Page 42 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

Like the other more private portions of the Keep, grand tapestries on the walls carried my eyes up to flying buttresses and cathedral vaulting draped with lanterns made of amber glass.

Despite its utter grandness, it was the second warmest place I’d been in the Keep—even though that wasn’t saying much after days on end in their dungeons.

And I couldn’t help but notice the strangest thing. On the lengthy walk Maksym had taken me through the Keep, I hadn’t seen a single painting. Tapestries, yes, like the ones in the dining room, all of various ages and depicting acts of brutal conquest, but none of the usual portraits that came with a royal lineage like Maksym apparently had.

My list of questions was growing to an unmanageable length.

Across the room, sets of glass doors interspersed some of those grotesque tapestries and led out to a terrace. Or so I assumed, even though a faint spatter of rain was making it hard to see much beyond the glass.

One set of doors was ajar, and I headed over.

As I grew closer, rounding the set end of the table, the smell of sweet smoke wafted in on a humid breeze.

Something was incredibly familiar about the scent, though I couldn’t place why. I smoked occasionally, usually when lost in my cups, but never anything more than the cheap, barn-scented tobacco the taverns sold for criminal prices. My father liked to smoke, and often at that, but he preferred expensive fodder for his pipes that made his entire office smell like rich earth.

Maybe this was a Grimmoria thing.

And it was, indeed, the Umbrite king who was out on the partly-covered terrace, leaning against a substantial planter with a plume of smoke pouring from his smile-curved lips.

Beside him, another man stood with his back to the doors and his hands stuffed in his pockets. It was hard to really tell in the dim light and shadows cast from the building, but his hair was quite light and tied back, or maybe just a little messy.

Something about the view plucked a strange chord of familiarity in my chest.

“Miss Wynn,” came Maksym’s annoyed drawl, and my attention bounced back to find his amber eyes vivid and framed by a raised brow.

In my periphery, the king’s guest tugged up his hood, squashing my budding curiosity. “Evening, both.”

My attempt at cordiality was met with a scoff from the king. Maksym pushed off the planter and strode towards me, his mage in stoic tow behind him. “You’re late,” he stated as he brushed by. “Are you always late for things, or is that just a treat for us?”

I gestured out towards the hall, even though the king wasn’t looking at me as he took his seat. “The bell just rang, and I was caught up talking to your sprite.”

Maksym cocked his head in my direction as he poured himself a glass of wine. “Eilir is not mine.”

“Well, forgive me for still trying to parse how you do things around here. They seemed to know plenty about you when you were a child, so…”

The wine bottle clinked against his glass as Maksym stilled. Slowly, he lowered it, and his eyes flicked up. “I’m trying to be a gracious host, Miss Wynn. Don’t tempt me otherwise. And for the love of Mina, take your seat so Jasper can stop standing there like he’s the fucking help.”

I blinked at the mage, who’d moved past me to pull out the chair to the king’s left. I hadn’t exactly paid much heed to how he was still standing there, his hand resting on the chair back, his face mostly obscured by that stupid hood and shroud of shadows.

Jasper swept his other hand from me to the seat.

“You want me there?” I stumbled out, and his curt nod had me moving.

Maksym sighed as I passed behind him. “You were raised in a court, weren’t you, Miss Wynn? Or are you not used to having anyone respect your title because you’re illegitimate?”

I tensed but didn’t give him the barbed answer I’m sure he wanted as I lowered into the chair and let the mage push it in for me. I was not about to get into an easily explosive conversation over my controversial lineage with the king who’d committed patricide.

“Thank you,” I said quietly to Jasper.

I had expected nothing back, but he dipped his head and said, “You’re most welcome,” before taking his own seat.

At least one of the two men I was forced to breathe the same air as possessed some damned manners.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind if Jasper joined us.” Maksym didn’t look at me as he filled his mage’s glass. He tipped the bottle in my direction next, but I shook my head. “I’m not making any assumptions, of course, but should you decide to stay, the two of you will spend quite a lot of time together.”

Poor Jasper had been just about to take a sip of his drink, but he set it down quickly, coughing out, “What?”

I sank back into my chair. “Servitude and a keeper. What an appealing option.”