Page 102 of The Faceless Queen

“Cecelia got two.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” I snarled, but popped two more off my wrist—leaving me down to one. “I’ll get you more, but you need to be patient. If too much goes missing at once, they’ll know a thief is in their midst. And the prince is counting my jewels.”

“Oh, I bet he is, with a body like this.” He laughed. “Don’t fret. There are always thieves in their midst. I’m sure you’ll find an excuse for the missing jewelry and coins to give your prince.” He tucked the bracelet into his pocket. “If not, you have other methods of persuasion. Use them wisely. I’ll require more payment in the morning.”

“Olivay,” Brennan said suddenly. “Princess.” He slid next to me, his eyes hardening as he saw Geoffrey. “Ah, Master Geoffrey.” He nodded, his voice as cold as it had been that first night. I felt a small sense of satisfaction at his continued dislike of Geoffrey. Brennan was actually a very good judge of character.

“Your Highness,” Geoffrey said, bowing forward. “I was just offering my congratulations to your beautiful and sweet, innocent bride. I’m so glad to see this betrothal has come to fruition.”

Brennan’s jaw clenched. “Thank you. And I beg your pardon, but please excuse us. Goodnight,” he said, taking my arm. He swept me away, his body tensed, his jaw muscles clenched, until we reached the dance floor and were swallowed up into the crowd.

“Was that true?” he asked me, taking my hand in his, the other on my waist. He began to turn us in rhythm with the music. “Was that all that that man said to you?”

I took a deep breath, remembering that Olivay had never met Geoffrey, that she wouldn’t know him as the tavern owner.

“He simply wished us congratulations,” I said evenly. Neutrally.

“I don’t like that man. Nor do I trust him,” Brennan said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Me neither, from our interaction. He was rather … unlikeable,” I said. It felt like an Olivay description to me based on what I’d read. I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t. If Brennan went after him, I’d be exposed at once.

“Olivay, let me know if he comes near you again,” Brennan said, his voice low.

I blinked, still trying to get my bearings and understand what he knew and what he thought. “Is there something I should be aware of?” I asked. “Or worried about?” I didn’t think Geoffrey had spoken to Brennan, or, if he did, that Brennan trusted what he had to say. But still, I couldn’t be sure.

“No, nothing that I believe should concern you.” Brennan pulled me closer. “But I don’t get a good feeling about him. He’s not … not a good man.” There was a sudden pang of emotion from him. Guilt. He was lying. He had more than a bad feeling about Geoffrey. He had evidence. He had seen him hurt me. Samara that is. But he wasn’t going to tell Olivay that. Why tell your betrothed you met the owner of a shady tavern on the same nights you signed a contract of marriage to her? Or that you entered the bedroom of a whore, even if he never touched her beyond a handhold.

We finished the song, and continued on the dance floor, Brennan threading one hand through mine, his other warm and secure against my waist.

“I’m still thinking about you and the oak tree,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” I admitted, feeling heat dampen between my legs, as if the moment were still happening.

“I shall do my best to remain a prince with you, though,” he said, puffing out his chest, his body leaning back from mine–but just barely.

“Gallant as ever,” I said.

But slowly we began to talk, sharing with each other books we’d read, songs we liked. Strange dreams we’d had as kids. Our favorite fairy tales. I knew enough of Olivay’s history to share genuine books I’d enjoyed, and songs I knew that she did, too. And for a few minutes, we were just a boy and girl. Not prince and princess. Not even man and Azete. And though I could never forget who I was supposed to be, the knowledge and interests Olivay had over mine, I found I was able to actually talk to Brennan. To connect with him. And not lie once beyond the appearance I was in.

It was starting to feel real between us. The more I got to know him, the more I wanted him, the way he wanted me, even if another version of me was haunting his thoughts.

We moved closer and closer, his mouth dangerously near mine.

The Azete was stirring, hungry, begging, wanting. I leaned in, lifting my chin.

“Can I?” he asked, as I sucked out even more of his life.

But before I could formulate any sort of coherent response, the Hermit appeared before us, grinning and wearing all the bravado of Lord Brandon.

“Your Highness,” he bowed low to Brennan, “I do hope I’m not interrupting.” He winked. “But might I steal a dance with your bride?”

Brennan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded graciously and stepped back, his expression looking torn between annoyance and relief. “Of course.” His gaze met mine. “The next dance belongs to me.” He took my hand, squeezing it quickly, before placing it on the Hermit’s arm. Rowan and Kienan emerged from the crowd and slapped their arms around Brennan, pulling him toward a servant with a tray of fresh drinks as they laughed.

I watched him walk away, biting my lip longingly, feeling the loss of his warmth, his kiss, his body. His lifeforce. My heart thundered.

“The hell is wrong with you?” The Hermit hissed, pulling me against him. “You look like a love-besotted teenager.”

“Well, I’m not,” I said, standing straighter.