Page 26 of The Gambler's Prize
“I hear you. Stars, Boss. You don’t have to treat me like a dog in heat.”
Then maybe he shouldn’t act like one. I choke back the insult at the last moment. When I taunt him and throw hurtful words at him, he gives me a look which reminds me of Jos’ words: revenge is beneath me. But justice… justice is my right. I’ll make him work, but I won’t be overtly cruel to him while he’s under my power. I’m better than him. He’s going to be treated better than I was in prison while I extract justice.
But sometimes, he makes it hard.
Chapter 11
Grimes
Florian takes an hour to get ready the next evening. For a simple dinner at a neighbor’s house. When he comes downstairs, he looks ready for a night at the most sophisticated restaurant in Rhennes. He’s managed to save one pair of fancy breeches from digging for special occasions. They encase his legs like they’re painted on. The silver-buckled shoes on his feet are polished to mirror shine. I’m surprised that he can managethat so well without the services of a valet. His shirt is buttoned higher than usual, like he’s making an attempt at respectability. He also wears a dark jacket made of some soft, lush fabric. It’s expertly tailored, not an inch of material to spare, showing off the breadth of his shoulders and the triangle of his torso. Obviously made bespoke just for him. And of course the famous mane of hair is gleaming. I have no idea how he got it so shiny without proper running water to rinse out the soap. It’s untied tonight, long and flowing luxuriously over his shoulders in all its glory. Most of all, I notice his eyes: bright with joy at being allowed out for just one evening. He reminds me of the inmates back at prison on the evening before their release. Which makes me the jailer, I suppose. He gives me a twirl. I have no idea why he thinks I want or need a twirl, but this is Florian we’re talking about.
“Well?” he says. “How do I look?”
“You know damn well how good you look,” I say, sounding sour.
Stars, do I sound jealous? Of course I’m comparing his joyous appearance to my dour, black-shrouded mien. I know I look better with the hood down, but I just can’t do it.
He comes closer. “You look good too, Boss,” he says. He sounds sincere.
Fuck that kindness in his eyes. This spoiled little aristocrat confuses the hell out of me. This is the same man who had me ruined on a whim because I crossed himonce.
“You don’t think I’m overdressed, do you?” he says.
“Breta’s family are good people. They’ll be pleased to see you no matter what you wear.”
And now I’m being dragged into returning his kindness. I have a headache from overthinking already, and we haven’t even left the house. Though some of the ache can be blamed on his musky cologne.
“Good. I want you to be proud of your servant,” he says.
I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I just gesture for him to go outside in front of me and lock the door behind us.
**
Of course, Florian charms the whole household the moment we walk through the door.
“Florian, so lovely to meet you,” Breta coos. “Grimes should’ve brought you over to see us long ago.”
She isn’t the cooing kind of woman, and I have no idea why she’s doing it now. She’s a tough prospector who’s carved out a life here with her talent of sniffing out just enough specks of gold to survive. But now she’s acting like a fool, looking at Florian like he’s a poor, hurt little animal and she needs to take care of him. She wraps him in a warm, motherly embrace, which he dives into with gusto. He seems as happy in her arms as he was in mine last night. So he’s as unfussy about his cuddle dates as his fucking partners.
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Breta,” Florian says, from somewhere deep in the hug.
“Meet my daughters, Prevana, Tav and Beveen,” Breta says, while Florian blinks, trying to keep up.
“Lovely to meet you all,” he says.
He can’t help eyeing up the eldest daughter, Prevana, the twenty-year-old. But in fairness to him, he’s kind to the kids as well, listening with apparent interest as they start rattling off every little thing they’ve done today: going to their morning lessons in the city and coming home again (obviously), collecting eggs, and other such mundane things. I nod along, bored already. What is it with children and that habit?
“How many eggs did you get today?” Florian asks them.
“Fifteen,” Beveen yells proudly, and Florian holds up his hand for her to slap in celebration.
Stars. I should’ve known he’d be popular with the children. All that annoying sunniness.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Breta says, gesturing to a pot of traditional Galbravan soup hanging over the fire. The hot and savory scent of spices, beans and bacon fills the kitchen.
“Smells absolutely gorgeous,” Florian pronounces, earning another adoring maternal smile from Breta.
“Yes, I’m sure it will be,” I add. I’m determined not to be outshone in manners by sunshine boy.
