Page 212 of Harbinger

His hands worship every part of me by firelight, each of us searching for and sharing those hidden parts of ourselves. When there is nothing left but embers and quiet breaths, he rests against my chest, a hand still tangled in my hair.

But I lie awake, watching the shadows move across the ceiling, plagued by unwanted thoughts as my mind drifts.

Soon, I have to face the queen. Leave the safety of this moment. Answer questions or prove myself worthy. All with his name sitting on my tongue like a coin I’m not supposed to spend.

I close my eyes and try to sleep.

I don’t.

Because deep down, I know Bishop isn’t the one we should fear.

THIRTY-SIX

The dining room of the cottage has been transformed.

Bishop’s only stipulation about my family dinner was hosting it here. Apparently, he doesn’t trust Broderic.

But from the moment Laurel swept through the door, her arm hooked through Broderic’s like a leash, it’s been a stream of orders. Linens draped dutifully over the long table—pale gold with embroidered hydras at every corner. Because Stars forbid a Velesont sit down to a meal without reminding everyone whose niece she is. The candlesticks have been polished. The goblets shined. Every task carried out by Laurel’s small army of attendants.

It’s not a dinner. It’s an occupation.

Bishop hasn’t said anything, but his gaze keeps sweeping the room—counting exits, marking the staff, lingering a fraction too long on the guard stationed by the front door. The same one from yesterday, broad-shouldered and perpetually silent, in his Velesont uniform.

Laurel laces her fingers through Broderic’s as she pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. “I brought the crystal from my home in Isoldoro,” she says brightly, as if I might be impressed. “This seemed like the perfect occasion to use it.”

“Why?” I ask. One of the innumerable staff pours water into one of several glasses in front of me. How many beverages does a single meal require?

“We’re family.” Her smile is so sweet it turns my stomach. “Broderic and I have hardly seen you. And now that you’re a patron—”

“I’m not a patron.”

“Of course you are. That summons from the queen came to our house.” She glances at Broderic for support, but he’s staring at the tablecloth like he can read his own future in the embroidery—and he doesn’t like what he sees.

Andry saves us, careening into the room with his wooden sword from the yard where he’s been badgering conscripts since they arrived. “I learned how to slice,” he announces proudly, showing off his new move, eyes pinned on Bishop for approval. The sword comes dangerously close to a decanter of wine.

“Andry, mind the linen,” Laurel cries out.

He freezes like he’s been smacked. Isidore pats the chair beside hers. Andry sits, and she smooths his hair with the kind of careful expression that tells me she’s done this a lot in recent weeks.

Despite the ceremony of it all, there’s no food on the table yet. The others drink their wine, clutching the crystal goblets like anchors, but I can’t bring myself to even try it with my stomach churning.

The food, when it finally comes, is beautiful and tastes like nothing. I push it around my plate.

“Do you like the lamb?” Laurel asks, looking pointedly at my untouched meal.

A serving of guilt is the last thing I need after today, so I force myself to take a bite and nod.

She beams. “My uncle’s cook makes it for the equinox.”

Of course. “You’ll have to give me the recipe. I’ll make it in Vennaro.”

“I’ll send it to your cook.” She laughs. I’m pretty sure at the idea of me cooking. But the laugh is so pretty that I’d bet she’s practiced it.

“We should toast,” Laurel suggests, nodding to her footman.

He hurries to refill goblets, then fills Andry’s small glass as well. Andry, who has never been allowed wine in his life, takes it with both hands and an expression of such grave responsibility I almost smile.

Things must be very different among Velesonts. But Broderic doesn’t say anything. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s a little bit scared of his fiancée.