Page 51 of Forge the Blade

Sevastyan sat down at a small breakfast table, back to the wall. Outside, the rain was still falling from the previous night, as if the storm had moved with him, or perhaps was just blanketing the entire region. The cross on his face was gone, as was the suit, though he still wore black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to display forearms and an expensive watch. At only six a.m., the sky was still dark. The kitchen in this small boutique hotel had opened early via a substantial tip delivered the night before.

The door from the lobby whispered. Raska arrived, wrapped in fur, with a matching hat. The makeup was toned down from the previous night. Two men followed at a discreet distance. They took up seats on the other side of the room. Sevastyan stood.

She held her cheek towards him, one side, then the other. He kissed both, like the French, and helped her to a chair, taking her coat and draping over a chair at a different table. She touched her hair, making sure it was in place. “Did you sleep?”

“Like a child,” Sevastyan replied. He went to the sideboard, preparing tea for her and coffee for himself.

She turned around in her chair with her arm over the back, watching. “I doubt anyone else did.”

“A pity. I hope the cleaning fees were reasonable.”

She waved away his sarcastic concern. “It was the talk of the night.”

Sevastyan’s lips twitched to one side. He set the tea down in front of her and settled on the bench against the wall. She picked up the cup and came around to his side, pushing the table back and sitting sideways across his lap. He raised his arm, bracing her from behind. She sipped from her tea, looking at him over lightly tinted green water.

He shook his head and reached for his coffee, not making her move.

She played with the collar of his shirt. “You were perfect. Party of the year.”

Sevastyan chuckled. He swallowed more coffee, shaking his head one more time.

She laughed, delighted.

He looked down at her, keeping his gaze fond. She’d never sat in his lap before. The sensation was that of having a particularly venomous creature curled up against one’s chest. This was a new low for her.

He tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “They told me I had to order last night if I wanted breakfast this early. I hope you approve.”

“We’ll see.” She sipped more tea. “You should have seen their faces, you know. After you walked out.”

“That would have ruined the moment.” Sevastyan leaned back against the wall, resigned to having a lapful of poison.

She giggled.

The kitchen doors opened and a server came out, rolling a cart. There was a plethora of plates: omelettes, toast, sweet baked breakfast goods, potatoes, and fruit. Raska clapped her hands and popped off Sevastyan’s lap to supervise the arranging of the dishes on the table. Sevastyan refilled her tea and topped off his coffee.

They sat facing each other across the spread. She regaled him with stories from the previous night, name dropping like she was reading a Rolodex. He watched her, keeping her plate full and making appropriate noises.

“You really must attend the next event, Sevy,” she said, placing her fingers on the back of his hand. “I’m thinking Barcelona.”

“Use me too often, I’ll lose my air of mystery,” Sevastyan murmured.

She laughed. “True. I should keep them guessing.”

“Unless you want your guests to think they’re attending a Battle Royale.”

“Hm. How dramatic. I should plan something like that. An island. Do you think Alexi would supply slaves for the battle? We can watch on big screens like the Hunger Games.”

“I think Alexi is out of moving stock on that level,” Sevastyan said. “He deals in specialized pets.”

“Ah, true. Such a particular man. Do you think of him as your father now?” She dropped her elbow on the table and held her cheek in her palm, looking at him, feet kicking under the table.

Sevastyan snorted and cut the cobbler in front of him in half with his knife and fork. “I believe one only gets one try on fathers. I’m past needing them.”

She moved closer, reaching out to play with his sleeve with her fingers. “Certain?”

“Fathers come and go,” Sevastyan said, seriously. He lifted her hand to his lips, holding her gaze. “Only mothers are forever.”

“You defended Anton, once.”