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“I’m not the kind of girl who stays with a man she only just met, even if he is an important lord.”
“Actually,” his grip increased, “you are exactly the kind of girl I tell you to be.”
“No, Lord Aron. I’m—”
Aron let go of her only to strike her hard across her right cheek.
Magnus tensed, but stayed silent, watching. Waiting for the right moment.
Eugeneia pressed her palm against her face, now backing away from Aron toward the table. Her wide eyes glistened with tears. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Aron loomed over her. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself entirely clear. I chose you above any of the Paelsian whores out there who’d jump at the chance to warm my bed tonight. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
He grabbed her tightly and drew her to his chest. His hands slid down her sides as he began to pull at her skirts.
But then he staggered back from her, looking down to see the tip of a small knife imbedded in his thigh. It was the dagger he had used to cut the peach—Eugeneia must have lifted it. Magnus was impressed. He hadn’t even seen her do it.
Aron glared down at her with pain and fury as he yanked it out, letting it clatter to the tabletop. He clutched the girl by her throat and slammed her down against the table.
Magnus’s gaze moved to the dagger for an instant before he closed the distance in four paces and curved his hand firmly around Aron’s upper arm.
“Not a good idea,” he said.
Aron cast a look back at him. “This ignorant bitch cut me.”
“Yes, she did. Let go of her.” The best way to deal with this drunken fool was not to be overtly stern or forceful. Instead, he gave Aron a smile. “She’s meaningless.”
His eyes blazed. “I wanted her. And I get what I want.”
“I can find you many girls, much more beautiful than this one. One, two, three at a time. Your choice. This one has proven she’s not worth any more of your energy.” Magnus eyed Eugeneia. “Isn’t that right?”
She trembled with fear, but there was something harder in her eyes. Hatred for both of them in equal measure. “Yes, your highness. I’m not good enough for Lord Aron.”
“Then I suggest that you leave.”
She pushed herself up off the table and ran from the tent. Aron watched her flee with a dark look.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Magnus asked. From Aron’s unfocused gaze and the stench of his breath, the boy was as drunk as Magnus had ever seen him.
“Enough.”
“Really? That’s too bad. I was going to join you in another round.” Magnus tore a strip from the silk table covering. “Here, let me help you with that wound. Doesn’t seem to be too bad.”
Aron let him pad his wound, his face pained. “You know, I could use another drink.”
“Thought you might agree.” When he finished with the bandage, Magnus grabbed a flacon of wine. He poured two glasses and handed one to Aron.
Aron downed it in one audible gulp. “I’m ashamed that you witnessed that, your highness.”
Magnus waved a hand as he took a sip of the wine. He’d not often indulged before; it was forbidden in Limeros. The wine was sweet, smooth, and not unpleasant. “Don’t be. It only goes to show that women are volatile.”
“Stupid, too.” Aron downed his second glass after Magnus poured it for him. “Much gratitude, your grace.”
“The more you drink, the less your wound will hurt.”
“I hope you’re right.” Aron grimaced, touching the bandage gingerly. “I would have thought you angry with me for attempting to bed the girl.”
Bed? Looked more like attempted rape to Magnus. “Not at all.” Magnus forced his smile to stay firm. “She was an attractive little thing. Just not for you.”
