Tristan’s smirk softened into something resembling approval as he handed the reins back to his friend.
“I told you I’d only be a moment,” Cedric said. The knights led their horses back to the main road before remounting. “You didn’t have to follow me.”
“And miss that classic display from Lord Victor Cedric Thorne, the knight with a heart bigger than his purse? I think not.”
Cedric laughed but cut himself off as that dull throbbing in his chest resumed, stronger than it was before. Less like a pulse and more like a...
Halting his horse, he frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked.
“I—Nothing.” He sucked in a slow breath, resisting the urge to rub at his chest. “Perhaps I am just uneasy about tonight.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. The golden boy is still unused to being on the receiving end of Lord Church’s ire. Lucky for you, I happen to be anexpert, so fear not, my friend. You’ll get through this.”
As if providing their commentary on the reason for said ire, the cathedral bells tolled in the distance.
“Stars a-fucking-bove,” Tristan muttered. “If we were late before...” He flicked his reins and urged his horse into a trot, before calling back to Cedric over his shoulder. “Come on then, Sir Bleeding Heart. The ball is beginning.”
They quickly made their way to the palace. Cedric felt his chest pull tight as they passed through the gates, which shone like a polished coin as they swung open to welcome the returningVictor of Havensreach.
Music and laughter filtered into the night air from the open doors of the main building, and Cedric clenched his jaw. He’d always known there was a stark difference in the state of the palace and surrounding neighborhoods as compared to other parts of the city. But tonight, having come directly from the Walk, the contrast was highlighted to an almost unbearable degree.
“This city needs more than a ball,” he muttered as he and Tristan stabled their horses and headed inside.
Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, definitely. But one thing at a time, eh? Maybe we start with washing the dirt off your face and getting rid of the, uh”—he made a show of sniffing at Cedric—“horse smell.”
Cedric snorted. “You’re one to talk, friend.”
Tristan opened his mouth, undoubtedly another quip on that tongue, but two flustered attendants intercepted them.
“There you are!” exclaimed one of them, a tawny-skinned man with dark hair shorn close to his scalp. “You’re late.”
“Lord Church has been demanding we locate you,” added the woman, frizzy blonde hair spilling out from what Cedric assumed had once been a neatly plaited braid. “We’ve been searchingeverywhere, haven’t we, Gregor?” She looked to her companion before returning her gaze to Cedric. “And justlook at the state of you!” Her voice rose in both volume and pitch with every word.
Cedric cringed. “Our apologies, we?—”
“—smell worse than a couple of hogs,” Tristan interjected. “Yes, Addison, we are aware. Sorry and apologies and regrets and all that. Just give us a few minutes to clean up. I promise we’ll be along beforethe council can backpedal on their decision to let the Arcanians in.” He winked at Cedric before giving an irritated Gregor his prize-winningest smile. “Well, our fair Lord Victor will be. I, myself, could use a nibble before facing a ballroom full of nobles. Accompany me to the kitchens first, won’t you?”
“There’s food at the ball,” Gregor replied drily, his mouth twisting, but Cedric didn’t miss the way his cheeks flushed. With a short bow to Cedric, a nod to Addison, and a rather curt gesture indicating Tristan should follow, he spun on his heels and strode away.
With a shake of his head at his incorrigible friend, Cedric trudged off toward his quarters, Addison trailing close behind. By the time they reached his chambers, she was already pulling at the straps of Cedric’s armor, unbuckling his vambraces before he’d even entered the room.
Fortunately, the travel armor that Cedric wore was far less cumbersome to don and to remove than his plate mail, and Addison was a practiced hand. She shucked off the rest easily, leaving him with a few more well-deserved admonitions about just how late he was before shutting the door.
Cedric exhaled, then glanced around the bedroom with appreciation. Of all the many,manythings he heartily disliked about being theVictor of Havensreach, he would admit that being assigned these quarters—and, more importantly, the private bathing chamber that came with them—was something he could appreciate.
Unlike most of the palace, the room was not particularly fancy. There was a small washbasin against the wall by the door, a plain mirror hung above it along with a shelf that hosted a lineup of scents and soaps. A few simple sconces were lit on the walls, casting a warm glow through the space.
But it was the elusive mana-powered shower in the center of the chamber that had Cedric silently giving thanks to the celestials. He touched a finger to his token, whispering an ancient word that cued the flow of warm water from the manastone hanging from the ceiling.
Stripping off his doublet and tunic, Cedric gently removed his token and set it in a jewelry dish by the washbasin with aclink. Then, he stepped beneath the stream, letting it wash away the dust and grime of the road.
His thoughts strayed to Tristan and the cold barracks bath he was likely subjecting himself to at this same moment. No wonder he’d wanted to delay. Cedric could almost hear Tristan’s yelp of displeasure as he dipped a toe into the icy bathwater. Maybe if he wasextra niceduring their kitchen detour, Gregor would give him a hot kettle to warm it.
Water sluicing down his body, Cedric chuckled. He scrubbed at his face, allowing himself just a few more minutes to linger under the stream before getting out.
With a clean towel wrapped around his waist, he returned to the washbasin and stared into the mirror that hung above it. “Here we go,” he told his reflection.
