Page 12 of The Duchess Curse

He brushed his thumb over the curve of her cheek, and something like a growl rippled past the glamour. “What is this?” Voice low and controlled, every word clipped and precise.

“Wh-what is what?”

“I assume he’s objecting to the scratch,” Queen Victoria suggested. “You never did clean up the blood.”

“Who do I have to kill?” he asked, voice low as the rumble of a storm in the distance.

“It was nothing,” Guinevere said. “A small attack on my way here. My guard and I made short work of the fellow.” She stepped to the side, away from his touch and sat back at the table, whipping up the serviette and dipping it into her tea. Uncouth, but she needed desperately to wipe away the mark that drew her husband’s gaze.

He sat roughly beside her and yanked the serviette out of her hand, caught up her chin again and pressed the cloth to the scratch. He cleaned it gingerly, his glamoured face passive.

Queen Victoria clapped. “Oh, wonderful! I knew I was right. No one better than a husband to protect his wife.”

Braxton released Guinevere, dropping the serviette to the table, atop the scones. He may have looked polished and perfect, but his manners gave the lie to his glamour.

“Pardon?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not to insinuate that you are anything other than perfect, ma’am, but I am a bit slow. Could you clarify your meaning?”

“You do not know, dear husband?” Guinevere said, proud of that note of levity, turned just right. She only wished she could see what effect it had on Braxton. Damn glamours. “You’re being given an assignment.”

“And that is?” he asked the queen.

“Her!” Her Majesty nodded at Guinevere.

Slowly, Braxton turned to consider Guin as the queen continued her explanation. She needed a potion, so she needed Guin, and many wanted Guin dead, so Guin needed a guard, the best guard because of the potion.

“And he must be a Second Shadow because no one must know about this potion,” the queen finished. “It only makes sense you take the position. It’s yours by rights.”

In the ensuing silence, Braxton’s gaze built a little cage around Guin’s tongue. She couldn’t shape a single syllable, even if she could figure out which ones were the right ones to lay down before a queen. And a husband.

Finally, he blinked and faced the queen. “I accept, Your Majesty.”

The little queen clapped. “Of course you do!”

Guin couldn’t escape a royal command, and it seemed her husband didn’t wish to escape it. She put a hand to her temple to steady the spinning world.

“Mr. Grant,” the queen said.

The other man, whom Guin had entirely forgotten, stepped closer to the table with swift militaristic precision. His hair, dark as a raven’s wing, waved back from his forehead, and his eyes were silver and blank. “Is there anything else I might do for you, ma’am?”

“Do greet the Duchess of Braxton.”

The dark-haired man bowed. “Your Grace.”

“And Lady Guinevere,” the queen said, “this is Mr. Hesperus Grant.”

“Grant…” Guin looked for a resemblance, found it almost immediately. “Are you perchance related to the royal alchemist, Temple Grant, husband to the Marchioness of Fordham?”

“He is my elder brother, Your Grace.”

“An alchemist Shadow?” Braxton drawled.

Grant’s gaze grew lethal. “We’re becoming more common.”

“And with good reason,” the queen said. “Alchemists make the Shadow blades, after all. Why not include them in your ranks. And to cement the partnership between transcendent and alchemist Shadows, I should like for you, Grant, to assist Braxton with his current assignment. You will be his second in command as he guards my potion maker.”

“Over my dead body,” Braxton snapped.

The corner of Grant’s lips twitched up. “That can be arranged.”