“Would you like a different wine, pet?”
My fingers tensed, then pressed against the skin exposed between two of the many strings of jewels adorning my hip. Normally the nickname didn’t bother me, but Claude’s cousin Hymel stood within ear range, which was common since he was the Captain of the Guard. Even with his back to me, I knew Hymel smirked. He was an ass, plain and simple.
Thin, delicate chains of diamonds hanging from a crown of fresh chrysanthemums tapped against my cheeks as I turned my head from the throng of those below to the man beside me. The dark-haired Baron of Archwood sat upon what could be described only as a throne. A rather gaudy one, in my opinion. Large enough to seat two and encrusted with rubies taken from the Hollow Mines, the chair cost more coin than those mining the rubies would likely ever see.
Not that the Baron realised that.
Claude Huntington wasn’t necessarily a bad man, and I would know if he was even without my intuition. I’d met too many bad people from all classes to not recognize one. He could be prone to recklessness and indulged in the pleasures of life a bit too much. He was known to be a holy terror if crossed, was obviously spoiled, and, being a caelestia, was expectedly self-centred. Rarely had a single wrinkle of worry creased the Baron’s alabaster skin.
But that had changed in recent months. His coffers weren’t as full. The abhorrent chairs and gold decor Claude insisted on, the near-nightly parties and celebrations he seemed to need to survive, likely had something to do with this. Though that wasn’t entirely fair. Yes, Claude wanted to host these parties, but it was also required of him – of all barons. Many types of pleasure were found at these gatherings, be it through drink, food, conversation, or what usually happened later in the night.
“No,” I said, smiling. “But it’s kind of you to offer.”
The bright lights of the chandelier glinted off the skin along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. There was a dusting of gold shimmer there. It wasn’t some sort of facial paint. It was simply his skin. Caelestias glimmered.
Eyes a lovely shade of sea-glass blue searched mine. Everything about Claude was lovely. His perfectly manicured, smooth hands and coiffed, inky hair. He was slim and tall, built perfectly for whatever fashion the aristo were currently obsessed with, and when he smiled, he could be devastating.
And for a little while, I liked being devastated by that smile. It didn’t hurt that Claude, being a caelestia, had always been extremely difficult for me to sense. My abilities didn’t immediately snap into action around him. I could touch him, if only for a little bit.
“But you haven’t drunk much of your wine,” he observed.
Laughter and conversation droned on around us as I glanced at the chalice. The wine was the color of the lavender that grew in the gardens of Archwood and tasted of sweetened berries. It was tasty, and imbibing wine was welcomed and even expected. After all, there was a pleasure in drinking alcohol, but it also dulled my abilities. More importantly, I knew the truth of why I was the Baron’s favorite paramour.
It wasn’t my stunning odd attractiveness or my personality. The Baron kept me and Grady sheltered, fed, and well taken care of because of my abilities and how useful they could be to him, and I was terrified that the moment I no longer served a purpose was the moment Grady and I would be back on the streets, barely scraping by and living on the edge of death.
Which wasn’t living at all.
“It’s fine,” I assured him, taking a very small sip of the wine as I turned my attention back to those below the dais. The gold-adorned Great Chamber was full of the aristo – the wealthy shippers and shop owners, the bankers and landowners. No one was masked. It wasn’t that kind of party. Yet. I searched for Naomi among those below, having lost sight of her earlier.
“Pet?” Claude called softly.
I faced him once more. He bent at the waist, extending his hand. Behind us, his personal guards kept their eyes on the crowd. All except Grady. I caught a quick glimpse of the brown skin of his jaw tightening. Grady wasn’t exactly a fan of the Baron and this arrangement. My gaze returned to the Baron.
Claude smiled.
Bracing a hand on the velvet pillow I sat on, I leaned closer and placed my chin in his hand. His fingers were cool like always. So were his lips as he lowered his head and kissed me. I felt only a little flutter in my stomach. I used to feel more, back when I thought his attentiveness was born of want of me.
Which was why Grady didn’t like this arrangement.
If Claude showered me with attention because he wanted me for, well, me, Grady wouldn’t care at all. He just thought I deserved more. Better. And it wasn’t like I didn’t think I did too, but more and better were hard to come by for anyone these days. Having a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and safety and security always trumped better and more.
His mouth lifted from mine. “You worry me.”
“Why?”
He dragged a thumb just below my lower lip, careful to not smear the red paint. “You’re quiet.”
How could I not be when I sat upon the dais with no one but him and Hymel within speaking distance? Claude had been chatting with everyone under the sun this evening, and I’d rather cut my own tongue out than speak to Hymel. Seriously. I’d cut my tongue out and throw it at him first. “I think I’m just tired.”
“What has you so tired?” he asked, tone ringing with just that right amount of concern.
“I didn’t sleep well.” A nightmare of the past had woken me last night, one that had been a haunting walk down memory lane. I’d dreamt that we’d been back on the streets, and Grady had been sick with that body-rattling cough. The one I could still clearly hear all these years later. I had that nightmare a lot, but last night . . . it had been too real.
Excerpted with permission from Fall of Ruin and Wrath, Jennifer L Armentrout, Tor.