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He shrugged. “Not very.”
“I know you’re a Prince of Prussia, but weren’t you disinherited?”
“My dearest beloved family cut off all communication with me the day they banished me to Constantinople, but I found out later that they arranged for a monthly allowance in a bank account under my name.”
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
“How much?”
“Only a pitiful fraction of my inheritance, but enough to convince them I wasn’t living in squalor.” He curled his lip. “I hadn’t touched a cent until the night I arrived in Vienna, when I promptly withdrew it all.”
“All of it?”
“Before the Order could freeze the account.” He tilted the bottle of absinthe and peered through the glass. “Though I’m not sure I will have the time to spend it all. There’s enough for at least another week or two.”
“What happens when you run out?”
He shrugged and waved away my question. “Please, eat.”
We devoured the lamb in mint sauce, and demolished all but a sliver of flounder. I helped myself to a second bowl of ragout of venison, then took the last slice of rhubarb cake with a healthy dollop of cream.
“I’m finishing the cake,” I said.
“Near-death experiences tend to whet the appetite.”
When I licked cream from my fingers, he watched me with lust smoldering in his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to seduce me. I’m too full.”
He tilted his head heavenward as if expecting a halo. “Your expectations amuse me.”
I glanced at the forgotten bottle of absinthe. “You promised me you would show me how to serve absinthe properly.”
“So I did.”
Wendel guided me through the ritual of preparing absinthe. He stood behind me, his chest pressed against my back. Together, we poured a glass of the green liquor and balanced a sugar cube in a slotted spoon over the glass.
“Like this,” he murmured. “Slowly.”
His honey-gravel voice sent shivers down my spine. I tried hard to focus.
Ice clinked in the carafe of water as I tilted it over the glass of absinthe. The carafe chilled my fingers, but his steadying hand warmed mine. He angled the carafe to slow the water. It trickledonto the sugar cube, which melted and swirled into the absinthe below. Drop by drop, sweetness clouded the verdant green.
“This brings out the true essence of absinthe,” he said. “Some call itla fée verte,or the green fairy, who visits them with waking dreams. Not that I have ever seen such things. I merely enjoy the taste.”
“And this tastes better than drinking it straight?”
He laughed. “Try it yourself.”
I took a long, slow sip of absinthe. The chilly water mellowed the fire of alcohol, and a strong licorice taste lingered on my tongue.
“You were right,” I admitted.
