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No sooner than I looked up from my plate than I saw Isaac staring at us. A strange, smoldering look burned in his eyes. I didn’t need to touch my face to know that my skin was still red hot. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Antonio and I had been laughing and whispering stolen words to each other under the moonlight.
I narrowed my eyes. If Isaac wanted to be upset about a simple conversation, then so be it. He’d ignored me the entire night. As if hearing my thoughts, Isaac raised an eyebrow at the same moment Antonio spoke once more. Damn them both.
“You should eat more. We will still train tomorrow.”
Aware of the gazes upon us, I didn’t turn my head. I kept my answer short and swift. “It is hard to eat in the dress. You people do nothing with women in mind, do you?” I asked. More venom than I had intended leaked into my words.
He chuckled, and that made the anger from earlier flare up once more.
“We, my dear little princesa de Élite, do nothing with anyone in mind. The rules and rites are charades. They come from a mere illusion that we have power over everything, which we so clearly do not have.” Antonio’s voice dropped low. He was barely whispering, which was good for the environment.
Isaac’s dangerous stare had finally been redistributed elsewhere, and I snuck another glance at Antonio. There wasn’t anything like casual treason at the dinner table. “But you do. From money, to people, to government.You have it all.”
Antonio scoffed and ate a bite of roasted potato. “You’d be surprised.”
Then I tilted my head to the side. “You don’t practice half these inane customs. Somehow, you dissent without anyone batting an eye. For example, I’ve never been to a small soiree where you insist that men and women go into separate rooms after dinner.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow. “You and Isolda are the only women in my house. Can’t have a bastard child with a maiden weaken the bloodline. Besides, it was important for you to meet those men.”
I glanced up. “For marriage?”
He put his fork down abruptly. “Absolutely not.”
I wanted to ask why, but I said, “You, Antonio Castillas, are strange.” The words had been intended for my thoughts, but when I saw seriousness written in the tight lines around his eyes, it felt right to speak them into reality.
He scoffed. “Strange? That’s the best you have? Not cruel? A despotic leader? Cold? Distant?” The words tasted as sour to him as they did to me.
Antonio was strict. He was asinine in making sure that things were done correctly, and he didn’t really seem to put a lot of effort into thinking about my opinion on the matters. But the way he said those names…
“No. I think you are still a few notches below a megalomaniac,” I said with a sarcastic lilt in my voice. Then I dramatically picked up my fan and started fanning off the sudden heat creeping up my cheeks.
He smiled at that. The roaring fires all over the house did a good job of heating. In fact, there were so many women in the room, fanning between bites of food, that I wasn’t even conspicuous.
Then Antonio’s eyes wrenched forward, and he snatched the wineglass in front of him with semi-robotic movements before taking a long drink.
The fish course was all but finished, and many of the other guests already had their dishes cleared away. I was locked in this intimate bubble with my mentor.
“I think we are speaking a little too casually for this dinner,” I said, swallowing twice while the brisk walk of one server blew the scent of citrus leaves toward me.
Antonio shook his head. “We are discussing strategy.” Another sip of wine.
“Señora Olguín says that it’s impolite to speak about work at a dinner table,” I said tightly. I felt like a child for citing my governess about every rule of manners and social graces.
Antonio leaned over toward me, so close that my heart skipped a beat. My corset was too tight, the swell of my breasts too exposed. I wondered for the hundredth time why the hell was he sitting so close to me.
“The strategy to which I’m referring has nothing to do with the Blood Tournament and everything to do with getting past your defenses. You might be surprised to know that I am still partial to a truce.” His breath brushed against my neck and collarbones as he spoke.
I sucked in a breath, cursing the effect that corset had on my chest once more. There was something about his softening demeanor that made me want to harden, to reject him more thoroughly. Especially with the man I hoped to marry sitting across the table. “Señor Castillas, that is a game I’m not interested in playing.” I did the one movement I was positive would communicate my feelings: moving the fan from one hand to the other while he watched.
It was supposed to say, “I despise you.”
His mouth twitched, and then his eyes slid down my face, along the length of my neck, to my shoulders, arms, and then finally, mercifully, back to the table. I knew he didn’t believe me.
I turned back to my food, trying not to gasp for breath. The surrounding crowd continued to chat, as loud as ever, as the dessert course began. I was tired of this strange night and how Antonio had been encroaching on my space, my heart, and my thoughts.
Out of nowhere, Antonio let out a belated huff as if to voice his disbelief, and more irritation flared up inside of me. I felt hot and sweaty all over. I had faced death in the streets, death by the hands of bombs, and death because of this thoroughly screwed up system. He wanted to play games with me, but didn’t understand I was playing a different game entirely.
We never spoke of marriage prospects or the time after the tournament. I needed Antonio in order to win, which would secure my continued living, but Isaac was the ultimate goal here tonight.
