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The first male kicks him in the shin, and before you know it, Amartis arrives and has to escort the two troublemakers out of the area.
Pleased, I sigh, my gaze returning to the older lady at the table.
I walk over to Pavonos’s punch stand.
He offers me a glass, which I refuse.
“You deny yourself the best things in life.”
“According to you, what are those?”
“Drunken nights with females.”
I chuckle. “The best things in life are spent around family.”
“Like I said, you are refusing the best things in life.” I don’t know if he’s talking about Chloe or if it’s a jab at my avoiding talking about my parents or visiting the village I grew up in.
I’ll visit the village after my father departs. Until then, I’ll remain in the Summer Court, serving the Summer king, who values my natural gifts and encourages my ruthlessness.
“Take a look at the lady speaking with the queen,” I tell my friend. “The one with her back to us. What do you make of her?”
Pavonos smiles at a female aristocrat approaching us. Her breasts are so large, they must serve as a pillow for her husband at night.
“Are you married, dear?” Pavonos asks.
“I am,” she says. “And my husband sent me over here to ask if you are interested.”
“Yes.” Pavonos nods, his eyes on the female’s deep cleavage. “I’d love to love on both of you. Bring him here.”
She giggles and walks over to her husband, who’s giving Pavonos the kind of look I’ve seen El’jah receive from many of his partners.
Huh. I had no idea Pavonos was interested in both males and females. Learn something new each evening. “Can you please focus?” I remind him.
“Her back is turned to us. I can’t see who it is. Who is it?”
Amartis arrives and swipes a glass of punch from the table.
I use my magic to hold the glass in place and not let him drink it. He’s trying to tilt the glass, but it won’t budge. I’d like them to inform me about the older lady.
Amartis tries turning the glass every which way and then sticks his tongue inside and starts lapping at the punch like a dog. I can’t look at him anymore, so I release the glass and let him drink.
He tosses it back as if it were a shot of whiskey.
“No more,” I order.
He salutes.
“Lady Dofonso is her name,” he says.
“You sure?” I ask.
“The one speaking with the queen, right? Or, rather, going for a walk with the queen.”
“You mean she’s taking the queen away,” I say, then rush to move behind the females, discreetly following them into the gardens.
The elderly female speaks, while the queen nods and sometimes smiles, but I can see the discomfort etched on her face.
Something feels wrong.
