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I stare at the moonlight spilling over the windowsill. I wonder if the fact that the Brethren are completely ignorant of our ways might come in useful here.
I turn to Godric, my finger tapping thoughtfully on the table. “Admit the emissary to the castle. Once I’m present, bring him to the Great Hall.”
“Ma’len? Of course, but…”
I’m already striding out of the room. “Keep him waiting in one of the outer rooms and light the candles in the Great Hall. I’m going to fetch my bride.”
First, I’ll need to change my clothes. As I head for my rooms, a smirk is playing around my lips. What I have planned will protect Isavelle and thwart the Brethren, but I think I’m going to enjoy this.
I change into a silken robe, knot it carelessly around my hips, and drag the tie from my hair that’s holding half of it back.
With bare feet and my hair hanging around my shoulders, I make my way to Isavelle’s door. I rap softly on the wood and listen for movement from within.
A moment later her voice calls back, “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Can I talk to you?”
There’s a slight hesitation, and then the door opens. Isavelle hasn’t changed into her nightgown yet, and she’s still wearing the homespun maid’s uniform that I’ve seen her in ever since she arrived at the castle. I would rather see my bride in silk and velvet, but I don’t wish to battle with her about every little thing she does. I’ll choose my battles for the important moments, like this one.
I frown at her. “Why wasn’t this door locked? Your bodyguards aren’t with you and anyone could walk in.”
Isavelle takes in my appearance, from my loose hair to my bare chest and the silk robe. A blush coats her cheeks. “Zabriel, you’re—you’renaked.”
I glance down at myself and back up at her. “I’m not naked. I’m wearing a robe.”
Her eyes dart away only to cut back to me again like she can’t help herself, and she whispers, “It’s practically falling off you.”
I lean against her doorframe and smile. “There’s a reason for that.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Diplomacy.”
Isavelle’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain on the way. Quickly, make yourself look like I’ve been ravishing you for hours, and we’ve dragged ourselves from the sheets without bothering to get dressed.”
15
Isavelle
“I’m sorry, what? Why would I do that?”
“Diplomacy,” Zabriel repeats. His thin, silky red and white robe is crossed loosely over his chest and tied carelessly around his hips. So carelessly that the robe is open to his waist and falling off one muscular shoulder. The sight of so much of his bare flesh is doing things to me. Hot, unsettling things.
“I need to look like you’ve just bedded me for…diplomacy?”
“For the people of Maledin. A Brethren emissary is here, and I need to send him a clear message.” His expression softens. “It’s for your sake. I need to make sure they don’t try and take you again.”
Despite the flirtatious expression in his eyes, this is serious.
If he’s found a way to stop Brethren from grabbing me in the street then I’m interested in trying it. “Um, all right. But how do I make myself look like we’ve been…what you said.” Ravishing me for hours. What a dangerously interesting thought.
Zabriel gazes at me with smoldering, hooded eyes. “We’ve got enough time to muss you up for real if you’re willing. Has your slick started yet?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Pretense will do.”
Zabriel gives a disappointed sigh and examines me critically. First, he reaches out and drags several pins from my hair and loosens my braid. “Your hair is so soft,sha’len. I love your braids, but like this you’re beautiful. If you take off your dress and come with me in your underclothes, that will be perfect.”
