Page 27 of Rogue's Pawn (Covenant of Thorns 1)

Apparently Rogue wasgoing for the late dramatic entrance, because by the time we entered the hall, everyone was seated. Staring at me, of course. I felt like the glazed pig at the banquet. Two empty chairs waited at a raised table.

“Is mine the one with the Sword of Damocles hanging over it?” I whispered as we sedately walked up to the dais.

Rogue didn’t deign to answer. Shocking.

The peculiar lads with the bowed heads stood by the heavy wooden chairs. They seemed to be the same ones. Either that or they were part of some servant class that all looked identical. After I sat, my servant guy slid the chair up to the table so that the massive arms sealed to the edge. That, with the low table over my lap, effectively caged me. I might be able to squirm out on my own, but it wouldn’t be easy. Coincidence? Oh no, no, no.

I tried to calm myself, to still the feeling that everything had spiraled hopelessly out of control. Here I was, at what appeared to be a faerie banquet out of the old stories. Everything had moved so fast, keeping me off balance.Concentrate on finding a way out of here. That was key. Whatever negotiations would occur tonight, I needed to wrangle a way back to my own world. Regardless of the price.

Rogue ensconced himself at my right, while Lord Puck sat to my left, his back turned while he talked effusively, with much hand-waving, to his companion. Blackbird’s voice drifted by and I spotted her next to an archway, directing a stream of servers with bowed heads carrying platters and bowls of food, unified in their sameness. They made my skin crawl and the hair rise on the back of my neck. I slid a glance at Rogue out of the corner of my eye. He was engaged in conversation with a woman on his right I hadn’t met, but who seemed to be all shades of pink, from nymphet outfit to eye color. Since he was occupied, I took a good look at the server near me. Healer had referred to them as “Rogue’s people.” I wondered if he’d created them somehow or manipulated them magically. They seemed…off.

If this were so, he might have manipulated me in the same way, were it not for the silver I wore. I ran my fingertips over the smooth collar, flush with warmth from my skin. Not just restraint but protection. Something to keep in mind. Clearly Rogue was a politician. In my experience, politicians liked people to underestimate them. Or worship them. Flip a coin.

Rogue turned then and looked at me, full blaze-on blue. “You’re thinking something, but I didn’t quite get it.”

I smiled sweetly. Innocently, I hoped. “Following instructions. Being quiet. Waiting to eat my supper like a good girl.”

His gaze dropped to my lips, and my breath caught at the visual caress. Damn, I really hoped I wouldn’t regret the not-kissing him when I had a chance.

“No need for regrets, gorgeous Gwynn,” Rogue murmured. “You may yet have my lips on you.”

Warmth pooled between my legs. Rogue smiled into my eyes again, the blue a hotter shade now and I caught a fleeting edge of his thought. Lips trailing down my throat. And farther. Kissing, hell, this guy could be the best sex I ever had, not that there was a lot of competition there, but still.

Eyes on the prize—don’t get distracted by the pretty boy.

“True. Mind your thoughts—you’re getting…loud, again.”

I wrenched my gaze away as Rogue breathed out a laugh. He set his hand on mine, squeezed lightly and turned back to Pinkie. Platters were set before us, and Rogue waved the lads back, though they dished servings to others. He served himself, then slid the platter to me, so I could choose my own portion. It was so smooth, I could believe this was normal etiquette, but I knew he did it for me.

I gave Rogue a brilliant smile and he winked at me, the left side of his face away from the room. I hadn’t noticed before that his marking extended onto his eyelid, with a thorn tipped in amber. I fought the desire to run a fingertip over it.

No silverware of any type. Oh, and no one was eating. All eyes were turned our way, including Puck’s avid gaze. He had one brown eye and one of sea-green, a disconcerting imbalance.

“They’re waiting for you to eat first,” Rogue saidsotto voce.

“Do I eat with my fingers?” I said through my smile.

“Yes.”

I reached for a slice of bread, looked at Puck and pulled off a piece, toasted him with it, and ate. It was really good, honey and sunshine combined. A susurrus ran through the room and everyone began eating and talking. I wolfed the rest of the bread. Puck sighed and tossed a something brightly jeweled at Falcon, who caught it, looking grimly satisfied.

It seemed we ate for hours, course after course of meats in various sauces—which were excellent, fortunately, since I had to lick my fingers clean—fruits, breads, cheeses. No salad course, sadly. I tried a little wine, but it was terribly sweet, like a frothy version of Thunderbird. I needed to keep my wits anyway.

Though I ate ravenously—always from a dish Rogue first served himself—I never felt full. I forgot my circumstances after a bit, heady with the food and merriment. And Rogue’s intense regard.After this we dance all night, I wake up at Devils Tower and a hundred years has gone by.I should be so lucky.

The room abruptly hushed.

Falcon stood. “I vote for death.” And sat again.

Several voices murmured agreement.

And, so much for the merriment.

Wait,I thought to Rogue,don’t I get some discussion first? Bargaining points?

“Whisper, don’t project,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “‘Spoken’ thoughts carry farther.”

“Thatismy bargain,” Falcon declared, confirming the point.

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