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“Yes, pet. I am.”
Hesitating for a moment, I then turned. I made it only a few steps.
“Pet?”
I faced him. “Yes?”
He’d picked up the cloth. “Are you happy here?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” At once, my stomach dropped as my mind went to the worst-case scenario. For him to ask something similar twice in the span of twenty-four hours unnerved me. “Are you not happy with me?”
“No— no. That’s not why I asked,” he was quick to say. “I’m lucky to have you.” He twisted at the waist, toward me. “I just want to make sure you know that.”
“I do,” I whispered.
Claude smiled, but there was something off about it. Tired, even brittle, but I imagined that had more to do with the ache in his head.
“Feel better,” I said, crossing the study. Something struck me then— about this Muriel.
I didn’t know . . . anything about him. Nothing came to me, which could mean only one thing.
Muriel was a Hyhborn.
But that made little sense. Why would a Hyhborn be involved in bone magic?
CHAPTER 8
Sultry music drifted down from the balcony above the solarium, masking some of the sounds radiating from the various couches and nooks. Beneath the music and the clink of glasses, there were thicker, heated sounds mingling with the hum of conversation. Teasing laughter. Low groans. Breathy gasps as bodies moved against one another.
The evening festivities were in full swing— an excess in all forms of lasciviousness, whether it be imbibing too much drink or indulging in the flesh.
I shifted on the couch I sat upon, my chest feeling too tight as my thoughts circled the general sense of unease that had been building since I’d spoken to Grady and had left Claude’s study. The cause of it could be several things. The raids along the border. The shadow market in Archwood. Claude. A Hyhborn potentially being involved in harvesting.Him.
He’s coming.
My skin felt too cold despite the balmy warmth of the solarium, and the sweet-tasting wine I sipped did little to warm me. I knew that whisper was for him— my lord— but what I didn’t understand was why I could sense that and yet nothing else when it came to Hyhborn.
I eyed where Claude was currently holding court with his closest peers— sons and daughters of Archwood’s most elite, those desperate to be close to anything Hyhborn, even acaelestia.They laughed and carried on while Claude held Allyson in his lap.
The Baron had disappeared more than once to step outside, and I feared he’d also been indulging in the Midnight Oil— a powder derived from poppies grown in the Lowlands and often smoked.Caelestiashad a higher tolerance, but they didn’t seem to know exactly when they exceeded that tolerance. He had that unsteady way about him that always followed smoking the drug. Had he reached out to Prince Rainer?
I didn’t know, but I’d spent a good part of the day strolling near the wall, peeking into the thoughts of the guards who were on duty. Thankfully none of them had sent up any red flags, but then again, they would have to have been thinking about the shadow market for me to pick up on it.
However, I did learn that Hendrick, one of the guards, was thinking about proposing to the girl he’d been seeing.
Not sure what I could do with that piece of information.
I took another drink of the wine as I peeked over at the nearby divan, and nearly choked at the sight of Mrs. Isbill. The wife of a wealthy ship merchant was likely unrecognizable to most, since half her face was obscured by a jewel-encrusted domino mask. She was sprawled across the red cushion, the bodice of her gown exposing one breast. The skirt of her gown was hiked up to her knees, doing very little to hide the fact that it was most definitely not her husband’s head between her thighs. I knew this, because he was currently seated beside her, and whoever was between her legs also had his hand on Mr. Isbill’s cock.
My gaze flickered over those in attendance. Like the Isbills, most wore masks that covered half of the face, from the forehead to the nose. Some wore elaborate constructions of flowers and streaming ribbons, topped with crowns or garlands. Others were less dramatic in their approach, simply settling for one made of satin or brocade. The aristo used these masks to conceal themselves, as if keeping their identities hidden was the permission they needed to behave as they wished.
I glanced at Claude again. Like me, he wore no mask, and neither did Grady or the guards who stood behind him.
Grady and I had been studiously avoiding eye contact all evening, pretending that we weren’t witnessing all that was occurring in this chamber at the same time. No matter how many times the nights devolved into this, it was still awkward as hell.
I fixed my gaze on the floor, since it was the only safe place to look at the moment. The behavior of the aristo amused me. Claude never made any attempt to hide his desires. He wouldn’t be ashamed come morning, like some of the aristo in attendance surely would. Most of them would never behave in such provocative, wanton ways in public, but here at Archwood, when they were assured of not being recognized and among those who wanted the same thing as they did, there appeared to be no pretense of modesty.
I supposed their behavior wasn’t as amusing as it was sad. However, it was the aristo, not the Hyhborn, who had not only established but reinforced these rules of what they felt was appropriate behavior. These aristo were stifling themselves, and for what?
