Page 130 of Disillusioned
Lilac kept her chin up, not taking her eyes off Garin’s. It was his mission to get her to wed Maximilian, just as much as it was Albrecht’s—wherever he was. Gagged and bound in the cellar of The Fenfoss Inn, probably. Her parents could give their approval all they wanted. It was still the emissary’s duty to make the offer or decide otherwise as a public representative of the emperor.
She was more than willing to give him just cause to reconsider, just to get under Garin’s skin. She wasn’t changing her mind… And if Maximilian wanted access to her ports and farmland enough, neither would he. He was the one who hired an emissary terrible at keeping confidential information in the first place, after all.
Maximilian would overlook her behavior and deliver on his promises, especially if Garin thought he could corner her to the altar.
“His very own,” she replied.
There was no recognition upon Garin’s countenance—only a genuine, utmost sympathy. “My apologies, Your Majesty. That must’ve been difficult to witness.”
“It was.” She gave him an appreciative smile. “Not to worry though, I’ve been lavishing myself.”
“How so?” The corner of his mouth twitched, eyes narrowing.There it was.Garin crossed his arms. “Do tell.”
There was a small tug within—nothing like the power of his demands, but a pull still palpable. “With extended trips to the towns and cities, shopping for new gowns and drowning my worries in mead and other…” There was a small bead of blood on her fingertip—the only visible remnant of the flute she’d smashed. She stuck it into her mouth, tasting iron. “Leisures.”
The lump in his throat bobbed as Garin tracked the movement, a shadow of fury gracing his features. His voice was grating, teeth upon her throat. “Leisures?”
“The brothel, for instance. The Fool's Folly.”
There was a collective sound of exasperation from her parents and several gasps from the corners of the room.
“We’re fucked,” Helena moaned under her breath, shushed by Gertrude.
“Lilac, that is enough,” said her father.
Marguerite had reached for the platter next to her and held two champagne glasses, sipping from one of them and chuckling to herself, streaks of black running from her lashes through her powder.
It was the warning look Garin gave, body angled to her and full of resentment, that carried Lilac through. “The Fool's Folly is a lovely place. Strong drinks,talentedentertainment, and rather garrulous barmaids. For instance, I overheard you could not bear to keep your excitement to proposition me to yourself,” she lied for her parents’ sake. “In fact, their tavern gossip is where I first learned of your emperor’s impressive offerings. Unless, they no longer stand?”
A muscle under his eye twitched. She could tell his mind was racing, struggling to keep up. “Your Majesty, Maximilian’s offer—and my approval—would stand, even if you were observed riding a rogue vampire in one of the frontmost alcoves of that brothel.”
Marguerite spat her champagne out.
Lilac retained her composure and donned a relieved smile. “I’m glad at least in your eyes my reputation remains untainted. Especially after that dreadful fire, no?”
“What fire?” Helena mouthed. Agnes and her husband nudged each other, looking shocked to be unaware of this bit of gossip.
“The one that engulfed one of the second floor rooms last night.” Lilac pretended not to notice their whispering and stared Garin down. “Who knows how it started?”
“Anything can happen when two people are beingcareless,” he retorted.
Garin knew she’d never reveal his true nature or put him or the Daemons in more jeopardy. But there was nothing stopping her from dancing dangerously close. “Who said anything about two?” Lilac offered. “Why not three? Or four?”
“There is no need for these frivolous stories just because you are repellent to the idea of marriage.” Marguerite plopped both empty champagne flutes on the tray, nearly toppling the maid holding it. She clasped her hands together, looking pacified despite her flushed cheeks. Batting herlashes, her intrepid gaze fell upon Garin as she steadied herself. “Andyou? Are you married, Lord Fritsch?”
Garin tore his eyes from Lilac as Marguerite slinked nearer. “I am not,” he answered curtly, despite a voice like velvet. Lilac watched open-mouthed as Marguerite extended her arm. He took her fingers in his despite Henri’s glare, brought her gloved hand to his mouth and planted a kiss upon it. “You must call me Albrecht. I insist.”
Her mother leaned in. “I intend to by the end of the week.”
Lilac realized she was shaking. She needed another drink…No. She needed a walk, her bed, a large cup of tea and a warm croissant. To tell Piper of all the nasty and incriminating things he’d ever done—to scream into the void. To getawayfrom him.
“Do not disgrace Her Majesty that way,” said Piper from behind. Her friend looked equally horrified, awkwardly holding the stake at length.
Marguerite released herself from Garin and took several wobbling steps back to Henri.
Agnes snorted into her champagne. “She does every bit of that herself.”
Henri grunted, shooting Agnes a look. “But what of that witch seamstress who escorted you back last night? And the haberdashery, a-and the soot and…” The former king trailed off, glancing at the tray of champagne nearby but not reaching for any. He stared at Lilac, then at Piper. “And the blood?”
