I unfold my napkin and guide his hand to my lap, wrapping the cream-colored cloth around his sliced palm.
“Are you quite well, Lord Ashwood?” Marion pipes up from over my shoulder. “The crystal in the Kingdom of Cups is made from stronger stuff, no doubt.”
“Yes.” His arm is rigid against my skirts as I tie the ends of the fabric into a knot. “Seems that way.”
He snatches his hand back, not meeting my eyesas he leans to make room for the attendants rushing to clean up the glass and erase all evidence of his error.
“He has arrived.” Marion leans into me, motioning around Ostrich Feather. “Our golden-haired king. He’s the one causing all the fuss.”
I shift in my seat, leaning over the decorative charger plate to get a glimpse. I’ve only ever seen photos of a king, and Alderic is nothing like the round and wrinkly old men pictured in textbooks. The King of Pentacles looks like the tall, muscley, lean quarterback heroes of the smutty football romances that fill my Kindle. His nearly neon-blue eyes cut through the crowd like shards of ice, and his hair is as close to gold as blond can get. A crown rests against his sunlit hair, catching the flicker of the chandeliers, its delicate design forming a circle of pentacles around his brow that matches the embroidered golden pentacles running down the lapels and cuffs of his long maroon velvet coat.
“That’sthe king?”
“And the man he’s never without,” Marion continues, lowering her voice to a hush. “The one and only Four.”
King Lockhart’s counterpart emerges from the shelter of the ostrich feathers, deep-set eyes scanning the room. Four is stocky, with the thick build and square jaw of an undefeated fighter.
I clench my teeth, all senses on alert, ready for Kane to abandon the strict rules we’ve gone over about maintaining our cover in favor of launching himself at his enemy.
“Then there’s Ivy.” Marion’s glossed lips harden into a line as she nods to the woman who slips her arm aroundFour’s as they head to their seats at the head of the table next to the king.
Ivy’s hair falls in a silken blond sheet across her face as she gracefully settles into her chair, her creamy, pearlescent gown shimmering like moonlight on water.
Alderic lifts his glass, and I join in the toast with those around me. My gaze flicks to Ivy as she tucks her hair behind her ear. The king’s welcome speech clatters around me like bricks as my heart stutters and my lungs tighten.
Stephanie.
She’s here. With Four. At the head of the table, a seat away from the king.
Of course she is. Fucking Stephanie.
I manage to bring my glass to my lips and drain the contents in one gulp as cheers of “huzzah!” and “to Pentacles!” reverberate around me.
A single bell sounds, and two lines of attendants file into the dining hall, glittering gold plates in hand. They reach Ostrich Feather’s side of the table first, and she squeals, applauding the course the moment the plate hits the charger.
“Oh,pomegranates!”
I nearly choke on my wine, forcing down a sputtering swallow as Kane chuckles into his bandaged hand.
“Yes, Lady Whitmore,” Marion chimes, oblivious to my distress, “I do believe we’re all surprised that you weren’t the first to know the pomegranates had ripened.”
The two women share another heated glance I choose to ignore in the hopes I can make it through the rest of this meal without being reminded of the way Kane slid his fingers into that fruit.
An attendant rounds my left, setting down a platetopped with sliced figs, a dollop of goat cheese resting in a moat of honey, and a sprinkling of plump, glistening pomegranate seeds.
“Lady Ashwood and I seem to have gotten to them before you, Lady Whitmore. In fact, how were your pomegranates?” Marion asks me, cutting off a tiny triangle of honey-soaked cheese. “Were they as delicious as I made them out to be?”
I feel myself turn fire hydrant–red, and I stifle another cough, my mind still half-submerged in the warmth of the bathwater and Kane’s deliciously sweet fingers. “Yes,verydelicious.”
“A flush like that over a fruit?” Marion watches me for a moment, a smile slowly curving her lips. “Lord Ashwood, were you able to taste any of your wife’s delicious pomegranates?”
Thankfully, the clink of silverware on crystal saves me from having to stumble through any more veiled conversations about the lurid details of my not-quite-sex life. The king clears his throat and slowly stands. He wobbles a bit as he reaches his full height, and Kane tenses, half rising from his seat as if to leap across the table to catch Alderic if he falls.
But Four is there instead, holding out a steadying hand the king clings to like a cane.
“You know,” King Lockhart begins, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over his gathered guests, “just these few moments at this table remind me of times past, when my father was still with us and the palace was filled with laughter and cheer.”
The room softens at the king’s words, and once again, my hand finds Kane’s.
