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I was drunk by the end of the dinner when Lady Sila had arrived exceptionally late to the gathering. We had been at dessert—a dessert I was barely touching because no one else seemed to be eating at that point. And with the arrival of my father’s Master of Spies, the Lady of Ka Shavo, and the current owner of my would-be engagement ring from Tristan, even the drinking had come to a halt.
Lady Romula’s eyes had widened when she saw her, and her bony fingers had flexed in anger as she’d settled her wine glass on the table. She’d looked like she was going to leap across the entire dining hall and rip the ring right out of Lady Sila’s hands—if she’d even been wearing it, which I’d doubted. Since Tristan had used his mother’s engagement ring as payment to buy time in the Shadow Stronghold, to buy a minute of the shadows looking the other way, Lady Sila had had it in her possession. My guess was she had tossed the ring in a safe somewhere without a second thought.
I’d never once seen my father’s spymaster in any form of clothing or jewelry that could be considered remotely distinctive or eye-catching. She always wore a blandly colored robe with a hood that she kept over her head so often I wasn’t entirely sure of her hair color or texture—or, actually, if she had any hair at all. I’d seen her in her spymaster robe thousands of times and still could not, for the life of me, identify the color. The robe had been treated with the shadow magic her Ka specialized in, the magic that allowed them to cast their shadows through the walls of the prison and attack. I knew from my research that a similar magic was used on soturion cloaks except I could always spot those if I knew the soturion wearing them. The robes worn by the shadows were far too intense even for my sight. It was an ancient magic they kept inside the Ka, never sharing their secrets with anyone.
Lady Sila had pulled my father away from the table for a discussion, and Eathan, his cousin and Second, had arrived in his place, assuring everyone everything was fine and to enjoy dessert but that Arkasva Batavia would not be rejoining the dinner. No one had touched their plates.
Eathan’s eyes had flickered to me, his hair a soft gray in the torchlight. As Second, he was always wherever my father was not. His eyes had crinkled, and he’d given me a concerned but reassuring smile before asking a servant to bring me some bread and water—meant, I’d figured, to sober me up.
But I hadn’t been able to eat. My stomach had turned the moment my father had left. I’d assumed it was more news about the Emartis. Lady Romula had assumed so, too, from the dirty look she’d thrown my way. Her red, cracked lips had frowned in disapproval as she’d resumed slowly sipping her red wine. I swore I’d heard her hateful words in my mind, forbidding a marriage between me and Tristan until I had stopped the threat of the terrorists. As if it were all up to me.
The moment it had felt like it wouldn’t break decorum, I’d excused myself to leave and stumbled to a seraphim carriage with Tristan, whom I had a hazy memory of straddling and kissing mid-flight. I remembered fighting him once we’d arrived back in my apartment as he’d helped me change into night clothes. Even drunk, even with my own personal bonds breaking, I’d still known I had to uphold my blood oath, control what he saw, and never let him see what was written all over my flesh and body.
He hadn’t stayed with me. I had definitely slept alone. And now I was definitely hungover.
And I was seriously going to kill whoever was knocking on my fucking door.
Holding my head, I stumbled from my bed and banged into the doorframe of my bedroom. I pulled my nightshift down my hips and retrieved a strap that had fallen down my arm, practically exposing my entire right breast.
The knocking grew louder. “What?” I yelled as I opened it.
Rhyan was leaning against the wall across the hall, one knee bent, his foot casually resting on the wall behind him as he inspected his fingernails. Seriously, he’d been knocking one second ago.
I glared. “We get it. You’re fast.”
I stumbled back to my couch, sank down onto the cushions, and rested my head in my hands, groaning in pain.
“Good morning to you, too, partner.” He closed my door behind him, and headed for my kitchen, his boots loud against the floor. I heard him pouring water into a glass, and a moment later, he was in front of me, forcing the water into my hand. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you need this.”
I stared, dumbfounded, not making any move to take the glass from him.
He frowned, looking down at me, his good eyebrow raised. “I knew you weren’t a morning person, but this feels extreme.”
“I’m hungover,” I snapped. My fingers closed around the glass, and I sat back, taking a slow sip as the room spun around me.
“Forget we’re training today?” Rhyan took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.
“You canceled on me yesterday. How could I predict you’d show today?” I breathed through a bout of nausea and took another very slow, very small sip. “Not to mention, you’re doing that thing again.”
He rolled his shoulders back, exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Something came up.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, I’m still puzzling out what you meant by ‘that thing’ I’m allegedly doing.” He held up his hands, making air quotes with his fingers.
I slammed my glass on the table and ran for the bathroom. I was going to throw up, and I was going to do it all over the floor if I didn’t hurry.
I reached the toilet just in time, feeling Rhyan’s presence instantly behind me, his hands sweeping my hair back as I heaved. His fingers were cool and soothing on the back of my neck. After I was pretty sure I’d thrown up an entire bottle of wine and at least my last three meals, Rhyan helped me stand, waiting patiently in the doorway as I spit into the sink basin and brushed my teeth.
“Better?” he asked.
“My head hurts,” I said pathetically.
“Hmmm.” He frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Do you want to lie down? Or would your head prefer if you sat?”
I closed my eyes to think, but that only made me dizzy. “Sit,” I said.
“Come on, partner. I’ll get you to the couch.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I leaned against him as we walked back into the living room and sat down together. “Still nauseous?”
