“Even me?” My voice came out a bit rough, despite the potion, and I suddenly, desperately wanted her answer. She gazed back at me, her eyes silvery with some emotion her face didn’t show.
“Even you,” she replied, her voice breathier than it had been.
“Then offer me sanctuary, too,” I coaxed.
“I can’t.” She ground out the words, surprising anguish in her voice, especially since none of it showed. “If I’m very clever, I can find substitutes to take Ambrose’s and Sondra’s places—if you agree not to betray the game—but you are far too … distinctive. My courtiers haven’t stopped talking about you, in great detail. No disguise could convince the emissary that someone else is you. Besides, you are the one His Imperial Majesty wants. I cannot stop it.”
“But you can,” I insisted. This wasn’t what Ambrose wanted me to do, but I had to seize the opportunity. She’d softened from the woman who’d coldly captured us the day before. When your enemy shows weakness, you must take advantage as the opportunity may never come again. Besides, she didn’t want to do this. I could feel it in the thrum of her voice, see it in the unhappy turn of her lush mouth. “Don’t turn me over. I have an army, and ships. Throw in with us. I’ll teach you about our secret weapon and you will help us take down Anure.”
If I thought I’d shocked her before, it was nothing compared with her expression at my words. I could swear I caught a glimpse of pained hope. Perhaps not, because she quickly shuttered it with a mask of furious indignation.
She stood, abruptly, her elaborate skirts swishing against my thighs as she brushed past, the silk catching against the roughened skin on my hand. My fingers twitched, wanting to touch more, to reach for her. Then she was away, leaving only a cloud of subtle fragrance, like a flower that bloomed only at night.
She began pacing the confines of the small garden. No wonder she suggested the activity to me—she moved with a restless grace that clearly helped her regain calm. When she turned back to me, she’d composed herself, once again cool and remote. I’d only seen her sitting before this, and it bemused me to note she stood at least a head shorter than I—once I mentally subtracted the pile of hair and sparkling crown. Her regal bearing and intense presence made her seem so much taller. At least I dug out enough discretion not to mention it to her. Without all the trappings, she was likely slight enough for me to pick up and cuddle in my arms like a kitten.
And just like one, she paced up to me, fire in her eyes, so close I scented the warmth of her skin along with the flowers. “You dare speak to Me of treachery?” she hissed, leaning in more. I doubted anyone outside the walls could hear our conversation, but she whispered it anyway. Where I lacked any ability at discretion, she’d made an art form of it, not forgetting even when overcome by affronted anger.
“Oh, that’s right,” I goaded her. “You’re engaged to Anure, aren’t you? Are you in love with that vile toad?” I heaped scorn into the word. About as far from dishing compliments and romance as possible. Good thing Sondra couldn’t witness this.
To my surprise, Lia’s righteous fury faded instantly. Instead she studied me, cool and canny. She’d dropped the last mask—the non-physical kind anyway, as the formal makeup hid the subtleties of her expressions—and the real woman looked at me, her intelligence like a lethal blade.
“You’re no fool, Conrí,” she said softly. “Don’t treat Me like one.”
And I saw it all in that moment, the game she played as deftly as I planned any of my schemes. More so, as Anure didn’t see her for the dangerous enemy she was. Her silver eyes glittered like a mirage of water in the desert, her beauty like the distracting flash of jewels on an enchanted sword. She used all of it like camouflage, as all the best assassins did.
And we were the same under the skin, both reckless in pursuit of our hopeless causes. I saw Ambrose’s point now, that I had to persuade her to give up what had to be a suicidal plan. The urge to seize her and kiss her assailed me with renewed hunger.
I couldn’t. It would be an unforgivable breach. Boorish even for me. I’d never learned elegant court manners, but I had to pierce that hard shell of hers, make her see.
I hadn’t gotten this far by playing by the rules.
I leaned in, setting my hands on her narrow waist to keep her there—though I knew she’d refuse to give up ground to me—and brushed my lips against one delicate shell of her ear. She shivered, catching her breath.
“What’s your endgame?” I asked, very quietly, inviting her to confide. “Marry him, then slit his throat in the marriage bed?”
19
I groped for a response to this man’s astonishing nerve. His hands burned through the layers of silk and boning at my waist, the brush of his lips against my ear sending glittering shocks of awareness over my skin. He was big—I’d known that, but this close he seemed like an oak tree. The strength palpable in his grip, he held me in a way that made me want to lean in, to taste more …
Think! I told myself viciously.
How had he guessed so much? Because I’d slipped, foolishly taunting him not to underestimate me when I’d built all my strategy on making sure men thought me no more than ornamental. I needed to extract myself from his hands and my mistakes.
I’d bungled this entire interview. Something about Con—I’d never think of him with that vile Slave King epithet again, even if he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in claiming it—made me lose all my cautious habits. It was more than seeing him look so striking in my father’s clothes, though that sight had blown through me like a sudden gust of wind off the ocean, full of cold spray and old emotion. It didn’t help that he cleaned up unexpectedly well. Never handsome by any stretch, but Con was … imposing. So unlike any man I’d known, and yet so cursedly familiar.
I hadn’t had a conversation this honest with another person in … maybe in my entire life. For all that we feinted with each other, using words like rapiers to probe the other’s weaknesses, and despite the terrible stakes, part of me had been enjoying it.
I was also infuriated, terrified, and frustrated.
And aroused. I’d never felt more alive.
It shouldn’t be exhilarating that he’d guessed my plan. The endgame, as he called it. What I thought of as my last resort, should it come to that. If Anure cornered me sufficiently to force me into marriage, I’d go willingly—to all appearances—and take him from this world with me. That plan wouldn’t save Calanthe, however. Until I found an heir the orchid ring would accept, I couldn’t let that happen. As always, I was alone in this battle.
Con had pulled back, just enough to stare into my face. His golden eyes, so like the wolf’s of my nightmares, burned into mine, seeing too much. They held the same challenge, the same plea, that the animal had in my restless dreams. I should’ve taken warning from them. It might be too late that I hadn’t.
We stood so close I’d thought he’d been about to kiss me. A startling and extraordinary insight—and I had no idea what I’d do. I should’ve stepped back long since, but that would be giving up ground. And now he had his hands on me. I could order him away, but I doubted he’d meekly obey. I shouldn’t find that enticing.