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“Best to keep your hood up,” she murmured. “There will be Maridrinians aplenty on our side at this time of night, but you’re likely to draw some attention.”
He smirked. “A hazard of being so attractive, I suppose.”
Valcotta huffed out a breath of amusement, then pulled up her hood. “I was thinking of that blond hair of yours, but you’re correct: your ego burns bright as the sun.”
Staggering sideways, Keris clutched at his chest, but dutifully drew his own hood forward to conceal his hair and shadow his face, tucking his gloves in a pocket because Valcottans didn’t wear them. Which meant they both blended in as they wove through the broken streets lined with drinking establishments and opium dens and brothels, the majority of people keeping to the shadows of hoods and scarfs as they pursued vice and sin.
And maybe he did fit in, for what was fraternizing with the enemy if not a sin? What was his addiction to her conversation if not a vice that was as likely to get him killed as anything the people of these parts consumed?
Yet he found himself unable to help moving closer to her, inhaling her clean scent and allowing his eyes to drift over the hard curve of her bottom as she climbed over a stretch of rubble. She turned and offered him a hand, and his pulse roared at the sensation of her skin against his, palm callused from combat, though the top was as smooth as silk. The last thing he wanted was to let go, but not even he was bold enough to walk hand in hand with a Valcottan soldier on this side of the Anriot. “Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
She turned down a dark alley, stepping over refuse, rats skittering ahead of them. It was dark and smelled terrible, the walls to either side teetering precariously. “You haven’t brought me here to do me in, have you, Valcotta?”
“We’ll see how the night goes.” She turned to face him, the torchlight from the street illuminating her face, so painfully lovely his breath caught in his throat.
Imagine what she’d say if she knew who you were?The thought soured his stomach, and he looked away.
Valcotta’s head tilted. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. And everything. “I don’t like rats.”
“Then you must really dislike your king.”
More than you know,he thought, allowing her to take his hand and tug him forward.
“We’re nearly there.”
Therewas a tiny common room that smelled of cooking, tobacco, and the dark ale the Valcottans favored. The roof had collapsed at some point in the past, and boards were stretched across to replace it, from which dangled strings of colored lanterns. Like on the Maridrinian side, the furniture was scavenged and thus mismatched. There were six groups of patrons, but unlike most establishments, none were gambling and all were eating.
Valcotta pulled him down into a chair at one of the empty tables, a stout old woman appearing a moment later to set a stub of candle in front of them. “You’re wanting to eat, then? Pay first.”
Valcotta smiled, and Keris found the world fading to a blur as he examined her face in the candlelight, the soft glow illuminating her smooth skin and rounded cheeks, her bottom lip enticingly plump. And her eyes. Wide and dark and rimmed with thick lashes. He stared at them while she ordered and generously paid the old woman.
Then Valcotta focused on him, gaze expectant, and Keris found himself grasping for something to say. Theirs were always conversations of a forbidden nature, not things they could discuss surrounded by people. Yet idle chatter felt no more fitting, like the only conversation there could be between them were topics dear to the heart. “You’re beautiful.”
As soon as the words were out, Keris cursed himself, because he was normally better at this. Better at knowing exactly what to say to make women smile and laugh and eventually fall into bed with him. Except with her, he found himself wanting more.
She doesn’t even know your name.
“We haven’t even had a drink yet,” she said with a laugh. “I wonder what you might say when the ale begins to flow?”
His cheeks burned. “Bad poetry, I expect. Later I might sing, and the shame I’ll feel come dawn will mean I can never see you again, so perhaps I should drink water.”
“If you drink the water served here, you will suffer more than shame; that I promise.”
The proprietor returned with ale, setting the glasses of dark liquid between them. Keris took a mouthful, the cool, bitter drink welcome on his tongue. He waited for the woman to depart, then asked, “Do you like it? Soldiering?”
She drained half her glass. “Yes. I like the order and routine of it, and I like defending my country.” Her head tilted sideways. “What exactly is your role here? And don’t say soldiering, because I’ll know that’s a lie.”
This was dangerous territory. For while he was far from the only useless nobleman loitering about the palace, if he said too much, she might suspect his identity. “I’m a spy.”
She blinked, and he laughed. “I’m jesting. The best spies are those with unmemorable faces, which we’ve already established is not the case for me. The truth is, I’m an administrator—I keep the palace books in order. I was selected because I have perfect spelling, grammar, and penmanship.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie.”
“Only part of it. My penmanship is as flawless as my face.”
