stylish dresses. She’s hot. Oh, and the duchess. She’s not too bad either.”
“She said twits, Agnar. Not tits. And that’s Nira and Duchess Breann you’re talking about.” Eldor shakes his head, showing off the gray roots growing through.
Leesa raises her glass high, spilling wine over the side in her enthusiasm. “To Lark, our firebrand queen, getting things done and looking good while doing it.” Her eyes twinkle with pride. Or intoxication. Either way, her cheers are infectious.
I raise my glass. “I’ll take the compliment, but I have no idea what you’re talking about with the ‘looking good’ comment.”
Sterling winks at me from across the table. “I believe it’s because you got our coat of arms confirmed today. The royal guards will be wearing their new tabards shortly.”
“And!” Leesa leans forward and has to catch herself on the edge of the table before she tumbles out of her chair. “For getting women into the guards. Walking around here seeing nothing but male soldiers has just been…weird.”
“Wait. Women? Where?” Helene pops up so quickly that Elijah has to stop her from falling back over.
Those two seem to be getting closer. Or maybe it happened when they were depending on each other for survival back at Flighthaven.
“Not in the guards. No soldiers.” Leesa throws herself back in her chair. “Not until my sister set them straight this week. Now, they’re going to learn what women can really do.”
“There have been no female guards for a long time.” Alannah sips her wine, nodding as Helene wrinkles her nose in disgust.
Elijah merely raises his eyebrows. When I first met him, he was an arrogant ass who wouldn’t have lost any sleep if I’d died. Here, he’s like a different person.
Well, he’s still an ass at times. But his initial hatred of me changed to tolerance at some point since that shit show with Xenon. I like to think we’ve developed a mutual respect for each other.
“That’s a shame.” Bastian wraps a strong arm around my sister, preventing her from toppling over. Surprisingly, he’s not showing any symptoms of overindulgence.
It seems my brother has a high tolerance for alcohol.
There’s a tinge of sibling pride. Followed by worry. How did he get so good at drinking? A hiccup chases away the thought, and I have to shift focus to keep up with the conversation.
