The party is too crowded. Drasgard roam the edges of the garden, most of them the queen’s. Only two of Kazia’s guards are on duty—Salarin and Yudra. Lucien can’t help disapproving of the arrangement. Ostomar might be Kazia’s home, but this party is still a hostile environment. If Lucien was in charge of Kazia’s security detail, he would never assign a mere two guards to this event.
Especially if Kazia insisted on keeping an enemy soldier at his side all night. Kazia even sent over a lavender livery for Lucien to wear, so he looks like a household herald or servant. Lucien should resent the symbolism, but the clean clothes are welcome. They even fit him all right.
Kazia is dressed up for the night, too. His hair circles his head in a braided crown, so elaborate Lucien would have assumed a servant arranged it, except Kazia spent an hour alone getting ready. Deep violet lace softens his wrists and throat in a rare hint of color. The rest of his clothes are black, as usual, his overshirt patterned with different glosses of fabric like ribs and wings tucked tight along his body.
Lucien is free to examine him at leisure, because Kazia has been avoiding eye contact since they escaped the linen closet last week.
Neither of them has mentioned the incident—which shouldn’t feel so strange. If Lucien got trapped in a closet with anyone else, it would have been hilarious. Something to laugh about for a night, the level of hysteria depending on the overalldrunkenness of the room. Lucien has gotten into far stupider scrapes with his friends, not even counting anything as a teenager.
But Kazia was so affected, he’s got Lucien all twisted around too. As if Kazia’s never even touched another man before.
A question burns through Lucien’s mind before he can stamp it out. What would Kazia be like in bed?
Kazia holds himself at such a distance, it’s a surprise when someone approaches—a man in wyrmskin boots, with green streaks in his dark hair.
“Evening, Your Highness,” the dragonrider says. He lifts an entire bottle of wine in salute, rather than a glass. “And to you, Commander Vaire. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting on the ground.”
Lucien places the color scheme. He’s fought that dragon before, and she was part of the wing that captured him. “You must be Yavran’s rider.”
“Good, you know the important name.” Kamil Ivo grins, drawing closer. “This is so, so strange. Does this collar really work like Marek said?”
“Kamil,” Kazia snaps, and Kamil jerks back. “Do you enjoy having two hands?”
“Excuse me, Your Highness?” Kamil says, cradling his wine bottle.
Kazia drains the rest of his own wine, then gestures with the empty glass. “If you even think about touching Lucien, I’ll order him to cut your hand off.”
Lucien tenses, torn between amusement at Kamil’s face—and the sickening reminder of how far Kazia could take this enchantment.
After a moment, Kamil manages a laugh. “Sorry, Your Highness. I hadn’t realized you were so fond of him.”
“I’ve never enjoyed sharing my toys.” Kazia snaps his fingers. “Commander. Fetch me another glass of wine.”
Lucien takes Kazia’s glass. “Sorry to cut out,” he tells Kamil, whose expression blends fascination, revulsion, and ordinary intoxication.
Everyone gives Lucien a wide, obvious berth. He’d expected more mockery tonight, like the jeers the night he arrived in Ostomar. But Kazia wasn’t quiet when he threatened Kamil. The surrounding courtiers must believe Kazia meant the threat.
When Lucien glances back, Kamil is gone and a female courtier is speaking with Kazia. Lucien can’t see her face well. By the time Lucien returns, Kazia is alone again. His mood is so bitter, he doesn’t even insult Lucien. Just grabs the wine and downs a large sip. Then another.
A drop of dark liquid clings to Kazia’s upper lip. He licks it away.
Desperate to think of anything else, Lucien risks a question. “Who was that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” A smirk slides onto Kazia’s face. He rises and orders, “Heel, dog.”
Two songs later, Kazia’s glass is empty again. He orders Lucien away to fetch a third drink.
Lucien obeys because he has no choice, but takes his time. As long as he’s moving towards the table, the compulsion doesn’t hasten him. He spots Drasgard Salarin and Yudra. They’re watching Kazia, but they don’t seem concerned that he’s alone, upset, and drinking too quickly.
Lucien’s a soldier, not a guard, but he’s worked with both the first and second oathguard captains back in Silaise. Theywould never allow their charges to lose control in a hostile environment.
A discordant sound mars the music. One musician is attempting to teach Aliza how to play the bells. So Aliza isn’t watching out for her son either.
Nobody is stopping Kazia. Nobody is taking care of him.
That’s bad, because Lucien doesn’t want to be controlled by a drunk, angry princeling. Not because he cares about Kazia’s wellbeing or anything. So when Kazia sends Lucien away for the fourth drink, Lucien snags a small plate of mysterious Draskoran meat-pastries as well.
“Here’s the food you wanted,” Lucien says upon his return, loudly enough for the closest courtiers to overhear.
