Page 62 of The Infernal Battalion

“What about you, Prince Matthew?” Raesinia said.

“Hmm?” The prince looked up from his plate.

Raesinia gritted her teeth and tried to remind herself that throwing a bread roll at the Second Prince of Borel probably wouldn’t be diplomatically appropriate. Instead she repeated herself, a little louder.

“I asked about your interests outside court. We were discussing my readings in philosophy...”

I was, anyway. It was a bit exhausting making conversation for two.

They sat in the second prince’s private dining room, which had the same opulent-​but-​oppressive feel as the rest of the Keep, with a huge, dark wooden table and claw-​footed leather chairs. In this case, the decor was reinforced by the attitude of the second prince himself, who was doing a very good impression of a little boy who’d been dragged to church by an overbearing parent. He picked at his food and responded mostly in monosyllables, leaving Raesinia to keep up a running monologue.

At least he was telling the truth about his chef. The food was impressive, even by the standards of the Queen of Vordan. Borelgai cuisine tended to be bland by Vordanai standards, with lots of boiled meat, vegetables, and heavy brown sauces, but whoever the second prince had hired took these pedestrian staples and made them exquisite. The main course was a steak as thick as Raesinia’s wrist, with some sort of green sprouts she didn’t recognize crisped in honey and butter, and a sauce that was—​well, she didn’t know what it was, other than delicious. She’d briefly paused her one-​sided conversation to devour it all. Raesinia was hardly a gourmand, but she knew when she was in the presence of a master.

Unfortunately, compliments on the cooking only got her so far in terms of filling the awkward silence, hence the attempt at soliciting something—​anything—​that might be of interest to the sullen prince. He looked up, frowned, and then returned his attention to dissecting his meat.

“Nothing that would interest you, I’m afraid,” he said.

“I have a very wide range of interests,” Raesinia said immediately. “I’d love to hear how you spend your time.”

“It’s... a bit embarrassing, to be honest,” the prince said. “My father reprimands me for my disreputable friends.”

“That sounds delightfully wicked,” Raesinia said.

“Nothing so entertaining,” he said. “We pass most of our time drinking and smoking. Oh, and gambling on billiards.”

“That must be fascinating,” Raesinia said, seizing on the opening. “Billiards always struck me as a game of skill. There must be a great deal of strategy to it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the prince said. “I’m terrible at it. Really, I only play to please my friends.”

Raesinia sat back in her chair, leather creaking beneath her, and admitted defeat. A few more moments passed in silence while the prince chewed, and then the door at the far end of the hall opened, admitting a pair of servants carrying delicate iced sugar confections. Dessert. Which means this ordeal is almost over.

You’d think I was the one who’d badgered him to have dinner. Despite his ambivalence on their first encounter, Second Prince Matthew had been persistent, repeating his appeal for Raesinia to dine with him until she’d run out of excuses. She’d come into the meeting ready for anything—​treachery, underhanded offers, even an attempt at seduction. Instead, the prince had been morose and listless. So what’s the point? If there was a game being played here, it was a very subtle one.

The confections were as incredible as the rest of the food, literally melting on the tongue, sticky-​sweet. Raesinia wondered aloud where they got the ice, but the prince only shrugged. Can he really be such a dullard? Rumor could be deceiving, of course, but what she’d heard about the prince suggested a lively if somewhat irregular mind.

Finally, Matthew announced that he was tired, and Raesinia practically bolted from the chamber. Barely and Jo were waiting in the foyer, with a couple of Life Guards. All four soldiers stood as Raesinia came in.

“Back to my chambers, please.” She turned to the servant hovering behind her. “My thanks for a lovely evening.”

The man bowed, his expression a little pained. Raesinia swept out, bodyguards at her heels, into the Keep’s endless miles of gloomy corridor.

“Did they feed you?” Raesinia said.

Jo waggled her eyebrows, and Barely patted her stomach. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Damn well. Makes up for having to make small talk with the Life Guards all evening.”

“They can’t have been worse than the prince,” Raesinia said.

Jo made a sign, and Barely laughed. “I don’t know. How many different ways can you answer the question, ‘You’re girls, so you can’t really be soldiers, can you?’”

“Reminds me of Cesha Dzurk.” Raesinia rolled her eyes. She’d been around the pair from the Girls’ Own for so long that she sometimes forgot women in uniform were an unspeakable oddity in a place like Borel. “You know, if you ever get tired of explaining yourself, just tell me. You can go back to the Girls’ Own and Abby can send someone else to take a turn.”

“Thank you, Your Highness, but I’d only fret about you.” Barely laughed at something Jo signed to her. “Besides, the food here’s a lot better.”

Eric was waiting in her suite’s outer room, absorbed in his ever-​present notebook. He jumped to his feet when Raesinia entered, but she could tell by the set of his features—​not to mention the dark circles under his eyes—​that he didn’t have good news to share.

“All right,” she said, waving away the maid who scuttled up to offer her tea. “Let’s hear it. You visited them all?”

“All the members of the Honest Fellows who are currently in the Keep,” Eric said, looking down at his notebook. “Which is all of them except for Count Summerfeld, who is yachting for the next month, and Count Issenstrad, who is dead. Um.” He licked his finger nervously and flipped back a page. “I thought there was some confusion on that point, but I was assured by everyone I spoke to that the count remains a member in good standing of the Honest Fellows despite his... indisposition.”