Page 17 of Married By Scandal

Once our audience is out of earshot, Albert scoffs. “Your people have no idea how to treat me, do they?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, eager for a topic of conversation that will distract me from the prince’s nearness.

“No one knows if they should bow or offer honorifics,” he says without affront. It’s more like amused curiosity. It makes me wonder if he’s used to being overlooked, considering he’s only one of his father’s many sons. And a middle one, at that. “Not that your people owe a prince from another country such formalities.”

“It’s not just that,” I say. “Faerwyvae holds different formalities than human-ruled countries. Only some of our fae kings and queens demand traditions of royal titles and genuflecting. Some prefer to avoid such conventions and only require respect.”

“I can see that,” he says. “Not even you have a royal title, correct? And you’re the sister to the Unseelie Queen of Fire.”

“Not even the husbands, wives, and mates of the fae royals are automatically given a title. It is up to each ruler to deem their partner a fellow king or queen. Either way, I didn’t want a title. I get enough attention for being Evie’s sister as it is. All I’ve wanted is renown for being myself.”

“In other words, your career as a fashion designer?”

I glance over at him, surprised he’s managed to glean so much from my words, not to mention remembering what I said about the importance of my career in the first place. “Yes.”

He lifts his cane and points it at my ensemble. “Is this one of your designs?”

“It is. I’ll be wearing my work at each event we attend during our tour.”

His lips twist into a sly grin. “Does that have anything to do with a certain scandal you mentioned last night? One that might have soured your reputation as a designer?”

My eyes narrow to slits, although a flutter of amusement tugs my lips. “You know, sometimes, you act far too keen for your own good. Is every prince in Bretton taught to read between the lines so adequately?”

He blinks a few times as if caught off guard. Then, tearing his gaze away, he takes on a more nonchalant bearing. “I assure you, my royal tutelage was far more boring than that. It’s only that you’re such a fascinating specimen. I’d be a fool not to analyze everything that escapes those lovely lips.”

My breath hitches. There he goes with the false flattery again. This time, there’s no one around to hear it, so it only serves to aggravate me. Just when I felt like we were reaching a safe and comfortable camaraderie too. I wonder if he shattered the mood on purpose, because it’s certainly killed my interest in small talk.

We continue down the sidewalk in silence. The farther we get from the restaurant, the emptier the streets become. Here dark storefronts line the streets with only the occasional public house to break up the quiet monotony. My previous visits to the city of Jasper were during the day, so I didn’t anticipate how inactive it gets after hours. Albert’s hotel is still a couple blocks away, while mine is another block south from it—for I had the good sense to ensure our sleeping quarters were nowhere near each other—so we still have some ways to go.

We turn down another street darker than the others, with not even a tavern to interrupt the row of sleeping storefronts. The sight sends a chill down my spine.

“This is the leisurely path you meant to take?” I ask with a scoff. “If you weren’t looking for some seedy pub, then I can’t imagine why you wanted to walk back to your hotel. And alone, at that. You’re a prince. Shouldn’t you travel with guards?”

“I don’t need guards,” he says, tone somewhat distracted. His steps slow to a halt. “Although perhaps we should go down another…”

He glances over his shoulder only to abruptly proceed forward again. I nearly trip over my feet to keep up with his sudden stop and start. As we continue down the street, my heart begins to race, echoed by the rap of his cane against the sidewalk. I’m about to ask if he’s trying to unnerve me when I notice his body listing to the side. Leaning heavily on his cane, his steps are now uneven, meandering.

“Why are you walking like that?”

He gives a sloppy shrug. “Darling, I think I had too much wine.” His voice is too loud, his words too slurred.

I frown. “You hardly drank anything.”

He glances over at me with a sideways grin. “That you know of.”

“You had two glasses.”

“Keeping track of my health, dearest? How sweet of you to watch me so carefully.”

I open my mouth but can’t reconcile this strange shift. He can’t possibly be drunk. As often as I watched him swirl his glass and take long drinks from it, he only refilled it once. Each glass lasted far longer than I’d expect of a renowned drunkard. If we’d been served a fae variety of wine, then I could understand both the delayed effects and its potency. Which leaves only one explanation. This is all an act.

“Why do you do that?” I ask.

“Do what?”

I wave my free hand at him, gesturing from his cane and his stumbling feet to his irritating smile. “Keep changing from one persona to the next. One moment we’re having a regular conversation. The next, you’re saying something crass. Then, two seconds after that, you’re about to fall on your face in an inebriated stupor.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get bored,” he says with a wink. “We are to be married, aren’t we? Until death do us part. That’s a long time. Especially if rumors about aging in Faerwyvae are true. Are they? Will I stop aging now that I live here?”

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