Page 25 of The Gambler's Prize
“Sure. For now.” He grins up at me, looking happier than he has for some time. His hair is a little tousled from the cuddle andhe isn’t fixing it. Stars, I hope he isn’t expecting to make this an appointment thing.
“Fornow?”
“I should go upstairs and plan my outfit for tomorrow,” he says, ignoring my question.
“You don’t need to dress up that much. I didn’t think you’d be so excited about going to dinner at a prospector’s house, anyway.”
“I’m not a snob, you know,” he says, affronted. “That’s one thing I like about Galbrava. Less standing on ceremony than in Rhennes.”
“Callinth is even worse than Rhennes when it comes to hierarchy.”
He looks away, suddenly shifty. I suspected he might, which is why I mentioned it. He always looks shifty when I mention Callinth, the empire that was locked in war with our home city Rhennes for generations. A shaky peace deal was signed a few years ago and is holding, but the enmity still runs deep. I’m beginning to find Florian’s behavior when Callinth is mentioned very suspicious. Beginning to wonder if maybe his pale skin isn’t Vennan after all. It could be Callinthen. I know Florian’s father by reputation. He’s an aristocrat who owns large swaths of Rhennes. But the mother Florian only mentioned once... Could she have been Callinthen? Not that I care about his parentage. My enmity is personal. I hate him enough already. Being half Callinthen wouldn’t make much difference.
“So how’d you get to be friends with Breta, Boss?” he says, very obviously changing the subject. “I didn’t realize you had any friends.”
“I have friends,” I object, wondering if that’s true.
Breta is kind and a good neighbor, but I’ve never really confided in her. She doesn’t even know I was in prison. Many of my friends back in Rhennes fell away when I was arrested, eventhose who were much shadier than me, with the smugness of the never-caught. Others who wanted to stay close, who offered sympathy, I pushed away through pride. And my biggest regret: losing my best friend Jos. This revenge is as much for him as it is for me. I confided my Florian-entrapping plan to him. And though he’d been at my side for two years in prison and saw what that place did to me, he was firmly against revenge, saying it would destroy me. That it was beneath me. He’s always been a foolish idealist. We quarreled bitterly. When I left Rhennes, we weren’t even on speaking terms. I learned my lesson. No one understands my need for justice, not even Jos. It’s not an emotion, more like the laws of physics. I can’t move on until I have it.
Florian stares at me now, oblivious and sweet-looking as usual. Funny how a man who torched my life can look so sweet.
“Er, Boss?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again. Daydreaming.”
If only he knew.
“Let’s go over the rules for dinner with Breta,” I say.
He groans theatrically. “You don’t need to give me rules. Socializing is practically my job.”
“That’s not a job, Florian.”
“Well, no.” He’s unsquashed, as usual. “But you know what I mean. I’ll be charming, promise.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“What, me being charming?” He pouts. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Just don’t take it too far.” I fold my arms and loom over him in an attempt to intimidate. The move was already losing its venom, and the cuddle session has apparently drained the last of his fear. I start to regret the loom as his gaze rakes up my bodyand lingers on my face. He allows one corner of those pillowy lips to quirk at me. Quirk coquettishly.
“Florian,” I snarl.
“What? I’m not doing anything.” He fluffs up his hair, looking aggrieved. It’s an obvious lie, but I can’t prove it.
“You are not, under any circumstances, to unleash thatcharmas you call it on Breta’s daughter,” I say.
“How old is she?” His hands play with his hair, putting it up into a high ponytail and tying the velvet band. He’s only wearing a sleeveless undershirt and I notice the definition on his muscles. His biceps are bigger than they used to be and his shoulders more filled out. He should thank me for all the work I’ve been assigning him. He still isn’t built like me, but he’s not bad for a useless aristocrat.
“The oldest daughter is twenty,” I say. “The younger two are still children.”
“Twenty,” he says in a contemplative voice, his blue eyes dreamy.
“Stay away from her, Florian. You hear me?”
I put an edge in my voice. He holds up his slim palms, still soft but with a few calluses now.
