Blade And Rose, Tome 3: Court of Shadows

CHAPTER 1

If dirty looks were daggers, she’d be a pincushion.

Forcing a smile, Rielle reached for her wine goblet. She sipped the full-bodied red, glancing away from Duchess Caterine’s cold smile to Nora’s piercing glare across the gleaming purple heartwood table.

Warmth rested on her knee, Brennan’s palm, even as he remained still and entirely at ease next to her.

Just get through dinner. Get through dinner. Just dinner.

His youngest sisters, Caitlyn and Una, were better, at least. Their looks weren’t pointy, or at least pointed elsewhere. Twirling a curly lock of dark hair, Caitlyn feigned interest in her wild-mushroom soup, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised. Her tight-laced teal gown, much like Nora’s, cinched in a tiny waist, so feigning interest in food was likely an everyday practice.

Una wore a mischievous grin as her gaze slid from the duchess to Nora to Brennan. Other than those Marcel hazel eyes and her beautiful face, she couldn’t have been more different than her sisters, her hair pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and her clothes the height of fashion—men’s fashion, just like Brennan. At least she’d left her sword behind for dinner.

All three Marcel sisters had done little more than scrutinize her, although she’d done nothing more than the same herself. But since she’d arrived, it had been nothing but cold glares, whispered gossip, and bitter silence from everyone, even the help. She sighed inwardly.

“An autumn wedding,” Duchess Caterine declared, her full smile in no way matching her bitter green glare. Her face was cold and unblemished like ice, with but the finest of lines daring to mark her classic beauty. She exhaled a light breath and waved a jewel-encrusted hand. “It’s been a very, very, very lengthy engagement, hasn’t it?”

Nora huffed a half-laugh, staring Rielle down across the table. Somehow she made even such an ugly expression effortlessly beautiful. “Some length was needed to allow for distractions, wasn’t it?”

Brennan’s eyelids lazily hooded his bored eyes as he exhaled slowly, sprawled in his high-backed chair like a jungle cat. A tall, well-muscled, criminally handsome jungle cat. “Nora…”

A grin. “I didn’t mean yours, dear brother. Although that list is lengthy, too, isn’t it, Bren?”

More wine. Definitely more wine. Rielle tipped the goblet and eyed the half-empty decanter. Her lifeline from this torture was quickly diminishing as the meal dragged on.

Two weeks ago, Brennan had been the one with the fever, and yet she’d been the one to suggest complete madness. Maerleth Tainn, home of the Marcels. Why not? What could possibly go wrong?

“Are you enjoying the wine, Favrielle?” Duchess Caterine asked. “Should you be drinking so much of it while with child?”

Coughing, Rielle set down the goblet and drew the napkin across her mouth. Divine’s flaming fire—

“What poise,” Nora mumbled, while Una chuckled under her breath.

“W-with child?” Rielle cleared her throat. “Your Grace, I am—”

“A wedding—my son’s wedding—in but a few months,” Duchess Caterine said matter-of-factly with a disinterested sniff. “There’s no doubt—”

“She’s not with child, Mother.” Leaning back in his chair, Brennan swirled his brandy slowly, then took a drink. His voice was dismissive, apathetic, although he blinked slowly, staring into his glass, wistfully almost.

Castle Tainn’s great hall was massive, its twelve-foot-high double doors far, far from this dinner table. And the harpist was either hard of hearing or well practiced in letting no reaction show on his face. Did he ever consider tossing aside the harp and running as far and as fast away as his slippered feet could carry him? Rielle swallowed. If he did, she might follow.

“Not with child? Why not?” Nora crossed her slender arms over her chest and raked her with a disdainful once-over. “Are you barren?”

A fireball. No, an ice spike—

“It comes as a complete surprise,” Brennan said with a yawn, “that no suitors are fighting one another for the honor of courting you, Nora. Especially when you’re so well mannered.”

Nora slid another smug look Rielle’s way. “I’m still feeling quite contented by my last suitor, thanks.”

He didn’t seem to feel the same way about you.

But Rielle bit her tongue before the words could leave her mouth. Jon wasn’t hers to fight over. Not anymore. Some other woman no doubt claimed him now, as well as all the jealousy that went hand in hand with loving a king. These barbs didn’t matter, and if Nora and Jon so chose, they could “content” each other all they wanted.

Rielle folded her arms in her lap and turned to Duchess Caterine with a smile. “We want to marry this autumn because, as you said, Your Grace, it’s been a lengthy engagement, and we don’t want to wait longer than is necessary.” Before the duchess could reply, she continued, “I realize it’s an inconvenience, and I beg your pardon. But I ask for your sympathy in this,” she said, glancing at Brennan. At his soft hazel eyes. His long, dark lashes. His warm, subtle smile. His strong, loving arms.