My face remains a mask of indifference, but my skin prickles with fear. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard the news yet? My father expired this morning. My brother has inherited the viscounty. We’re quite close, Proteus and I. I assure you he won’t care one whit that I lost that thrice-damned pendant in a game of cards. Proteus also has a love of gaming.”
My blood turns cold in my veins. My leverage is gone. “Proteus must be much better at gaming than you, considering he hasn’t gambled away every penny he owns.”
Myron’s jaw clenches, and he stands abruptly. “No, see, you don’t get to talk to me like that anymore, Alessandra. Not unless you want the whole palace to know just how much of a strumpet you really are.”
My vision goes blurry, and sheer anger buzzes through me. My dagger is in my boot. I contemplate using it for all of a second.
But Hektor’s death is being looked into. I can’t have another death on my hands. And I’d never get the body out of the palace unseen. No, this situation has to be dealt with very carefully.
Perhaps I could lure Myron away from the palace before killing him?
“Nothing to say?” Myron asks. “Or does your mind need more time to process this? Perhaps I can assist by making your situation perfectly clear.” He leans forward. “I own you. You will do whatever I say, whenever I say it. And you’re going to start by getting me into that play at the viscount’s estate tomorrow night.”
“The play?” I ask. “Why should you wish to go?”
“Because it’s time I made some more powerful friends. I owe a lot of money to a lot of people. My brother can do only so much for me. But you? The woman courting the king? You’re going to get me into the most prestigious estates in the kingdom. And when the world sees you—the king’s chosen—hanging off my arm, they’ll know I’m someone to pay attention to.”
No no no no no no no no.
I let out a breath of air as calmly as I can manage before sitting on the edge of my bed, placing a defeated look upon my face.
“I was wrong to treat you as I did, Myron. I’m so sorry. But we don’t need to be enemies. We can help each other. I’m happy to get you into the play.”
“Save the act,” Myron says, unmoved. “I’ve known you too long to know when you’re faking.”
“I guarantee you never could tell when I was faking.”
Myron’s cheeks go red, and his neck looks like it might pop a vein. He strides over to me and raises a hand as though he might hit me. He pauses, then drops it. “I’m not one for violence. I don’t need to strike you. Like I said, I own you. Now get me into that play, or I’ll tell the king all about how you like to spend your nights.”
* * *
THIS COULD NOT BE HAPPENING.
I’ve always sat at the king’s side, all the nobility watching my every move, as though they could learn the secrets to life’s greatest mysteries if they only stared at me long enough.
And today?
Today, Myron sits on my left, not the king. Orrin, Lord Eliades, having seen an opportunity, quickly took the seat to my right. Rhoda and Hestia shoot me questioning gazes from across the table. But I can’t manage to do much more than glare at my soup.
“We missed you dearly at the charity ball,” Orrin says. “I donated two thousand necos to the homeless shelter in Naxos. Such a small amount compared to the vastness of my yearly income, but I intend to give much more throughout the year.”
Myron leans over. “Smile, darling; everyone is watching. Come now, or I shall have to strike up a conversation that isn’t appropriate for the luncheon table at all.”
My lips turn up, but it’s more of a grimace than anything else.
I honestly can’t say which devil is worse, the one on my right or the one on my left.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Instead, I’ve been plotting how to get out of my situation with Myron. So far, I don’t have any ideas, save outright murder, but I need to be patient. And somehow make sure Myron doesn’t jeopardize my standing with the king.
Leandros, Petros, and Rhouben sit together on the other side of Rhoda, chatting among themselves. Oh, I would give anything to be on that side of the table.
Melita Xenakis, Rhouben’s betrothed, keeps a firm grasp on his arm, as though if she doesn’t, he’ll escape from her. Rhouben attempts to eat his food with his other hand while blatantly ignoring her.
Melita, however, keeps looking over at this side of the table in between each bite of food.
At Orrin, I realize.
Is that admiration in her eyes?
How interesting.
“What do you think of Lord Eliades’s charitable acts, Lady Xenakis?” I ask, speaking over the top of Orrin’s next dull remark.
Melita jolts as though coming out of a trance. “I beg your pardon?”
“Were you not admiring the earl’s generosity? Or was it something else?”
Red flames her cheeks. She turns away from me and leans into Rhouben. I glance back and forth between Rhouben and Orrin. Orrin is certainly more handsome, which would probably entice a vain woman such as Melita. I’ve had several more conversations with Leandros and his friends since that first lunch meeting. I know Rhouben is the firstborn of a viscount. A very rich viscount. He will inherit one day. But Orrin is an earl. Already in possession of his land and title.
An idea begins to form. One that just might rid me of both Orrin and Myron.
“His Majesty, the King!” a herald booms, and everyone is suddenly on their feet. Hestia stands so quickly that her spoon flicks droplets of stew onto Orrin’s tunic. My mood improves ever so slightly.
Kallias strides into the room, takes one look at the empty seats at the head of the table, and says, “Lady Stathos?”
“Yes?” I ask, ever relieved that he’s here.
“Come join me, won’t you?”
I don’t wait for a servant to help me out of my chair. I fairly leap from it. Kallias watches me as I sweep past Myron, a look of sheer gratitude upon my face.
“Who is that man? I don’t know him,” Kallias says as I sit.
“He’s nobody,” I say in all honesty.
“Now I’m more curious.”
The great hall is back to chattering in full force, so I dare to raise my voice a little. “His name is Myron Calligaris. He’s the son of a viscount.”
“And how are you two acquainted?”
“His father had business with my father. We met on a few occasions when he would come over to the Masis estate.”
Kallias has his attention on his food, but I can’t help but feel as though the indifference is forced. “You’re friends, then?”
“Not anymore.” I make the mistake of looking down the table at Myron, who winks at me.
“He seems awfully friendly.”
That tone. Oh, how I wish I could read it. “You could group him with Eliades.”
“Ah. An admirer who is hesitant to give up. I can hardly fault them for that.”
I place my hands on my lap as a servant retrieves my plate from my previous seat and lays it before me.
“Did another meeting keep you?” I ask carefully. “Has the bandit struck again?”