“So that’s the plan, then? They’re going to marry Lavleen to King Thermilious in exchange for magiline?”
That sly grin is quick to return to his face. “They’re going to allow Lavleen to be with the man she’s chosen in exchange for magiline. But to truly bring magic to Cairish, we need awizardin a Shykh’s seat, Olbric.”
His full plan comes together, and fuck, but I hate how brilliantly he’s played this. I’ve always known he wanted to be the person to bring magic to the desert, and he’s snatched hungrily at every opportunity to do just that.
“And getting me to take my father’s seat just like he asked you to is the honey on top, isn’t it?”
Feisal’s grin turns sharp, one eyebrow ticking up in acknowledgment of a point scored. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not a loyal hunting hound.”
I keep my expression neutral as I weigh my options. I don’t need to be a Shykh to teach magic in Cairish. With the Crux’s resources behind me, it would likely be even more successful than a lone wizard attempting to pass on knowledge, but I know that won’t be a good enough bargain for Feisal. Not when it would mean failing the task my father assigned him.
No, he wants to weave every last piece into place in the tapestry he’s created.
And I can make himthinkhe’s succeeded.
I smirk and release him from the cage of my arms. He draws in a breath, yet he’s no less tense, no less wary. I take a step back and tilt my head as I rake my eyes over him. Samira wasn’t sure what tactic he would use to sway me into my father’s seat, but I think I have an idea. There’s a heat in his eyes, a desperation that makes me think he’ll do anything to see this deal sealed.
“If I agree to take Barric’s seat, what will you give me in return?” I ask.
Feisal closes the distance between us in one eager step. One hand slides through my loose hair to cup the back of my head before his mouth crashes against mine. Like he’s been waiting for the Goddamn opportunity. The sounds of Pinnacle echo down the hall, but the noise can’t drown out the ragged edge to Feisal’s breath.
This is calculated on his part, a means to an end. The kiss is as fierce as it is brief, leaving my lips tingling in the aftermath. Feisal steps back, closing his wantonness safely behind his mask once more.
But no matter how good of an actor he is, he can’t hide the desire, the heat of lust that smolders in his eyes as he says, “Whatever you want, Olbric.”
Oh, but a part of him wants this too. He would have never tried this tactic, tried toseduceme, if some part of him didn’t. But it also makes me wonder if he’s done this before. Leveraged his good looks and body to try to seal a deal.
I smirk at him, betraying nothing before I turn and head down the path back to the palace without a word.
He’ll give me what I want, alright. And he’ll regret ever thinking he could beat me at my own game. I’ll make sure of it.
Royal Games
The main tower of the Crux acts like a reservoir of sorts. It is charged entirely by the ambient energy created by the Crux’s inhabitants, so the magic held within it is not bound to any one school. That magic has the benefit of being incredibly versatile, but at the cost of a certain amount of unpredictability.
On the Properties of Magiline by Lionel Lorne
PACKING MY DAYS SOfull that time gets away from me is becoming a bad habit. As it is, I reach the palace far later than I intended to. It’s close to dinnertime. Arguably too late for a social call to the Queen, but I’m due to check in with her today, and no doubt she’s growing impatient.
But tonight, I’m led past the usual conference room. Instead, I’m brought to a private courtyard near the center of the palace. It’s a small, curated area with hedges and shaded by a large maple tree, though fall has displayed its splendor in the orange and red leaves. They litter the cobblestones as I walk across them to where the Queen sits at a table, clay tiles laid out strategically in front of her.
As I approach, one gloved hand reaches out to match a set of tiles before she removes them, adding them to the neat pile at her elbow.
“This is a rather late visit, Grandmaster,” the Queen says. Her hair is down, and instead of any of the fine gowns she normally wears, she’s in a comfortable robe and fur stole.
“Apologies, Your Majesty. I know you asked for me to check in today, but I don’t recall you giving a time,” I say with a slight bow. I hope to assuage any annoyance as I add, “I have an update from the talks.”
Her eyes flick to me as she hums. “Let me finish my game first.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” I say. Beside her is a half-empty cup on a small serving plate. If she’s already dressed down, she likely has had her dinner, and her preferred digestif appears to be kaffa. Though for the hour, I hope it’s the type of bean that won’t keep her up until midnight. By the archway of the courtyard, a servant waits beside a cart with a silver carafe. “May I freshen your cup?”
The Queen’s eyes dart away from her tiles briefly before she says, “You may.”
I nod and take the delicate cup. Etiquette would dictate that I serve it back to her on the plate, but I choose not to. Instead, I hold it by the handle, and I give the servant girl a wink as I grab the decanter and refill the cup.
I’ve always had a knack for knowing how someone takes their kaffa, but the Queen makes it easy to guess. There’s sugar and milk available, but not a cube is out of place on the little tray. The creamer has been used, though, so I add a splash of milk and stir before I return to the table.
The Queen’s eyes flash to my hand wrapped around the cup handle as I set it down. She frowns before she grabs it and takes a delicate sip. I must have chosen correctly, because her eyes flick to mine before she says, “If you insist on interrupting my evening, you may have a cup and join me.”
