Page 32 of The Captive's Curse
Well, at least that meant anyone passing by wouldn’t have heard us.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and ran my hands over the fine wool of Enzo’s cloak, fiddling with the fur trim, trying not to wish that someonehadheard us—because Enzo wouldn’t be able to deny how much he’d wanted me then, could he?
Of course, he wouldn’t be thinking about me at all. Not with a possible Calatrian invasion to deal with. He ought to send messengers to Bruno, to stupid Hans, to the fort across the river and the larger towns to the south. To the queen, too. What unbelievable arrogance, to think he ought to be investigating these supposed Calatrians himself! Without armor, even. Although surely he owned some and would wear it, wouldn’t he? Unless he was the sort of commander to direct his men and watch from a vantage point while they took the brunt of the battle.
I couldn’t help laughing a little, even though it came out sounding more like a groan.
No, he certainly wouldn’t be that kind of commander. I knew that without having to think about it. He’d be right in the front, with everyone’s arrows aimed at him, and their swords and axes swinging at his neck and his chest, gouging…
The back of my throat tasted like bile, and gods, I needed a drink. I flung Enzo’s cloak off of me and stood too quickly, forgetting about the way my trousers had tangled around my legs.
The resulting yelp and stumble and spate of cursing made me grateful for the privacy and solitude of this room all over again. But I got myself put back together, wincing as I immediately soaked through my drawers, and wrapped Enzo’s cloak around myself to hide my dishevelment. Not all of themess had stayed on or in me; a glance down at the chaise showed me an impressively glistening wet spot.
Gross.
But Enzo deserved it, damn him.
I glanced around, taking in the faded wallpaper and the massive carved fireplace, the broad polished desk and the large windows. It all reeked of ancient grandeur and current practical usage, with a heaping serving of neglect in between. This had probably been the private study of the lords of the castle, long ago. Had the Mad Lord himself sat at that desk? I was alone. I could snoop through the shelves and cabinets against the far wall to my heart’s content.
But my heart simply wasn’t in it. I practically squished when I moved, my stomach growled, and anyway, Enzo would be off getting himself skewered by his former fellow countrymen, which meant I could come back later and look around if I wanted.
Until then, a bath and a drink and a meal of dubious quality would surely raise my spirits and take Enzo entirely off my mind. What did I care if he went to fight a “heavily armed troop of Calatrian soldiers,” who surely wouldn’t be all that dangerous, would they? Or if Calatria invaded? Bruno would notice and send the queen a letter. Everything would be fine. Enzo would be fine.
I slowly squelched my way out of the study in search of the castle’s limited comforts.
Everything would be fine, damn it.
Chapter Twelve
The atmosphere in the dining hall, when I made my way there after a long and lingering bath, didn’t reassure me in the least that everything would be fine. Not even a fresh pair of very tight trousers and a flattering scarlet tunic, pulled from my rapidly dwindling wardrobe of clothes Enzo hadn’t destroyed yet, could salvage my mood.
With late afternoon closing in, the windows showed an overcast, lowering, darkening murk that would’ve made even Dromos himself a little depressed. The torches sputtered in the chill wind seeping through the windows up above. A large basket of fresh bread and a platter of sad, limp cheeses sat on the central table, along with a jug of watery ale that I’d rather have died of thirst than drink. The few of Enzo’s men gathered to pick at these offerings—the ones who, like me, had missed anything resembling a real luncheon—spoke in low voices, shook their heads, and grumbled.
Not that I blamed them. And I’d have mutinied on principle if I’d ever been foolish enough to enlist myself under any kind of military command in the first place.
Still. Perhaps they knew something I didn’t.
Enzo, Leander, and a score or so of their men had ridden out shortly after Enzo left me alone in his study; I’d seen them go, craning my neck to peer out an embrasure set in the wall down the corridor from the bathing chamber. One broad-shouldered figure and one slight, both mounted on excellenthorses, they’d been unmistakable at the head of the column winding its way down the narrow switchbacks of the path. A wave of dizziness had hit me, and I’d slumped with my back to the wall, eyes closed, swallowing down nausea.
My empty stomach, no doubt, and vertigo. Heights truly didn’t agree with me.
But a similar sensation assaulted me as I took my heel of bread and a piece of slightly less gruesome cheese, sitting down to nibble while the men around me muttered at one another. Their furrowed brows spelled trouble.
Had Enzo ridden out to confront the vanguard of an invasion after all? Maybe he wouldn’t return. Maybe my home would be sacked and burned, my family slaughtered, while I sat here helpless and useless in this perfectly safe, almost certainly magically hidden fortress, unable to warn anyone.
Maybe we’d all die of tainted cheese.
I slowly chewed and swallowed a hunk of bread, looking around me at the hall, taking it in as a whole. Dusty. Shabby. Practical. Somehow so much gloomier with fewer men in it; at supper the last two nights, it’d practically been cheerful in comparison, despite the lack of lively conversation or entertainment.
My eyes flicked involuntarily to Enzo’s empty chair. How dour would everyone become if it stayed that way permanently?
The bread and bit of cheese I’d forced down threatened to come back up, and I swallowed hard, wishing I’d taken a cup of that dreadful ale after all.
For a moment, the urge to lay my head on the table and give up nearly overwhelmed me.
But no. Fuck this. I straightened my spine and pushed up off the bench, striding toward the passage at the back of the hall. I was made of sterner stuff than that! A mage, a gentleman, a musician. Definitively not the type of wilting flower who’d lieabout sniffling into a handkerchief while some man I didn’t even particularly like had spanked me and fucked me within an inch of my life and then gone off to risk his stupid neck without so much as a backward glance.
Not that I damn well cared if he got stabbed or somesuch. Not my problem. And after Leander’s disgusting and insensitive mockery this morning, he could go ahead and get stabbed too, and see if I shed a single tear.
