Calthrope and the hemlock.
Two scribbled drawings of a dodgy cock and balls.
An ambassador who Evan distrusted on instinct but who hadn’t actually said or done anything incriminating—apart from being outside Evan’s rooms last night.
Evan sighed and sat up, reaching for the soap. Lathering up the washcloth, he cleaned himself quickly and climbed out of the tub. At least the crick in his neck and the stiffness in his hips had abated.
He dressed and took himself down to the kitchens for breakfast and then spent the morning meandering around the castle, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a thought in his head. Nobody paid him any heed as he listened in on the conversations of various palace staff, and why would they? He was a duke, yes, but at the same time he was a nobody, and as such there was no need for anyone to guard their words around him.
He learned that Vasily, the Koroslovan prince who was also the ambassador, was planning a trip home with Mother Jones, his husband. He discovered through the grumbling of a cluster of guards that the ambassador for Falsmark apparently had no intention of leaving any time soon. The guards were placing the blame for the extra hours they were still working squarely on the last few guests who had refused to take the hint and go home.
Despite his best efforts, though, he didn’t hear anything that might help him find out who was behind the threat to the crown, or even who the would-be assassins were targeting. His money was still on the king, although the crown prince was also a possibility.
By the time evening rolled around he was forced to admit defeat. He hadn’t even managed to search the ambassador’s room—the man hadn’t made an appearance all day, asking for his meals to be sent to his room and claiming illness. He might have been nursing a hangover, but Evan suspected that the man knew he was under suspicion and was lying low. It was what he would have done in the same situation.
Evan disliked admitting defeat. It felt a little too much like living up to his reputation as a simpleton. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t find the key that would unlock this whole mystery.
He went back to his own chambers after supper in something of a sulk. He hadn’t seen Thomas all day, although he’d heard him shouting at his new recruits and putting them through their paces while he was lingering near the training yards and listening to the other guards grousing.
He ran a hand over his face and pulled out the drawing of a cock and balls and set it on the table. He frowned as he sat down and examined the creased paper. The picture boasted ridiculously oversized balls and had those small circles in odd positions all around the outside, and the cock itself was crude and badly shaped—if Evan’s shaft had curved the way the one in this sketch did, he would have been seeking out a physician—so he could only assume the drawings were someone’s idea of a bit of fun. But if that was the case, why had the Viscount of Calthrope kept the picture on his person? And why did the ambassador have the same sketch?
It made no sense.
Perhaps the ambassador’s tastes ran to a nice bendy dick after all, despite his wife and children. Maybe he reallyhadbeen coming to Evan’s room to propose a dalliance?
Evan shuddered at the thought and thanked his stars that Thomas had been there, and been willing to go along with his charade—which, it had turned out, was no charade but a genuine attraction. It had resulted in a highly satisfying romp, one which Evan had every intention of repeating.
He’d aimed to miss when he’d thrown that knife at Thomas, because he wasn’t in the habit of stabbing his bedmates. It had been partly a tease, and partly Evan showing off, and he’d been prepared for Thomas to flap and squawk and perhaps mutter threats. But seeing the way Thomas had plucked that knife out of midair without blinking an eye? It had made Evan’s insides melt into a puddle of pure, unfettered lust. Apparently, Evan was weak for a competent man who was good with sharp objects.
Or rather, for oneparticularman who was good with sharp objects.
Sighing, Evan went back to examining the picture. He was still tracing a fingertip over the curve in the shaft when there was a light tap at the door. He hurried over, arranging his face into an expression of polite confusion just in case it wasn’t Thomas. But when he opened the door his captain stood there, just as solid and reassuring and stupidly attractive as always. He swung the door wide, and Thomas stepped inside. Evan locked the door behind him.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidnapping me?”
Evan laughed. “Please. Like a big, strong bear of a man like yourself couldn’t shoulder that door open in five seconds.”
Thomas’s face creased into a smile at the compliment. “Probably less,” he agreed, rolling his shoulders and flexing his muscles.
“The lock is to keep busybodies out,” Evan said. “We don’t want anyone wandering in and overhearing our business.”
Thomas hummed. “The only person I’ve ever seen wandering into the wrong rooms and overhearing things is you.”
“And that’s the way I’d like it to stay,” Evan said briskly. While he’d come to terms with Thomas finding out who he was, he had no intention of anyone else learning his secrets.
He led Thomas over to the table and they sat down, side by side. Evan tapped a finger against the drawing. “This is the only thing we have that might lead us to our possible victim.”
“You mean our possible killer?”
Evan remained silent and waited for Thomas to catch up.
“Of course,” Thomas said finally. “You’d prefer to deliver a nice, tidy assassination to answering any awkward questions.”
“I’d prefer that nobody was trying to murder my cousin at all,” Evan said pointedly, “but since it seems he has a target on his back, it’s my job to protect him and his husband. If that means somebody ends up with a snapped neck, so be it. I find it far more efficient to take care of a problem as soon as it arises.”
Thomas fixed him with a glare. For a moment Evan wondered if he’d changed his mind about helping after all, struck with a case of belated scruples, but Thomas proved him wrong when he said in a low voice, “It’smyjob, actually.”
Evan blinked at him. “What?”
